Mechanic Arts High School - M Yearbook (St Paul, MN)

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THE MU ALL WET By CLIFFORD JOHNSON, '29 The morning was grey and damp, Everything was sodden and stiff from frozen dew. An autumnal sun half-heartedly tried to shine behind a veil of grey snow or rain clouds. Boats were scarce and the scow we had secured was the world's worst. It was about ten feet long, two feet wide, and six inches deep, a typical duck boat. It was half filled with water which we bailed out with a tin can. We laid a layer of gunny sacks on the bottom, and I got into the front. You paddle a duck boat like a canoe, so I got down on my knees, and the water joyfully gurgled through the sacks giving my pants from the knees down a perfect bath. Wild Rice Lake is choked with wild rice and bullrushes and it's not the easiest thing in the world to cross it. The boatman now gave us a long pole to help us move, and my dad being the other occupant of the ship was made chief poler. The other boat in our party was occupied by my brother and my uncle. After an hour of steady pushing, pulling, backing up, and going ahead, we reached the approximate center of the lake and stopped. As the 'sun was scheduled to rise at six o'clock and shooting did not begin until Eve-thirty o'clock, I took a richly deserved rest of fifteen minutes. At six-thirty a. m. the fireworks went off and all over the lake guns could be heard whamming away. Any ducks or hens on the lake would have died of fright. I sat up. all attention for about twenty minutes and then fell into a doze. It was beastly cold and the boat. including the handles of the paddles, was sheeted in ice. I was dreaming of fires, beautiful rosy, red fires, crackling and snapping fires, when all of a sudden my dad's gun went off with a ker-Wham and my end of the boat rose out of the water. About twenty-five feet away on the water lay a blue gray rice hen, just the color of a black eye. Thus we spent the morning pushing here and pushing there, ker-plunk- ing this and ker-plunking that until about eleven o'clock. It had been dull for about an hour and not a bird was on the wing. After spending this time admiring the gracefulness of the weeds, the wet- ness of the water, and munching a half wet ham sandwich, I decided to get up and look around. I I got to my feet all right in spite of the fact that my legs were shaking from having been bent and cramped for hours. Suddenly out of nowhere came a whirr of wings and from behind us rose a flock of mallards about ten strong. I swung half way around. put my gun to my shoulder, took aim, Iired, and quietly flopped over the end of the boat into the water while the ducks flew on their way. The water was only about two feet deep but the mud beneath it was twenty-five to its bottom. The water was covered with scum and little water flies flitted over the surface. I sank up to my waist in mud, and the water lapped against my face while the little flies succeeded in ravishing all the exposed portions of my anatomy. I yelled and my voice gurgled as my mouth Elled with water and bugs. My dad threw me the pole, which supported me some, and called to the other boat. Between the pole and boat I kept myself above water until the other boat came up. Then came the problem of raising me into the boat. This my uncle solved. My brother threw his weight on the opposite side oef their boat while my uncle, clutching hold of the seat of my trousers hoisted me up. By the time we reached the shore, my hands were shaking so that I could hardly hold the paddle and by the time I reached the house my clothes were frozen stiff. In the rosy warmth of the open fire in the living room of the farm house I sat toasting my toes and wearing the pajamas of the farmer which fit me like a tent, having decided that duck hunting was all wet. Page Sixteen

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