While I have thoroughly enjoyed my new position as chef of Cheyenne Ridge North Platte Outpost, trying new recipes, entertaining and cooking our delicious Prime Rib on a regular basis; it has been a wonderful experience to get a break from the kitchen. On a few very memorable occasions I got to explore the lands owned by the Weinreis family. My first being the very last day of duck hunting season on the North Platte.

That morning, in the company of my husband, Jim McKenzie (head guide/manager for Cheyenne Ridge North Platte Outpost), Ross Juelfs, lead guide, and a friend of Ross’, Toby; I was formally introduced to the world of water fowling. As I had never been duck hunting before I was not sure what to expect. Shortly after getting set up in the blind, the ducks started coming in. The guys were generous enough to let me shoot first, and of course, I missed. They chalked it up to me just needing “a warm up” and was ready to go. Not but a few moments later a duck came streaking down the river to the blind, moving left to right. With me being a left handed shooter, as Jim put it, it was a natural shot for me. I nailed the drake mallard and he dropped instantly; right under Jim’s shot I might add. From there on out, I was hooked and it was on. The rest of our hunt went splendidly, I witnessed Ross’ impressive duck and goose calling; Jim’s great shot on a duck we all thought was too fast and Liscoe’s (Ross’ dog) enthusiasm at each duck that hit the water.  My first sight of the mallards spilling air as they dropped into the decoys was one to behold and I quickly learned what being covered up meant as well. We limited out at about 10:15 and it was time for the second part of the morning. Our float trip.

We put in at the west end of the property, Jim and Ross in the canoe and myself in my kayak, looking for decoys that slipped away during the season. To my delight, I found much more than runaway ducks. I have paddled rivers, lakes and parts of the Atlantic Ocean, but nothing prepared me for the North Platte River. The sheer amount of ducks around every corner was astounding. Every turn brought the concert of calls and the beating of wings upon the water. Bald eagles rested upon the tree tops, waiting for the unfortunate, injured bird to make itself known. The “highways” where the whitetails cross the river apparent everywhere. Each twist of the river was a treat for the eyes, heart and soul; such beauty rarely witnessed. The east end of the property came all too quickly for me, I could have stayed on the river all day, but the experience is one I will never forget. The trip was as successful at our hunt earlier; I had bagged my limit again, my kayak limit that is, four mallards and a Canada Goose.