The North Shore

[Feathers and Fins]

It was a magical place a beautiful place, yet at the same time a scary place. The morning fog some days was only 10 feet above the ground you can walk a levee and look across it like a medieval battle scene; it even smelled like death with the decomposing earth around. But this place produced vast amounts of game to pursue and fish to catch.

Nighttime temperatures often dipped to freezing and daytime highs could be well over One Hundred degree’s. This place to me was home though.

The morning sun was unbelievable, to those who have never seen it dancing across not only the sky but the bottom of the clouds and on the water. The mountains surrounding it and the Great Salton Sea would catch its Morning and Evening rays the different ores in it would show many colors It was as if a master Painter had unfurled his canvas and was starting to paint a magnificent painting, as you just sat and watched. Greens, yellows, oranges, blues and purples it was as if all the colors of the rainbow did not want to be left out of the scene.

Fish were jumping and slashing about chasing baitfish all around leaving streams of water upon the canvas as if they too wanted to help the painter with his masterpiece. Small shore birds darting in every direction quail calling in the distant sage and mesquite. It was often hard to concentrate on the ducks that were coming in at you like guided missiles. Pintail were so thick some days you could have used a butterfly net so it seemed to get them, just like when you were a kid running around chasing the beautifully colored butterflies. Teal flew so close and so hard I actually had my hat nicked by more than one. The Canada and snow geese could always be heard but were difficult to hunt.

The area was certainly not for the novice to hunt it could take your life. There were many perils to this area from sink holes that only a trained eye could see as the ground to most just looked the same to the hazards underwater. There were old tractors, cars and building parts, worse of all old farm equipment that barnacles made sharper then when they were new, they could cut you to ribbons in a brush of the skin. Deep drop offs were another problem for any who dared to wade this area.

Your gun and gear was in just as equal a danger as your body, Salt weed and salt water would quickly rust anything metal and the muck could jam even a single shot shotgun. Nothing was safe or protected.

Yet every year countless people braved the area, they did it for the sheer number of waterfowl that could be found here. Now growing up with a club in this area I was afforded the luxury of watching my elders and learning from them when we chose to go out of the pits and jump shoot the open areas where those less fortunate hunted. We knew the area and were able to walk areas where others dared not because of the dangers. This was truly an area where heritage was passed on. For without the knowledge of those before it would have been too dangerous to hunt.

As I grew to a man I enjoyed the freelance much more than sitting in the pits and often was found wading these areas. I will never forget people stopping me and telling me how dangerous it was and then watching me casually walk out to a point a half mile from shore never getting more than knee deep in the water. They seemed amazed as they had tried getting there just to be turned around by waist deep muck. To me there was no danger but this was from being shown an old submerged road bed by my father and uncles when I was younger. It zigged and zagged and you had to know its path or be over your head quickly or stuck in the muck. But the rewards of trophy sized Corvina or limits of waterfowl made it more than worth the risk which to me were none as I learned the area well from those before me.

The mornings always started off the same, the old men were up first making coffee and a breakfast of bacon and eggs. They would wake the rest of us up one by one and we would take a shower to rinse off the sweat from the night’s sleep and wake ourselves up. It only took about a half hour just perfect time for breakfast to be finished. Everyone regardless of hunting the club or going out on the big water or freelancing the outside edges of club always sat down for breakfast together. It was a tradition that all family and friends be there and none would dare disrespect that.

The Club you see was founded by Worldly travelers of places called Guadalcanal, Tarawa, Iwo Jima and several had Marched from a place called Bataan, other members were in more familiar names like North Africa, Paris and Berlin. And when they came home made a promise they would gather each year and be thankful to be able to spend time with each other and their families but most importantly to remember friends who didn’t make the journey home.

We hunted the early morning for waterfowl usually done shooting by Eight A.M. we would return to the clubhouse and clean the morning’s game. We traded in our duck guns and heavy waders for smaller light weight more manageable light guns and jeans to chase the quail we had been hearing all morning.

These Quail were spirits that lived in the desert area in front of the clubs houses. They would run and fly law to the mesquite and sage brush making them just a glimpse and on occasion one would become non-spiritual and give the shooter the shot. We did this till noon when we returned to the clubhouse where by then the old men had cooked a lunch of duck fit for kings from the mornings shoot.

We would sit around laughing and eating this bounty with our friends and family. No matter how hot or cold it may have been. The food always seemed to make it comfortable. The comradely made all the world seem unimportant except for being there at that time and that place.

A quick step in the clubhouse after lunch would find many of us sleeping on the floor belly’s full and very content.

The old men were always playing pinochle or poker while we slept with all eyes on the barometer for if it started to fall we would all be woken as if a fire was in the clubhouse. They knew if it fell the Corvina would be biting and it was all men man the boats as we would launch them to chase those powerful delicious fish. If not we would get the Three P.M. wake up to return to the blinds to finish the days waterfowl hunting.

In the evenings it was all about eating freshly BBQ’ed steak and corn on the cob we picked while hunting quail. After dinner we would walk to the North pond only but a few steps from the tables we were eating at and toss our lines in the pond for some of the catfish that swam the water, or get in the old row boat and chase the big bass in it.

The kids myself included played on the island that our Grandfathers had built a fort that the Calvary would have been proud of in the Indian Wars; in fact several Calvary members had help build it. Their kids were the first to play in it then their grandkids.

Yet even with all that there was still so much more to this wonderland! The Great Lake it was built near offered skiing and diving opportunity beside the bountiful fish and game opportunities. The canals that fed the farm fields were wide with roads alongside them. Though today to many it would seem dangerous it was very common to see people water skiing in the canals being towed by a truck on the roads that ran alongside them.

This was also a place for the family as often the women would come as well during the cooler months, It was common to smell fresh pies or brownies being prepared or to see the women knitting or reading books while carefully keeping an eye on the kids. Here was a place you would never hear a person yelling at the kids for getting dirty or making a mess. This place was for kids to be kids no matter their age.

This was truly a dream place for a young man to grow up around family and friends. A place where you became a man in many ways! I think about this place often and usually end up picking up the phone to call one of the other boys I grew up with. At Forty Years plus we are still best of friends from the relationships we made back then. Where so many people have friends for but a few years, we are still friends after all these years. It was that place and those times that built relationships that last forever.

It was that simple place on the North Shore of the Great Salton Sea that memories that will last a life time were made.

[Mitch f]

Great story, I used to be quite the duck hunter myself.

[Feathers and Fins]

Mitch Hunting and fishing were so much a part of my families life its hard to find a memory not associated with it. Even Christmas dinner saw wildlife on the menu and always the talk about it. Where many people were taking ham sandwiches to school I was taking quail or chucker or some form of fish and game and home grown veggies.

Many thought it was weird but put a ham sandwich in front of me or quail and guess which one got ate first