An Outdoorsman‛s Journal

Turtle Flambeau Adventure

Hello, friends: This week my “old” buddy Jeff Moll and I lived in our boats and hunted ducks out of my canoe on the Turtle Flambeau Flowage in Iron County. We had some serious adversity and we overlapped that with a whole bunch of fun. Friday, Sept. 23–High 72, low 50 It was 49 years ago that my dad, the late Robert Walters, took Jeff and I here and we camped on an island and caught lots of walleye for the opener. That was Jeff’s first trip with the gang and I guess you could say he has come a long ways in the world of being an outdoorsman. In reality, it was my dad who included Jeff in the Walters World of hardcore outdoors and got him started. These days my brother Mike calls him “Master Guide Extraordinaire,” my title for many years, and it almost makes me puke when I hear these two love birds.

So, our plan is simple. On the Flambeau you can only camp at a designated campsite. We wanted to be close to our hunting and there was no designated campsite. We decided to anchor our boats and sleep in them. Holy moly, this ended up being fun. Moll would be in his 16-footer, and I would be in the 18.6 War Eagle. My rig would be the kitchen and place for social gatherings.

The last hour before daylight I showed Mr. “Master Guide Extraordinaire” my duck honey hole and it was impressive. Of course, I had to teach him the difference between a crow and a woodie, but like what dad witnessed 49 years ago, I understood and was my usual quiet self. I might add that walking to “Duck Paradise” was brutal with a capital B. It was maybe 200 yards and every step in the chest waders you sank knee-deep in the muck and wild rice was constantly trying to trip you.

The social hours began at dark, and we were on top of the world knowing that we were going to put a whacking on some waterfowl in the morning. Our world came raining down on us about 11:00 when a solid rain began. We did not care as we were wearing chest waders and had rain gear and we knew the rain would cease in a matter of minutes. Saturday, Sept. 24–High 76, low 53 When is the last time you laid in the floor of your boat with a tarp on top of you and every time you moved the puddles that formed on top of you came down on you? Both of us slept/tried in our chest waders and life was perfect.

Best description for today -- rain an hour, no rain for an hour. Intense sweat from slogging in the mud, Ruby was fantastic with most of her retrieves, and the hunting was epic. Other than lunch and a nap we hunted from dawn to sunset. Sometimes we made incredible shots and sometimes we could not have hit a duck if it was sitting on the end of our barrel.

I will tell you about Ruby. She is not trained for hand signals but what she does is no matter how challenging the conditions, she watches the sky, and even if she does not see where a duck falls, she figures it out. Her mother Fire had that same gift, and it is very cool to watch.

So, when the clouds/rain/sun hit the eastern horizon both Jeff and I had our limit of six ducks, we were both soaked from sweat as well as rain, and we made the slog back to the boats and believe it or not it quit raining. We were set to have a firstrate social extravaganza, did not take off one iota of our gear, lit the propane lantern, turned on some music, and I was ready to listen to my mentee tell me what a great guide I am and how it was the best day of his life.

Instead, another steady rain began, we actually laughed about it and sat up until 1 a.m. and gave each other crap. It was another wonderful night underneath the tarps and at 4 a.m. it was a slog back to the canoe for more ducks and more memories.

I remember the look dad gave me 49 years ago when Jeff was Jeff a few times and about all l can say is, you were right, Dad!

Sunset