Wading Through The Curse of Stack's Slough

Almost anyone who ever hunted Stack's Slough west of Hankinson N,D. frequently, can come up with some kind of crazy misadventure that happened to him there That's because that slough can throw some real challenges at you, especially if you hunt it by wading out into it with hip boots or waders. (That is now impossible due to high water.) Back in the mid 70's, Neal Johnson, Marty Heath and myself did a lot of that challenging kind of hunting, and on this particular afternoon in late September, the two well-known SSS biologists invited me to go along with them so they could scout out exactly where they wanted to hunt on this 2 mile long, heavily cat-tailed man-killer of a duck slough.

I agreed to go along not so much because I wanted to help them “break trail” through those seven foot high reeds, but that I wanted to hunt doves on a stock tank that was in the pasture bordering the slough on the south-east side. I had been through the ordeal of breaking trail through the reeds on previous hunts, and didn't exactly relish the idea of sweating and machete hacking through a sixty yard wide band of cattails to get to the open water where one could set out his decoys on opening morning.

When we got out there, things got interesting: the wind picked up to over 30 mph. Neal dropped me off at the stock tank, and then he and Marty drove on down about another block or so from which point they both disappeared into the the jungle of cat tails--,heading pretty much in an easterly direction. In the slough that angled northwest to southeast.

Well I had fairly challenging dove shooting with that wind and I remember burning up more than a box of low-base 8 shot shells. By quitting time I think I was still three birds short of a limit, but I decided I'd better get over to the car so I would be able to greet the trail blazers when they came out.

As darkness came on, I began to worry a little. They seemed to be really taking their time getting back to the car and then it dawned on me that they just might be lost. The clouds made it impossible to tell one's direction by the sunset or any stars. I had another box of shells so I began firing shots in the air, hoping they might be able to home in on the sound, but a half hour slid by and still no Neal and Marty.

Then, thankfully I heard a shout, “ Hay Gene, Where the hell are you?” “Over here!” And out of the darkness, bent low and trudging, emerged the two trail blazers. They had been lost, and had slogged at least an extra mile trying to find their way out. At one point Neal got Marty to climb up on his shoulders to see if they could see anything at all, but the reeds were too tall, and they almost fell down together, which would have made for an amusing “funniest home video,” but luckily no one was there to film the kaploosh!

As to whether they could hear my shooting, they flat out never heard anything but the howling of the wind and the swishing of the cat tails. Thankfully the adventure ended happily, and supplied Neal with material for many a tall retelling with all the trimmings. If you know Neal, you know how detailed he can tell a tale .He lives on Deer Lake Mn. Now, but when he visits Wahpeton he's always ready with a story or two. He is “the brief chronicler of our times.” (Hamlet, about the players of his day.)

As for me, I felt a little smug for having opted out of the Stack's slough safari, but I didn't miss realizing how close to a tragedy that trail blazing could have come. Luckily we were all young and strong. For an older guy, that slough might have been heart-attack city.

As always, we stopped at the great little cafe just off Highway 11 on Hankinson's south side. Hot Beef sandwiches, $1.75 and their blueberry pie ala mode .35 cents, never tasted so good. And we all did have good shooting opening morning. The trail they blazed going in was beautiful. Too bad they didn't take it back to the car that windy night. But Marty thought he knew a short cut, and thereby hangs the tale.

Gene Pinkney – 3/27/20 - For the Daily News