Sirocco Saturday
Most people know it as a model of Volkswagen or the name of bullet, but Sirocco (also spelled scirocco) is really the hot, dusty wind that blows from North Africa into Southern Europe, reaching hurricane speeds. Yes, that’s a good description of what blew through Wister, our own desert waterfowling oasis beside California’s Salton Sea, on opening weekend.
Duck hunters live for a good wind, but the relentless force that swept away tents, ripped awnings off trailers, blew out cooking fires, and scattered anything not nailed down was something else entirely. Ducks didn’t want to fly in it, and those that did required a bigger lead than I could figure in time.
Still, my son Griff and I managed a strap full of teal and a few pintails. The slow action gave us time to talk, discuss strategies for upcoming hunts and road trips, and make some New Season resolutions, like taking better notes on the blinds we hunt and not over-thinking our shots so much. After all, Zen strives for the empty mind, the mind before thinking, the true mind. I’m sure that’s where my future doubles and triples are hiding.
This coming Sunday we have a #10 reservation for Wister. Griff and I have vowed to be craftier this time, to hide ourselves better, to become one with the mud and the tules and get the ducks already wise to the obvious blinds. It sounds like a good plan.
Zenhunting 