“Dene-Mite”
In the Early 50’s Mr. Jimmie Riddell was duck hunting a well know marsh called Blissdale near Eden, Ms. I started hunting with he and Dick Reed in late 60’s. I helped them clear trails, brush blinds etc. as they were always looking for young muscle to do the heavy work or get out in marsh amongst God’s creatures during the spring or hot summer when the work had to be done. I also was working for a chance to hunt with them.
The year before the ducks were ganging up south of Mr. Jimmie’s flight duck blind and were becoming a magnet to other ducks coming into the marsh. Like any marsh or cypress brake, the ducks will find spots of sanctuary and go to these places like magnets. When new ducks arrive they can see these groups of 300 to 500 or so ducks ganging up. They would sail to the live activity and find sanctuary there. This makes hunting tough.
This was a hard area to get to, so several of Dick Reed’s construction framing crew and several young college boys, myself included, were rounded up and set upon the task of clearing a trail to the promise land to build a blind there for the following year. It was hot sweltering weather and the only consolation was that the marsh was spring fed and was cool standing in it to do the work. Doing that created the other problem. Leaches, snakes, and whatever lay in the marsh water. We had been pulling stumps with come-along winches, digging out old beaver dams and the like when it happened. One of Mr. Reed’s crew hands started screaming “ALLIGATOR, ALLIGATOR”. It was though he was walking on water as he covered the 15 or so feet to the boat and over the side he went. He started grabbing his leg and hollering. Mr. Reed looked down and saw what the problem was. A large crawfish had run up his pants, pinchers and all and was flapping his strong tail wildly under his pants. Mr. Reed reached down and smashed the crawfish with his hand. You never saw such a distraught fellow in all your life as he tried to get the remains out from under his coveralls at mid thigh.
With all the commotion, Mr. Jimmie called “ Lunchtime” to allow for things to settle back to normal. It was during this lunch, out in the boat, clearing the trail to the promise land, that Mr. Jimmie relayed the following story. He said back about 1950 the ducks were ganging up down here. I waited until the water was up after a rain and brought my help, Henry, from around the home place in Jackson with me to keep the ducks from ganging up. I asked him if he had a 12 gauge and he indicated that he did. He said it was an old single shot, and said that would be fine. The next morning, I boated him as close to the loafing area where the ducks were ganging up and handed him a big handful of the new Winchester-Western high brass smokeless shells they had just come out with. I put him out on a high spot and instructed him to shoot every once in a while to keep the ducks from ganging up there. Well, I went on up to my flight duck blind and about 7:00 o'clock the ducks started flying pretty good and heard Henry shoot to the south BOOM! I started killing a few ducks until the ducks started ganging up as usual in the loafing grounds to the south. All was quite to the south and I did not hear Henry shoot again. After a while I became concerned because the ducks to the south were looking like a beehive and no shooting was coming from there. I cranked up and made my way south. As I rounded the last bend in the trail, I could see Henry sitting on the high spot with his handkerchief wrapped around his jaw and covered in blood. I hollered over at him “What happened Henry.” He said “ Mr. Jimmie, I did just as you said, I waited till they were getting thick, and I saw a big group of those big ducks with one of them little ducks leading the group. I threw up and pulled the trigger. The next thing I knew, I was laying on my back. Mr. Jimmie, them shells have dene-mite in them.” Mr. Jimmie said his 12 gauge, that had been held together at the stock with bailing wire, was in two pieces. The stock had given way with the force of the heavy high brass load and sliced open his cheek. Needless to say, Henry did not make another hunt.
I will say, that the new blind in the promise land was everthing a duck hunter dreams of. It was good until the ducks changed their pattern a dozen years later.
