Special memories, we all have them. What comfort and enjoyment these memories bring as we remember the good times and people we shared those experiences with. My uncle, Russell Kelley, became my legal guardian when I was 14. It was a rough time for both of us as he became the guardian for 3 teenagers on top of having his own two teenagers and for me as I adjusted to life without either parent. In order for us to connect better he took me to Duck Creek State Conservation Area to share and teach me about a couple of his favorite activities.
One of my special memories as a 15 year old is waking up at 1:30 on a cold December morning, gearing up and heading out with my uncle for the three hour drive down to Kinder, MO and stopping at Bobbie’s place for a BBQ sandwich and a soda for breakfast. Maybe two or three dozen men dressed in camo and waders were sitting around drinking coffee, eating the same over-sauced pulled pork sandwiches. Smoke filled the air as the conversation at Bobbie’s Bait and Tackle was focused on which duck blinds were more productive than others and which type of ducks were flying through this part of the Mississippi flyway in large numbers.
Five a.m. rolls around and all of us head back into the cold darkness to drive the quarter mile over to the Duck Creek Conservation area headquarters as it opened for the day. Those that planned their hunt and paid the reservation fee for the duck blind they wanted checked in to get their tag with their blind number on it. Those like my uncle went and drew a number in the “poor” line. These were the leftover duck blinds that weren’t reserved. The Conservation agent would put those numbers in a pot and as the numbers were randomly pulled out the holder of that number could select which of the available blinds they wanted. This is how my uncle would get our blind for the day.
We drove to the assigned area on loose gravel roads where we loaded our gear into a flat bottomed john boat so we could row through the damp, chilly darkness to the blind we had selected, maybe a ten minute trip in the johnboat. Heading up the short ladder I would climb into the duck blind while my uncle would pass the gear out of the boat up to me. After the gear was in the blind my uncle would set out the decoy ducks in the water about 25 ft. in the open water just in front of the blind. All was set and we sat on the bench in the blind waiting for sunrise and the legal time to start the hunt. While waiting in the ebbing darkness watching the pre-dawn sky turn milky we could hear ducks in the distance and sometime short of the legal shooting time we heard other hunters firing their shotguns at the ducks in that area.
I know ducks are sharp eyed so no bright colors in the blind and no unnecessary movements to scare them off. My uncle and I sat , shotguns in our gloved hands, watching vigilantly for ducks flying in our direction. Every so often my uncle would use his duck call and try to call ducks down to be within range of his Browning 12 gauge and my Savage semi auto 12 gauge. Finally after what seemed to be hours of patient waiting and calling, small groups of ducks were coming in to join our decoys. I waited for my uncle to make his move first and just a second or two behind him we both stood raising our shotguns to our shoulders and proceeded to shoot at the surprised mallards. I don’t remember how many we shot that time but I do remember the beautiful mallard drake that I led by about 18 inches and seeing him fly into my shot and falling not 10 feet from the blind. A clean kill, my first time out! My uncle went out in the boat and collected our ducks while I reloaded both guns. We had a couple more chances but I don’t remember if we got any more before we packed everything back into the boat around 11 a.m. We got to the car and drove back to the Conservation offices to check out and have our birds inspected for their records. Ten minutes later we drove to Puxico, the nearby town where my uncle grew up, and stopped at Mel’s Diner for a chance to warm up and have a good lunch before we headed back to St. Louis.
It seemed every time we drove to Puxico we would visit Duck Creek. Fond memories of going there! Many summer evenings after supper at my grandmother’s house in Puxico we loaded our fishing gear into the car and together my uncle and I headed over the 10 miles down U.S. 51 to Duck Creek. We would find a good spot on the edge of the 1800 acre lake called Pool #1. I would build a small fire on the shore and get our gear out of the car. We would bait our hooks with chicken and have our large bobbers set at about ten feet with the white part of the bobber on top. Casting out as far as we could we set our poles up at an angle and watched our bobbers in the gathering darkness. We were straight lining for catfish. Every so often the bobber would disappear and one of us would reel in a decent sized catfish. The only problem was keeping an eye out for cottonmouth snakes who might find our stringer of catfish an easy dinner. We would fish until about midnight, pack up and head back to “Mom Kelley’s” place in Puxico to clean the fish we caught. Let me just say cleaning a mess of catfish until 2 in the morning sure took the luster out of those fishing trips.
My wife and kids can attest to the fact that every trip through Puxico I would want to drive into Duck Creek and slowly drive around the swampy waters of Pool #1 looking for the wildlife that makes their home in and around this marvel of southeast Missouri.
I did not fully appreciate the sacrifices Uncle “Pud” and Aunt June made for the three of us at that time. Nor did I fully appreciate his taking me out to hunt and fish as a way of bonding and teaching me some life lessons but I have grown to appreciate those things as I have gotten older and raised my own children.
For more information about Duck Creek Conservation area:
Duck Creek CA | MDC Discover Nature