Several years ago, I thought it would be an adventure to strap on a pair of waders and head into the mucky marsh swamps in search of a limit of ducks. There are not a lot of video on this one so you pretty much have to wing it so to speak. I’m pretty good at winging it and decided the first thing I would need is a pair of waders. I found a pair at a local sporting goods store, and to my surprise, was fairly inexpensive. Later I would find out why. They had everything from brush resistant waders to thin fishing waders. I opted for the thin waders to go aver my hunting clothes. After all, water doesn’t poke holes in waders. Nonetheless, I had a pair of waders and equipped my shotgun with a choke tube suitable for shooting steel shot. I was on my way. After purchasing license and stamps and shells and socks and a half hearted duck call, I was ready to go on my first duck hunt. I really didn’t want to invite anyone just yet being that I wasn’t sure of what to expect. After all, if I was to fall in and drown, I would hate for someone to be there with me to see it so I went alone.
  A friend of mine had some swamp land just over the hill from where my father and I had been working. I inquired to him about trying my luck in his swamp and he graciously agreed. I went down to the edge of the swamp during the middle of the week to try and get an idea of where I wanted to set up and try and get a pathway mapped out in my head of how to get in to where I wanted to be. As I arrived to the edge, twelve to fifteen mallards flushed from the back of the cove where I was planning to be. Everything was coming together smoothly. I had found a spot with ducks and also had found an entrance in that seemed to be a path cut out in the water. It almost looked as if someone had been there before me and had taken the trees out of the walkway for easy access. All I needed to do was follow the bushy tree line all the way in to the back of the cove. I had seen all I needed to see. I was ready for the weekend.
  The weekend didn’t come soon enough as it rarely does. That Friday night, I gathered my gear and got ready for what was to surely be a great first timer duck hunt. Saturday morning came and I was up early getting my gear loaded. I made my way to the swamp about an hour before daylight so as to get set up while it was still dark. I put on my waders and extra jackets and hat, and headed for the swamp. There was a brief walk through a grown up field to get to where I needed to be to enter the swamp. I noticed on the way in that it was a little more difficult to walk in the waders than it first had seemed in the sporting goods store.
  I made it to the edge of the swamp and started in slowly. I could feel the fallen logs under my feet, but I stayed steady in my pursuit. Taking one small step at a time, I made my way to the opening that would lead me to the back of the cove. The water level was manageable. I was around two to three feet deep and making it just fine. All of a sudden, I felt my left foot get extremely cold. I had stepped over a beaver hewn tree that had been chewed down when the water levels were lower. Chewed to a nice sharp point, my waders found the edge which made about a two inch gash directly in the side. That was the exact moment that I began to appreciate the brush resistant technology and was really wishing that I had bought into it. There was nothing to do but keep my direction and move forward. I made it to the bushy tree line, and hanging on to the limbs, started down the opening through the water. After a couple of steps, I noticed the water level had gotten up to be about waist deep. On the next step, I realized why there was an opening through the timber and bushes. My left foot slipped. I tried to catch myself with my right foot by taking another short step. It was no use. I was sinking like the Titanic. I had stepped off into an eight foot wide creek channel. On my way down, I knew instantly that this wasn’t going to be a good thing. Turns out, the channel was around seven feet deep. I know this because I made contact with the bottom. I am roughly six foot two so you can do the math and figure out where the water level was in accordance to my head.
  I pushed my way back up and reached out and grabbed for one of the bushy limbs and it snapped. I went down again. This time, I grabbed for the base of the bush when I surfaced and made it to the edge of the channel and back up to a manageable level. I had a drain system now from the earlier experience with the cut down tree. The water exited my waders down to about knee high. By now it was breaking daylight and I had spooked everything from the swamp back to the river. I wasn’t about to let a near drowning experience dampen my chances at a limit of ducks. I proceeded on by a different route to the back of the cove and got set up. Wet and cold, daylight came, and as shooting time approached, I noticed that the ducks were starting to dive bomb into the swamp despite all the commotion I had caused.
  With shooting time here, the first two ducks came in. I raised my gun as the ducks cupped their wings and shot. The first duck folded. I shot two more times but missed. Within seconds, more ducks flew over the cove where I was set up and after circling, they flew in as well. Three more shots produced two more ducks. I reloaded and soon fired again, this time, at a pair of woodies. One of the woodies fell and splashed over to the edge of the swamp. Upon gathering my four duck limit, I noticed that all my ducks were drakes. What are the odds of that? I had taken my first hunting trip and had folded four drakes within an hour.
  Back at home, my wife was preparing for the birth of our second child which would come soon in the spring. As we did with our first child, she picked out one name and I picked out the other. I had been trying to come up with something but was drawing blanks. This was a pretty big decision and I knew I didn’t want to blow it and give my son a horrible name. I pulled up into the driveway and was admiring my harvest when my wife met me on the front lawn.
  “Have you thought of a name for our son yet,” she asked?
  “Actually I have,” I responded.
  I was dead in the water. I was supposed to be out to spend some time alone and think about my decision. With the morning’s events, that never happened. I had to come up with something fast. I made the best decision I could, and so we derived at my second son’s name, Joshua Drake.

Braden Arp