The late Clarence "Patin" Faulk father of "Dud" Faulk, perhaps Louisiana's best-known call maker.

"The squeal type of calling came from rice farmers and those who lived on the marsh who heard the mottled duck and mallards all year long. I guess it was a macho thing to be able to make the squeal. I know lots of local guys who would not have a [mallard] call that wouldn't squeal, and very few of them ever gave a long call; nothing over seven, five or four notes. But then they knew how to work ducks . . . how to read ducks. They all knew their turf. If there's duck coming from the east, I won't call that duck. Experience over the years has told me that it won't do any good. Remembering what worked, what didn't and be willing to try something new, that's the key to success calling ducks. I will give them a five- or seven-note call, maybe on the high end of one of our variable-tone calls, and that will often really bring them. You'll hear guys on the marsh going quack, quack, quack over and over again, and that does no good because it doesn't sound like a duck. When a duck is circling I'll watch that duck and when he's starting to go off, I'll lay on the call. If he looks hesitant, I'll call him right into the blind. If not, I'll ease off," Haydel said.

According to Haydel, this sound originates from, "Ducks feeding on a rice field or elsewhere who have loaded up their crops, and that constricts the vocal cords. When ducks flying overhead hear that sound they think it was a good place to find groceries. Here's another thing about those calls. Most all of them were high pitched, and in the market hunting days, many hunters used English call ducks, who had higher pitched quacks. And what does it take to call a mallard in? Those high-pitched calls. It's logical to me. Although," Haydel continued, "In those early days there were so many more ducks, and Amos Faulk told me that they'd watch the ducks to see where they went, and then go set up there the next morning. Those were some salty people. They'd push a pirogue four or five miles through the marsh to get to where they wanted to hunt, then when they were through, they'd clean the ducks then go run their trap lines . . . that's full day," Haydel exclaimed.

Eli Haydel, the very successful Louisiana call maker, who discussed the history of Cajun calling with the author.

When I asked Haydel how to make this elusive squeal he said, "What you try to do is lock that call down. It's almost like you're trying to choke the call. You want it locked down about 99-percent. You've got to purse your lips too," he said. "I use the word 'ha vit' and that last bit helps make the squeal. Then it's a matter of practicing, and it will take a long time; and finally you'll get one note to squeal, then another. The squeal is just at the end of each note, a kind of little squeak at the very end of the sound."

Conclusion
I guess it all boils down to what Kirk Stancil, who with his brother Bobby now owns and runs the Hackberry Rod & Gun club, told me in 2004, "The most important thing out here on the marsh is sounding like a duck. We're the last stop on the migration, and by the time they get here the ducks have heard every kind of call and every kind of calling from Canada on down, so we have to try to imitate how the ducks sound on the marsh," Stansil said, "It's the only way . . . Get down, here come some right now!"