Ab loved to talk ducks.

He once showed me a hand-carved decoy (one of the dozens) set out and picked up daily to lure the bunches in close enough to kill.

Techniques in gunning varied with the market hunters. Many used punt guns mounted on bows of sneak boats, loaded with shot, nails, and shrapnel, fired while aimed into resting flocks of birds.

During Ab's stories, he indicated that his gang thought punts to be not very efficient, as they preferred the Model 12, seven-shot pump gun or extended magazines on Browning A-5s. Either way, "water volleys" were followed by wing shots and hasty cripple cleanup.

His tales featured mass migrations, storms, and slaughter, always ending in detail about the labors of cleaning, packing in salt-laded barrels, and shipping the ducks to the St. Louis market. Hunting for money was a tough task, and many market hunting careers were short lived.

Mr. Zigrang and his partner continued their business, gunning in the late fall, winter and early spring when the abundance of birds and cold weather dictated the requirements to be profitable.

In 1913 the alarm sounded for professional hunters when Illinois reduced the waterfowl season from 225 to 105 days. The elimination of spring hunting spelled the beginning of the end. Then in 1918, the Migratory Bird Treaty Act between the U. S. and Canada brought the curtain down on the era of market hunting and the cast of characters that made its mark in the rich history of waterfowling.

Ab and his cohorts went their separate ways. He opened a store, some became commercial fishermen, and others sought their livelihood as shellers. They never lost the passion of 'fowling and the story is told that during the dark days of the depression, folks in Calhoun County would find "lots of ducks" lying on their porches, compliments of an ol' market hunter.

Zigrang (middle) with a pile of ducks killed during the Depression.

These men were not only local heroes--they were legends.

The Batchtown General Store closed in the late 1950's and Ab spent the remainder of his life residing in the storied Whitman Hotel located in tiny Brussels of Calhoun County. On occasion, I would visit my friend and share the sunny front porch of the Wittman, revisiting the past.

I have many reminders of my younger days, but the two favorites are an early hard rubber D-2 Olt plus a photo of Ab on his eightieth birthday holding his gun and limit of mallards taken out of his son Homer's duck hole.

Thanks to the tales and lessons of the old rivermen, the storied tradition of waterfowling lives on for the boys of autumn.