I bagged my first duck two weeks ago. And like any avid sportsman, I’d like to brag on myself and tell folks how difficult it was to bag my prey.

But the fact is, I’m not an avid sportsman, and it wasn’t difficult at all — in fact it was eerily simple.

But first, a little background.

I am not against hunting in any shape, form or fashion. It’s just not something I’m interested in. I’m happy there are lots of folks who are, because without their efforts the area’s deer herd would become unbelievably overpopulated. Eventually the oversaturation would cause the deer to basically kill themselves off — which isn’t a pretty thought.

With all of that said, hunting just never did much for me. Our family grew up with guns; we were taught how to use them and how to respect them. And as a child, I enjoyed going out into the woods and shooting things. My biggest problem, however, was that I didn’t like going into the woods at the crack of dawn, when I hear most good hunting occurs.

And since the practice of hunting at night has been outlawed for years, I’m out of luck. And that’s fine by me.

In 1999, I did bag my first deer.

Right there on Mississippi 42 just outside of Bassfield. My weapon of choice? A 1997 Toyota.

It’s hard to say I won the battle with the deer that day. Sure, it lost its life; but the incident cost me a $250 insurance deductible, and the odd feeling of having one of the deer’s mounted breathren staring at me in the body shop waiting room.

And my odd-outdoors luck would continue at the beginning of 2000.

While working on a story at St. Catherine Creek National Wildlife Refuge, Refuge Manager Jim Hall showed me some of the thousands of ducks at the refuge. The ducks are making their annual trip south and love to stop off at the refuge.

Jim was pointing out various species as they all took flight, scared by two large humans gawking at them. But after one flock took flight, we noticed one duck still sat by the edge of the roadside.

&uot;He must be dead,&uot; Jim said.

But as we stopped and got out, we saw it move.

I ran to the side, lifted a camera and squeezed off one frame of the film on the beautiful duck.

No sooner had I done so, than duck’s head swooned and fell softly into the water.

Me being the outdoor genius, I immediately thought it was hiding.

Jim corrected me.

&uot;Look at that,&uot; he said. &uot;I think he just died right there.&uot;

Jim reached over and fished the duck out of the water and examined it.

&uot;It’s a Northern Pintail,&uot; he explained. &uot;Something must have been wrong with it. It could have had a disease or it could have ingested some lead shot.&uot;

But I thought, it may have been my camera.

But Jim’s explanation made me feel a little less guilty.

As Jim tossed the duck carcass into the back of his truck alongside the morning’s roadkill du jour — a coyote hit by a motorist — he said something that made me chuckle.

&uot;When you shot that picture of it, you stole his soul,&uot; Jim said, making reference to belief by some early natives that cameras possessed the ability to steal one’s soul.

I don’t know about that, but I did feel a little like Grizzly Adams as I tossed the deadly Nikon into the lethal Toyota, climbed in and headed for home with another bizarre, non-traditional hunt under my belt.

Kevin Cooper is managing editor of The Democrat. He can be reached at (601) 445-3541 or by e-mail at kevin.cooper@natchezdemocrat.com.