Rain in a Duck Desert

It had been six days since we last shot a duck, maybe seven. At this point it was hard to remember. We had spent day after day loading and unloading the boat, loading and unloading our shotguns, trudging through the mud, fighting the weather, all in hopes of taking home just one single bird. Dad stood in the left corner of the blind, while I sat in the right. Both of us staring up to heaven with little to say. We were tired and began questioning why we even put ourselves through such trouble for the sake of such inconsistent gain. About that time, a pair of orange feet came dropping from above. We both frantically shouldered our guns and fired. Splash! One greenhead mallard floated dead in the decoys. We looked at each other and smiled. The duck drought was over.

This sequence of events is not uncommon for duck hunters in our region. The Cumberland River, renowned for its dark green water and slow flow through Music City U.S.A, is where I cut my teeth in duck hunting. My family has deep hunting roots along this river that stretch all the way from the bottoms of Dyson Ditch near the mouth of the Harpeth River, all the way up past the Teal Hole at Cairo and on around the bend. Dad was killing ducks on this river long before I came around and he still reminds me of that from time to time, but only when I start thinking I know better than him.

You have to be a dedicated waterfowler, glutton for frustration, or both to hunt this river. It can be feast or famine when hunting here, but most of the time it's famine. Old Hickory Lake, where we spend most of our time during the season, sits almost directly in the middle of the Mississippi and Atlantic flyway. We don’t get major pushes of birds from either, just the scraps of migrating ducks that filter down the edges of each. It’s not that we don’t get birds, we just don’t get nearly as many as other regions within the midst of those major flyways. We sit in a duck desert.

It seems that when I was younger we used to hold more wintering ducks than we do these days. We never killed large numbers on a regular basis, but it wasn’t too hard to take home five or six birds consistently. I heard a lot of stories about dad and others killing lots of ducks before my time. So much so that I could tell you those stories as if I was there when they happened. Growing up, every time we would get into a duck drought, like the story above, I would disappointingly ask dad, “Why don’t we ever have hunts like y’all used to?”

Duck Rain 1985. Pictured from Left to Right: Jason Woodard (my second cousin), Dan Beasley Sr. (my grandfather), Robert H. Brown (my great-grandfather), and Dan Beasley Jr. (my father).

Every time he would reiterate that those hunts were all scattered across a span of several years. They didn’t all happen at once or even during the same season, but there was usually one day each year when the ducks would arrive and the hunting was good. That trend still holds true for this region today. Now, a typical hunt on this section of the Cumberland struggles to produce more than one or two birds on any given hunt, but each season there will be one day (two if you're lucky) when the ducks arrive and great memories are made. These days are like rain in the desert, long expected and highly treasured.

While I have grown accustomed to slow hunts and duck droughts, I have experienced a few desert rains. Enough to keep me content and eager to press on through the regular dry spells. We get a lot of grief for hunting Old Hickory as hard as we do. Half of duck hunting is being where the ducks are and usually that's not here. Why do we make it harder on ourselves year after year? Why do we deal with the fatigue and cotton-mouth that comes along with hunting in our little duck desert? It could be ignorance paired with a little insanity or it could be because we know how sweet and valuable those rains are when they grace our humble lake. Watching mallards work over Cunningham Island or bluebills raft in the hundreds near Cages Bend means little to the one who hunts this lake little. You can see this same scene in a hundred different WMAs or private ponds up and down the Mississippi River, but context matters and seeing ducks on Old Hickory is like watching dry sand be covered by life-giving water. Rain is more impactful in a desert than it is in a swamp.

Duck Rain 2014. Around Cairo, TN. This was my second big hunt on Old Hickory. The first would have been around 2010, before I had a phone that could take pictures...

Job 5:10 says, “he gives rain on the earth and sends waters on the fields.” God is the one who sends rain upon the Earth and directs it where to go. He graciously gives and withholds where He sees fit. I believe the same to be true in matters of “duck rains.” Does God really give ducks to one and withhold from another? I don’t know, perhaps. All I know is that I should not begrudge if He does withhold and I should sing with thanksgiving when He gives. Both are grace and both are of God.

I have been very fortunate to partake in several good “duck rains” on Old Hickory Lake and I have shared a few pictures from the hunts those rains produced. Maybe I am reading too much into the role God played in these hunts, but then again maybe I am not. I believe He was there at each. I believe He allowed for joy and bounty in those moments and I hold onto the fact that every good thing comes from above (James 1:17). Duck hunting is a good thing and shooting ducks in a duck desert is a blessing, you can’t convince me otherwise.

So, I will continue to make much of God in my hunting and the rains He sends, however consistent or inconsistent they might be. It’s all a gift and it’s all for Him. Every time I think I might dry out, He gives me just what I need to be refreshed and rejuvenated to continue on. That’s true for duck hunting and all other aspects of my walk with Him. How great He is! Thank you Lord for sending rain on this little desert duck hunter.

Scroll Down for More Duck Rain Pics!

Duck Rain 2015. Pictured from Left to Right: Jason Woodard, Myself, Dan Beasley. I drove from Knoxville through an ice storm in my 2000 Honda Accord to make it back in time for this hunt.

Duck Rain 2016. Pictured from Left to Right: Dan Beasley, Ol Chatter Dog, Clay Bobel, Chad Wooden, Myself.

This hunt is speacial because it was the last big hunt that Chatter ever had. He hunted a couple more years after this picture was taken, but this was his last big day on the lake. It was also his first hunt back after beating kidney failure. The Vet gave him 2 months to live at 11 years old and he lived for another 2 and a half years. He was a good one!

Duck Rain 2022. Notice, this is the first big hunt we have had in nearly 6 years! That is my new pup, Opie, with me in the picture. It is his first big duck hunt and I am excited to see how many more we have together.