In 1947, I would have been eleven years old. World War II had been over for a couple of years and people, places, and things were getting back to normal. My father, along with a friend named Lewis Cutrer, who later became Mayor of Houston, had leased Pilot Lake for the purpose of Duck Hunting. Pilot Lake is now a part of Brazos Bend State Park. The lake and land upon which the Park sits was owned by the Herman Hale family before it was conveyed to the State of Texas, and Mr. Hale was a friend of both my father and Mr. Cutrer's. The Hale family had owned the land since not long after Texas became a state.
Duck Hunting on Pilot Lake was a strenuous affair for a boy of eleven. Pilot was overrun with alligators during the warm months, and while they did not leave when its waters got cold, the would "burrow-up" and become dormant. This is not to say you did not think about them when wading in its cold waters during duck season. While my father had been quick to take me dove and squirrel hunting, he had been slow to subject me to the trails and tribulations of Pilot Lake. And while I begged him to take me, my mother was quick to say no, envisioning her youngest being swallowed up by some gator, wintertime or not.
Finally, in the winter of '47, my father was able to convince my mother that he could and would protect me from the jaws of any predator or from drowning. So early one cold and foggy morn my father and I arose and drove to Pilot Lake. I do not have a memory why my brother Don did not go with us, but this day it was just a Jack and Dad hunt. My dad parked the car by the lake's shore, and we began to unload our gear from the '46 Chevrolet in which we had made the trip. Our equipment included my dad's shotgun, a 12 gauge model 12 Browning semi-auto. For myself, I carried a .410 single shot Stevens. Also, we had a couple of burlap bags of decoys. My Father had a ten foot skiff that was pulled up on the shore among the bean trees that covered the lake. We placed the guns and decoys into the boat and started to push it through a path cut to the center of the lake where the duck blind stood. Back at the car my dad and I had put on thigh-high rubber boots. I had borrowed my brother's boots, which were much too big for me, and as we moved through the water it was lapping over the boot's tops. I did not have my own boots because, as I said, they were expensive and in short supply. Anyway, we slugged through the dark waters.. me thinking all the while of the alligators I knew were sleeping under the water. The water filling my boots made for slow going, but we eventually arrived at the blind. I crawled into the blind and sat there while my father busily arranged our decoys in front of the blind. During this time, for my first time, I could hear the ducks wings cutting through the air as they flew overhead, a sound you never forget. After my dad had finished with the decoys, he waded over and got in. We still had a few minutes until the legal shooting time, thirty minutes before sunrise, so we sat there and enjoyed the sounds of the day coming alive! Finally, my dad said we were okay to shoot, we stopped talking and got real still. Several ducks came close enough to shoot, and my dad accommodated them. He had a couple of ducks on the water when a beautiful Mallard drake lit right in front of the blind some 20 or 25 yards away. My Dad whispered "Take him." I raised the .410 to my shoulder. One shot was all it took... and was all I had... and the Mallard's head fell over into the water. My dad patted me on the back -- no high-fives that long ago -- and said "Good shooting." That was it for me that day, but I went on to enjoy many duck hunts; although, I never had one as memorable as the one among the gators of Pilot Lake.
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