Georgia Duck Hunting The Hard Way

Josh and buddy Matt Moorman with a handful of ducks killed deep in a Georgia swamp on public land.

It’s 2 a.m. on a bone-chilling November morning, and the only sounds are the haunting cries of a lone hoot owl. A light breeze begins to whisper, spurring the swaying and crackling of frost-bitten Georgia pines. Throughout the state, most sensible individuals are fast asleep, but a rugged group of Georgia outdoorsmen are wide awake and ready to start a long day.

The early morning is filled with promise, adventure and uncertainty. These men and women choose to leave comfort behind and venture into some of the most unforgiving, desolate habitats our state has to offer. If you haven’t guessed it yet, it is finally waterfowl season in Georgia.

As frozen grass and loose gravel crunches beneath the feet of middle Georgia duck hunters Josh Hammock and Joel Seagraves, moonlight aids the loading of their boats and trucks. As they hike up the collars of their camouflage jackets against the crisp breeze, they go over their plans for the morning. Regardless of the weather, water level or any other adverse conditions, this duck-hunting duo is going to get to their hunting spot.

Duck hunting in Georgia takes years, sometimes decades, of trial and error to master. While the casual duck hunter can have the good fortune of coming across birds, only the most die-hard Georgia duck hunters experience continued and consistent success.

Duck hunting on public land in Georgia has always been a game of finding unpressured birds and getting there first. As any outdoorsman knows, the more pressured the game is, the more adaptive and innovative the hunter must be.

Often when it comes to duck hunting, being adaptive means taking calculated risks and simply “going for it.” Whether it is traveling through treacherous waters to reach an unmolested or unknown hunting spot, pushing one’s body to its limits or making spur-of-the-moment mechanical improvisations — serious duck hunters are willing to do whatever it takes to make a hunt successful.

This never-give-up attitude is where Milledgeville natives Josh and Joel excel. Being some of the most gutsy and spirited duck hunters I know, these outdoorsmen have had their fair share of trials and tribulations that act as a living testimony to their extreme dedication to the sport.

Cypress Knee Pinball

It was 2:30 a.m. on a cold morning as the team backed their fleet of camouflage mud boats into the frigid Altamaha River. With their gear loaded into their boats, there was hardly anywhere for a grown man to sit. As Joel turned the key of his mud motor to warm it up for their run, he noticed it took longer than usual to crank. After 10 minutes of periodic choking and exasperating key turning, the motor roared to life in a deafening way.

Startled, Joel jumped back while turning off the engine and quickly regained his composure after making sure his buddies had not seen his dramatic response. This time expecting such loud engine noise, Joel cranked the engine again and had the same result — the engine was pegged at 3,600 rpms.

After close inspection of the mud motor, it was soon realized the 17-degree temperatures had frozen the throttle open. Armed with only a cigarette lighter and a remote hope of a MacGyver-like fix, Joel melted the ice surrounding the throttle body. With the engine back in operation, all was copacetic, and the disaster was evaded — for the time being.

The crew shrugged off the morning’s minor setback and made haste to their hunting destination. The first 3 miles went off without a hitch — the moon aided their travel through the tangled, flooded hardwoods of the south Georgia swamp.

As the trio came upon the more “hairy” part of their journey — a 2-mile, 1-foot-deep stretch of cypress trees with no pre-cut boat roads, Joel began to loosen his grip on the throttle. As his grip decreased, however, he realized the throttle handle had not moved. The throttle body was again frozen wide open.

Joel held on as the boat plowed into the stump field at 25 mph. Approaching a 90-degree turn, he tightened his grip, swallowed hard and purposely slammed into a cypress tree. The boat ricocheted into the next turn before slamming into a cypress stump and then another.

Joel then ramped his boat onto a sandy island and immediately shut down the motor. Thankfulness overwhelmed him. The duck hunter simply sat still and prayed — thanking God for his safety and the quick thinking that allowed him to live to see another duck hunting adventure… Then he went hunting.

A Morning Workout

As the days begin to shorten and the weather starts to cool, Joel and Josh have just one thing on their mind — their annual Rhett’s Island duck hunting trip. With miles upon miles of premier duck-hunting habitat, Rhett’s Island is a landmark destination for serious Georgia duck hunters in the Altamaha River Delta. Unfortunately, this year’s foray was marred by a frightening, yet humorous, conundrum that Josh and Joel will have a hard time forgetting.

Following an ill-advised dinner of chicken tartar (Yes. chicken tartar.) from a hole-in-the-wall south Georgia Chinese restaurant, Josh wasn’t able to make the duo’s final morning hunt. Being the dedicated outdoorsman he is, Joel wasn’t about to let his partner’s acute gastric distress come between him and his ducks.

Josh Hammock, of Milledgeville, goes beyond what many are willing to do for a few ducks. Sometimes he is rewarded with good public-land hunting. Other times he’s left up to his armpits in sticky situations.

As Joel arrived alone at the boat ramp that morning, he began sharing stories and rubbing elbows with some local duck hunters. After comparing notes with him on the last few days of hunting, his new-found friends helped him muscle his boat over the first dike, and he was on his way to enjoy the day.

As the morning progressed and Joel managed to bag a few green winged teal, he decided to reach for his phone to check on his ailing comrade.

“That ain’t good,” he mumbled as he plucked his phone from a 3-inch-deep puddle in the bottom of his boat. With his cell phone rendered useless and an approaching low tide, Joel made the smart decision to call it quits for the morning so as to not risk being left high and dry by the outgoing tide.

With just one more dike to conquer before the ramp, Joel was as happy as a pig in mud. He had a peaceful morning, made some new friends at the ramp and managed to kill some ducks. It doesn’t get a whole lot better than that.

As he pulled his boat onto the dike and attempted to winch it upward, Joel discovered the clutch was burned out on his boat’s winch. Unfortunately, the mechanical failure wasn’t realized until Joel’s boat slid backward down the dike and the back half filled with water. Joel realized this initially comical morning was quickly turning into a hazardous situation. Being alone with no cell phone on a low tide in a vast south Georgia swamp is a situation no duck hunter envies.

After taking a moment to think through possible solutions, Joel decided to use his collegiate rugby days to his advantage. Squatting underneath the abrasive cables, he placed them on his shoulders and proceeded to squat the entire weight of his boat inch-by-inch up the dike.

For more than three hours, Joel shimmied his 16-foot boat up the obstacle little-by-little. With very little potable water onboard, Joel was thirsty and exhausted. Imagine jogging in full duck-hunting gear. Now, imagine squatting the entire weight of a 16-foot boat and motor up a 25-degree incline for more than three hours. Who says hunting isn’t a sport?

After three hours, Joel became discouraged and had thoughts of staying put and spending the night. Josh knew where he was, as did his family, but he did not want to worry anyone. But he also had to be at work in the morning. He was going to get out, and get out now. Squatting under the cables again, his shoulders bloodied, Joel lifted. With one final heave, Joel hauled his boat the final inch and eased it down the other side of the dike.

Five hours, two fouled spark plugs and a spent rev limiter later, Joel made it back to the hotel to find his long-time buddy giggling at cartoons. It was the last thing Joel wanted to see after being stuck in the mud all day.

“What in the world happened to you?” grinned Josh. “You look like swamp thing!”

Joel replied, “Shut up Josh. Just shut up. Pack your stuff. We’re leaving.”

Land, Land Everywhere,
But Not A Place To Stand

Joel got his chance to return that swamp thing comment. During a mid-season trip to their home lake of Oconee, the duo was prepared to see a lot of birds in one of their historically productive holes. Although Oconee can receive a good bit of hunting pressure, the duo looked forward to hunting their secret spot. While their minds were filled with quick limits of mallards and wood ducks, little did they know a quick morning hunt would turn into a full-on anxiety attack and claustrophobic conundrum for one of the hunters.

As they eased into the back of a creek, they were immediately taken aback that the “creek” had turned into nothing short of a stream. They were expecting low water, but nothing of this nature. Stumps, once-hidden brushpiles and soupy mud littered the once-aquatic landscape. By miracle and a lot of boat pushing, the hunting team made it to their desired spot and pulled the boat onto a concealed bank. With stuffed decoy bags, dove stools and shotguns in tow, the two hunters looked like a pair of redneck Santa Clause impersonators.

“Josh, let’s walk down the bank a little bit and then cross,” said Joel.

Josh replied in a whisper, “Don’t be a wuss. Let’s just get the hard part over with.”

Reluctantly following Josh’s lead, Joel started across the mud flat to their desired spot. As the thick mud sucked at their waders, the duo was making headway. That is, until Josh sunk up to his armpits in mud.

Joel let out a muffled snicker as if to say, “I told you so,” before realizing it wasn’t a laughing matter. His buddy literally could not move an inch.

“Just crawl out; we’ll turn around and go the other way,” said Joel.

Josh replied, “I can’t move my legs, man. I’m seriously stuck.”

Every time Josh attempted to move his legs, he sank deeper into the mud. Starting to feel claustrophobic with mud pushing against his chest, Josh began hyperventilating uncontrollably. Still laughing, as only a true hunting buddy would do, Joel tried his best to calm his friend down.

“Relax bud. You’re not going to drown in the mud! Take deep breaths, gather yourself, and get on out of there,” Joel said. “We’ve got ducks to kill, and you’re holding us up!”

In an attempt to distribute his surface area, Josh began using his dove stool as leverage against the glue-like mud. Thanks to slick, muddy hands, however, Josh dropped the stool into the mud, never to be seen again. Trying to gather himself and think of an alternative way out, he reached for his decoy bag. Using the bag to pull himself on top of the mud, Josh wiggled for about 15 minutes and emerged from the mud unharmed. Finally free, the next step was to get him clean. After all, the ever-supportive Joel wouldn’t let a muddy Josh in his truck or boat.

“Looks like you need to get in the water and wash off!” laughed Joel.

Josh replied, “The water is 45 degrees, Joel. It ain’t happening.”

“Have fun walking then!” Josh said.

As Josh reluctantly plunged into the frigid water to rinse off the mud, Joel made sure to take plenty of pictures. Why, you ask? So he could make sure to embarrass Josh every chance he got. After all, what else is a hunting buddy good for?

Because Josh and Joel duck hunt the hard way, episodes like these are bound to happen, but often they are rewarded for their persistence with the kind of shooting many Georgia duck hunters can only dream of. It reminds us duck hunters are a different breed.

If you plan on duck hunting the hard way, it is important to bring your sense of humor along. You would be surprised how much more enjoyable your hunts will be if you laugh along the way. As the saying goes, “Never get so caught up in the results that you forget to enjoy the journey.”