Sleeping in the Duck Blind

I don’t know what a 250-pound caterpillar would look like, but it probably would be something like me wrapped up in camouflage and nestled in a corner of a duck blind.

I’m one of those guys who can sleep just about anywhere.

During my 25 years of working in the newspaper industry, I’ve dozed off during halftime of football games with the band blaring on the field amid the buzz of the crowd. There probably was a time or two during a really boring game when I may have nodded off, but I can’t recall.

Once, back in 1996 on a canoe trip to Quetico National Park, my cohorts went fishing on our second day. I stayed behind at camp, laid down on a bare rock in the Canada sunshine and slept like a baby for about two hours. The imprint of some glacial stone on the side of my face made them laugh.

Snoozing in the duck blind is a different beast. We wake up early, grab a bite and a cuppa joe, head to the blind and get ready. Anticipation is high. Adrenaline is pumping. We’re tuned in for that first glimmer of light and the buzz of wings or chatter of a mallard hen. Calling and gunfire isn’t conducive to slumber.

But after that early flurry when the sun is climbing and there’s a lull, it’s hard sometimes not to catch a few winks. We’re snug in our layers of clothes, and possibly waders, with a parka zipped up and maybe gloves. Most likely an oilskin cap or toque. It’s warm. It’s quiet. The skies may be clear with only high-fliers and a pass-through duck or two.

We’re as happy and contented as a bug in the woodpile on a warm hearth by a crackling fire.

Before we know it, the ol’ melon is drooping and we’re in la-la land. Whatever chatter our buddies are talking about fades away. Sometimes, even, a calling routine doesn’t rouse us immediately and someone has to kick our leg.

A few years ago in Maine while hunting eiders our group was bunkered in on the shore of Penobscot Bay. We had no blinds, but instead were using the craggy shoreline within shooting range of a few skeins of bobbing dekes. The action had tailed off and I awoke to a greeting of, “Good morning, sunshine.”

They weren’t referring to the sunlight coming over the northern Atlantic.

“Snoring?” I asked. Definitely, they said, laughing.

Hey, there’s nothing wrong with grabbing a few winks whenever possible.