It is not easy to forget the river at that point before dawn when the night was at its darkest and the winter was at its coldest. I sat huddled in my camouflage jacket and overalls at the front of the boat with my back turned toward the bow. I did this to avoid the cold, but still it carved its name into my back. From his seat in the back of the boat, my husband Eric steered, leaning to his right to see over my left shoulder. A small spotlight was our only source of guidance. He steered the boat cautiously, but assuredly. I watched the beams of the spotlight caress the contours of his flushed cheeks.
Our Boykin Spaniel puppy,
Hunter, curled himself at Eric's feet. Hunter's chocolate
brown fur camouflaged him in the darkness, but I could see
the pinpoint lights of his gilded eyes staring into mine. He
wore a small, neoprene vest as protection from the wind.
Still, he shivered and exhaled foggy puffs of warm puppy
breath.
Although it was a short distance from our starting point to our destination, the darkness and the winter weather seemed to triple the distance. "Are you cold?" Eric shouted over the deafening sound of the boat motor. "I can slow down." No, I shook my head. Just keep moving. Let's get it over quickly. I tried to turn toward the boat's bow to see what lay ahead of us. I saw the spotlight focus on nothing and I immediately turned my back again. Hunter jumped from his position and stood between my legs with his face pressed in my stomach. I held his paws in my gloved hands.
The boat began to slow gradually. I turned around to see that we had reached the point where we would leave the river and move into the lake, our destination. There is a small, low area that separates the lake from the river. This morning, it was particularly low. Eric lifted the motor out of the water. "Come, sit in the back. I'll have to paddle." I clumsily moved to the back of the boat, trying to avoid decoys and dog. Eric moved to sit on the boat's bow, straddling the small red and green light in the front of the boat. Hunter assumed his standing position behind his master. As Eric began moving us slowly through this dense but shallow area, Hunter, leaning over the boat's side, barked at the paddle as it cut through the water and moved closer to his face. Every time he barked, I laughed and Eric tried to hush both of us.
Within minutes, we were through this tedious area and had resumed our former positions. And, after a few minutes more, had found our spot on the lake. Before we moved into position, Eric dropped his decoys into the water, a time-consuming process as each decoy had to be freed from the line and sinker that had been carefully wound around its neck. Each decoy made a quiet splash and fascinated Hunter. The lake was smooth and quiet. Dawn was getting near as we nestled the boat in the trees. I was happy we had moved from the frigid frost of the river to the comfortable cold of the lake. I nestled my face into the collar of my jacket and the warmth of my breath spread across my cheeks.
As the sun stretched its awakening muscles and greeted us with a yawn, we heard the light, sharp pops of distant gunfire. And as if to answer the phantom hunters, Eric began the beckoning and bellowing duck call. Hunter, confused by this sound, turned his tilted head, brow furrowed, towards Eric. What is he doing? He seemed to ask. I laughed inside myself. Hunter moved quietly to my side and I put my hand on his head and stroked the rich brownness of his fur. His amber eyes were completely visible now and glowing from excitement and anticipation.
On this trip, as on all others, I fulfilled the role of observer. I watched the sun rise over the horizon without ceremony or warmth. I watched the ducks fly at a distance forming a small, flying "v" in the newly awakened sky. I watched them fly closer to our area in answer to the duck call and the enticing decoys that beckoned from below. I watched Eric aim his gun and fire. I watched the empty red shells drop into the water and into the boat as gun smoke lightly drifted and dissipated following the deafening blast. I watched Hunter jump into the water and swim back effortlessly with our bounty. I watched as he was lifted bodily and deposited into the middle of the boat where he shivered and shook and sprayed us with water.
There were quiet times out there when nothing moved and we even seemed to cease our breathing as we awaited the next, unsuspecting flock. I looked around me again and thought how unreal it all seemed. I felt as if I was looking down upon myself and seeing the whole scene from an entirely different point of view; I was omnipresent. From another vantage point, I saw my husband, my dog, and myself - myself, the observer, being observed. And, as always, I was amazed by nature. I had never been this close to a tree to the point where I could see the pores in the bark and the minuscule creatures who inhabited it. I had never seen life as it is lived without the boundaries of time and occupation. I had never watched myself be alive. The river, too, brimmed with life - supporting and destroying as it collected and released into its mother sea. We returned to the river as if returning to a favorite passage in a cherished book read long ago. And in both the river and the book, we found ourselves and were alive.