I went duck hunting on Sunday. No that's not true. I drove out to a duck hunting spot and found out that you can't shoot waterfowl on Sunday. Nice leisurely drive at 5 in the morning with a knocked out girlfriend in the front seat and we can't shoot? Awesome. I should get my own column in Field & Stream with the amount of silly shit that has happened this season. Head to head with Bill Heavey for who is the worst urban hunter on Earth. He'll beat me but not for lack of trying on my part. Anywhat, we got out there and it was drop dead gorgeous. Sun coming up on the mountain, low lying fog beginning to cook off, ducks everywhere, and you couldn't really tell you were smack dab in the middle of horrible suburban development. We set up decoys and sat in a blind and talked and called ducks and ate salami and Manchego and bread while sipping matte. I totally love Melah. She's the first woman I've ever been with who would ever dream of doing something like that. She even shot photos of me getting stuck in the mud and almost falling over. She tried to scare the birds into flying. She looked so cute in her ghilli jacket. She never ceases to amaze me.
I'm going to go out Wednesday morning. I hear it's some sort of holiday so I'm expecting the hunting pressure to be low so maybe this time I'll actually get a duck. Fuck.
Peace out, bitches!