Stuart's Hunting Lodge
on the Currituck Sound
By Brad Jones
 |
| OTHER CAMP WOODIE STORIES |
|
Camp Woodie and NCWA |
We contacted Watson Stuart, owner of the lodge, and planned our trip for January 2003. I had spent three days just an hour south of Currituck the week before our trip with the Camp Woodie staff. We all were able to harvest Tundra Swans but had a very disappointing duck hunt and only brought two ducks back to South Carolina, so my hopes of a good hunt were pretty slim. I was not at all looking forward to making the six hour drive to North Carolina to sit in an almost-arctic Sound to only watch the sunrise and sunset and hear stories of the past.
I packed anyway and picked Keith up. I could not leave him hanging, and we had already paid for the hunt anyway, so we began our journey north. Once we got on the road, I was glad I kept my plans. I grew up hunting with Keith and he had taught me a lot about hunting and being an outdoorsman. After college I moved to Summerton and with work, we are unable to hunt together the way we used to. I didn’t realize how much I missed the time we shared together until we started those “remember when” stories. We brought many ducks, deer and turkeys back to life, and then we harvested them again. It was just like being back on those old roads around the Pee Dee River talking about the things in life we both shared and loved and riding until the wee hours of the morning. I realized again that we had the same blood. We are hardcore hunters.
Before I knew it, we were reading a “Welcome to Virginia” sign. We had missed our turn and we were loving every minute of it. We turned around, got our bearings and found the lodge. It was late when we arrived, and most of the hunters had already bedded down. A few night cappers greeted us and showed us to our rooms. We scavenged and found the jackpot of leftovers. After a belly full of roast, collards and 12-layer chocolate cake, I was ready to hit the sack in hopes of a great morning of waterfowling.
Quickly, 4:30 arrived and the sounds of cooking in the kitchen echoed throughout the house. Keith and I were the first to wake and made it down to the kitchen. I was sleepily loafing throughout the house when I was greeted by an energetic “good morning.” She introduced herself as Sam. We were chatting about the 12-layer chocolate cake I had indulged when Watson came in and introduced himself.
Sounds from waking hunters could be heard as we discussed the plans for the morning hunt. Watson didn’t supply much info about our plans, but I could tell that he was confident about our upcoming endeavor. Soon we were all called to the table for breakfast. Anytime you purchase a hunting trip at an auction you kind of have a nervous feeling about all the unknowns. By looking at the breakfast table, I could tell that no matter how the hunting was, the food and accommodations would make this a great trip. We were not allowed to even lift a finger except to eat. Sam was taking care of it all and her cooking was delicious. Bacon, eggs, sausage and grits were not in short supply and the toast and homemade jam was the topper. By the end of breakfast I wasn’t sure if I would even be able to make it out into the sound. Watson rallied everyone into the mudroom and gave orders as to who would go where and with whom. I gathered my gear and began to put on my waders.
“You won’t need those,” said Watson. I couldn’t imagine what kind of duck trip this could be with no waders. I was still unsure how this hunting deal went, but I figured that a guy with so many calling trophies and pictures of full limits had to know what he was doing, at least on occasion. Watson whispered to me, “You and your buddy are going with me. Let’s go!”
Sam handed us a paper sack and a thermos and wished us good luck. We boarded Watson’s truck and headed a couple of hundred yards to his house where his dock was. The wind made my walk along the dock a challenge to just stay out of the water. Watson and a longtime friend, Marc, ushered us onto a big green boat. The illumination from the stern light revealed a big stack of small pine limbs and super magnum decoys stacked neatly in the bow. The boat looked as though a Viking would drive it. I had never seen anything like it. It was 20-plus feet, wooden and olive green. On the gunwales were tied some sort of wooden plank. Without any
words we glided across the sound. I was bundled up like an Eskimo, but I still felt chilled to the bone.
When Watson slowed the boat, we arrived at a spot that appeared to be the same as the rest of the sound. He instructed us to put those pine limbs in every hole that we saw on the boat and on the plank-looking thing. After brushing, he untied the wooden planks and kicked each side off into the water and backed the boat out.
“OK,” I thought to myself. “We just created a floating blind.” Watson idled the boat in reverse with the wind and told us to “tie out,” which in North Carolina means to put the decoys out. We began tossing the huge blocks off each side of the boat.
“I thought you boys were with the Waterfowl Association,” he joked. “That ain’t how you put out decoys.”
After a quick lesson we had it down pat, and I knew he had a good sense of humor. Being a jokester myself, I knew this was going to be a good time no matter how the hunting was. We had a nice spread of snow geese to the east and mallards and blue bills to the west. Pink skies were prevailing in the east and shooting hours were nearing.
“Load up” he said as he began explaining what we had just done. We had tied out a rig for snow geese. Ducks would be a bonus. I have hunted snows in grain fields in Canada and rice fields in Arkansas, Mississippi and Louisiana and was sure they would not have the slightest thing to do with a floating mass of pines over the water in North Carolina. As dark gave way to light, I eyed a few small knots of ducks trading across the sound. The sun seemed to begin a climb out of the sound when I heard the sound of snows. We all hunkered amongst the pines as the geese began their approach toward us. Watson began to call the flock and they called back. It was the most realistic snow goose call I had ever heard, so I peaked back at him to see what model he was using. He had no call! I was amazed and almost forgot to cut my eyes back in the direction of the geese. When I peered at them they were cupped and circling.
“Take `em.” screamed Watson. And we did. Three big snows splashed out of a group of five. Catfish, the golden retriever, plunged off the back of the boat and headed towards the first downed bird. Before he could get back from the first retrieve another group of snows began their approach. We were able to get draws at several groups and had enough geese for the grill. Just before we decided to pick up, a pair of redhead drakes swung through the decoys. Instinctively, Keith and I rose up and dropped both ducks with one shot each. “That one’s going on the wall,” exclaimed Keith.
We thought we were done for the day, but little did we know we were just beginning. Watson told us we were just testing the snow goose hunting, because he would hunt them until March. Now we were going to go shoot some bluebills. For the next two days we would hunt from legal hour to legal hour. Not once did we come home short of the limit of ducks.
At the end of each day, we would head back to the lodge, where Sam would have an unbelievable meal prepared. On the last night of every hunt seafood supper awaits the hunters. Steamed oysters got things kicked off. Fresh crab, she-crab soup and fried shrimp had me pushing myself to the limit.
If you are looking for some of the best fowling in the Southeast, you don’t need to drive 14 hours anymore. Stuarts Hunting Lodge can put you on the birds and still have you home for supper on the last day. Nobody knows ducks and geese better than Watson, and no one can entertain quite like Sam. Give them a call and go see for yourself, you will not be disappointed. S
For more information, call
(252) 232 2309 or log on to
www.stuartshuntinglodge.com
 |
|
|
|
