From Food to Fowl and Fishing, Academy Cast and Blast Was a Texas Treat

Duck hunting in Texas goes back for centuries. Indigenous peoples hunted waterfowl in the coastal waterways along what's now called the Gulf of Mexico. Post-European settlement, Spanish, French, and Mexican folks chased ducks and geese across this massive wetland. However, by the late 1800s, market hunters got word of this waterfowl paradise and decimated duck populations until the enactment of several conservation-based laws and the outlawing of large-scale firearms such as punt guns. I knew there was a long history of duck hunting in these parts, and when I got the chance to experience it for the first time myself, I was fascinated. That intrigue increased once I met the person I'd be hunting with.

R.K. Sawyer, the author of A Hundred Years of Texas Waterfowl Hunting (as well as two other books on the subject), encapsulates Texas' duck-laden history from the 1870s through the 1970s. He was also my hunting guide while chasing teal at Spread Oaks Ranch in Markham, Texas, at Academy Sports + Outdoors' annual Cast & Blast hunting and fishing event. I even caught him saying "wooderfowl" in an accent indicative of Maryland's eastern shore, where my family is from. We reflected on our time spent in the Ward Museum of Waterfowl Art once we made the connection, and I knew that these signs pointed towards a fun, exciting trip.

Spread Oaks Ranch

The ranch is a 5,500-acre private property planted in some of the best waterfowl country in Texas. Not only are literally hundreds of migratory birds on the property, but the working ranch is also home to longhorns, beef cattle, a riding mule, and a 25-year-old mini horse named Karen. Karen loves carrots, by the way.

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In addition to the animal life both wild and domesticated, the property is also home to a large bass pond, a skeet shooting range, a hydroponic garden, and the best darn key lime moonshine you'll ever have. It's unbelievable how much there is to manage there between the guest houses, recreational facilities, and restored wildlife habitats.

Sawyer and the other conservationists working at Spread Oaks were beaming with pride when describing how hard they've worked to create high-quality duck habitat out of the property's rice fields.

"As long as you have carbs for the ducks early and protein for them late in the season, that's good Texas duck habitat," Sawyer told me in the duck blind. He then lifted his blue-winged teal call to his lips and let out a few ear-splitting blows. A flock of teal came into his decoy spread like clockwork.

"And this is where we shot a gator!" exclaimed chef Ric Rosser as we zipped by an non-foreboding corner of the property while on a side-by-side tour. He was decked out in muck boots, cargo shorts, and a huge grin; his welcoming, disarming, and high-energy character made everyone at the event feel right at home. In under an hour, I watched this man go from mud-tromping hooligan to no-nonsense master chef. You know he's got stories up his sleeve.

Rosser fed us as if we were royalty throughout the entire weekend. Dishes ranged from breaded pork chops to pecan pie and finely cured meats. Even the Caesar salad was to die for; it had lightly grated aged duck egg on top.

It Started With Blasting

When the Academy folks, my media colleagues, and I weren't stuffing our faces with home-grown meats and vegetables, we were in a duck blind or on the water. Academy's Cast & Blast weekend featured three main events: teal hunting, bass fishing, and redfish fishing. Aside from bass fishing, I had never done any of these activities before. I also had never bass fished at night.  I was really in for a treat.

Visiting from Colorado, I was taken aback by the August sun and temperatures in south Texas. Nighttime temps were already into the 40s back at home; yet at the ranch, the coolest it ever got was maybe 65. Thankfully, Academy had us all covered. Their Magellan Outdoors women's line not only functioned excellently, but it also looked great, too. Over the entire weekend, I shot ducks and caught fish, all while remaining pleasantly comfortable.

Donning a long sleeve, khaki pants, and waterproof boots, I met with the rest of the crew in the bunkhouse before dawn. Bugs chirped in the darkness as we loaded into several OHVs and headed for the duck blinds. Sawyer's black lab yipped in the back seat, noisily expressing her love for duck hunting even at 10 years old.

"This might be her last duck hunt ever," Sawyer said. I didn't believe him.

Blue-winged teal landed in our decoys before the first glimpses of dawn. Nervous to be hunting them for the first time, I familiarized myself with my firearm. It felt good; it fit my hands, my shoulder, and my arms. A sense of confidence began to grow.

Legal shooting light rolled around, and shots started going off around me. Sawyer let some duck calls rip, his pup kept up her yelping, and teal came in all morning. I couldn't believe the sheer number of blue wings I saw, let alone how many other waterfowl species called that rice field home. Egrets, herons, and shorebirds soared through the sunrise. 

"I've got the water levels just right for this time of year," said Sawyer, happy to see the results of his field work paying off. He pulled some duckweed out of the water. "This is what they're eating. See the paths they make through it?" 

Not long after, a teal was crippled. Sawyer doesn't leave cripples. "Gabby, shoot it," he told me, and I did. "First kill!" He put his hand on my shoulder. He released his dog, and she bounded through the water like an otter, grabbing the duck and bringing it straight back to his hand. Sawyer added it to the rapidly growing pile of birds at the bottom of the blind. I got to gingerly thread their heads through the game strap. Even during the early season when their molt isn't quite complete, those teal were absolutely beautiful.

After heading back to the ranch and enjoying a life-altering cured meat sandwich on homemade bread, I hit the range with the Academy crew for some trap shooting. I swear it'd been at least three years since I'd shot shotguns at the range; admittedly, I was a little nervous about this, too. But I spotted an over/under on the gun rack. It was a Yildiz Legacy 20 gauge. I'd been eyeballing some break-action shotguns prior to the event and was excited by the idea of shooting a gun format that was new to me. One of the ranch guides and I both laughed when I ejected my two shells into my face the first time I shot it. It broke the ice; as it turns out, he's an expert skeet shooter and had a belt buckle to prove it. He kindly answered my random questions about his high school shotgun practices.

"We'd have to shoot for hours every day after school," he said. My shoulder would probably fall off.

After a few more ejection mishaps, I ended up winning a friendly round of skeet by a few points. Based on how much I enjoyed the morning, I was already plotting how I could hunt ducks back at home. Learning to shoot a shotgun seemed much less intimidating after that. Soon after, we got the signal from Academy that it was time to stick to the schedule and go bass fishing.

Casting for Largemouth Bass and Redfish

Mike Nelson gave us the rundown on Academy's fishing gear. Rarely does someone so obviously love their work as much as Mike. He knew every detail about every piece of gear and was truly excited to tell you about it. After I got matched with a spin rod and a box of lures, I hit the bass pond in search of a monster.

Bass weren't the only fish in the water. Alligator gar called it home, too. You could see them in the water, their slim profiles slicing like a torpedo through the grasses, the sun bouncing off their gnarly teeth. I got to see one up close when it decided to bite a colleague's lure; I admit I was happy not to be the one who had to pull a treble hook from its jaws. Since the mid-afternoon fishing was pretty slow, a few of us decided to hit the pond again that night after dinner.

Night fishing for bass was surreal. After turning off your headlamp, you really can't see crap. Knowing that not only alligator gar but actual alligators were on the property would make any angler more aware of their surroundings, too. But I felt for my line, casted my rod, and missed a bunch of bass because I set the hook on my topwater frog too early. Even without catching a fish, though, it was worth it to fend off all the mosquitoes just to listen to the bass slap the water. With my belly full of beef shank and custard, I returned to my second-story king suite in the guest house to get a good night's sleep in preparation for redfish fishing.

I've only fished in the ocean one other time. Earlier this spring, I went on a trip to Pensacola, Florida, and fished for an afternoon in the bay. The high noon sun pierced through the aquamarine water and cast a shadow on schools of fish all throughout the shallows. My subconscious must have picked up on the perfect conditions, because I've never had a better day of casting in my life. Fish after fish nailed my white bucktail; rainbow trout simply don't hit like that in Colorado.

Based on my prior experience, to say I was stoked to fish in the ocean is an understatement. Decked out in my Magellan Pro fishing gear, I met up with everyone in the main house, and we carpooled our way to Matagorda Bay. Stepping into the parking lot, the salty air filled my nose and curly hair. Fishing guides were waiting for us at the dock. and I boarded a fishing boat with angler Stetson Blaylock and Academy's senior manager Dylan Frederick.

"The woman on the front of the boat always catches the biggest fish," said our guide when we anchored into the bay. For the first hour or so, nontarget species such as spectacled trout, sea trout, and croaker found themselves at the ends of our lines. However, after putting on the smallest shrimp in the bucket and feeling a little lucky, I flung my line into the water yet again. Based on a recommendation from our guide, I gave the bait a twitch. Then another. Then, something big hit. It was definitely not a croaker this time.

After a short yet powerful fight, I was able to pull the redfish into the boat with much help from our guide's netting skills. It was the biggest ocean fish I'd caught to date. Its beautiful salmony hues faded into a shade of golden sand under its thick scales. A black sun tipped its tail on either side, a spot so deep and dark that it's become the iconic image of this delicious fish.

"Wanna keep it?" asked the guide. 

"Absolutely. You called it!" I replied. I already had a recipe in mind.

Later in the morning, our guide also caught a legal redfish. He added it to my fish pile and, after we docked the boat, showed me how to "put them on the half-shell," too. It was my first time using an electric blade for filleting a fish; my knife for filleting trout is about a quarter of the size. Together, we put them into a bag of ice, and I kept it with me in the car all the way back to the ranch. I added it to my Magellan soft-sided cooler along with my teal. I bet that cooler will fit right in my suitcase, I thought to myself. It sure did.

The Essence of Texas

This truly Texas experience was something I'll never forget all thanks to Academy. Getting a taste of both teal hunting and chasing redfish makes me want to come back to Texas again and again. Plus, as a total bird nerd, it was incredible to experience such high-quality waterfowl habitat in a uniquely Texan environment. The land, water, and wildlife were all happy at Spread Oaks, and its stewards were, too. It shows through their hospitality, culinary creations, and care.

Before I left, I peppered the chefs with questions. Why was that pork so tender? How did you pickle those jalapeños? Is there any pecan pie left? I snagged Sawyer's favorite teal recipe, too. Bringing the flavors of Texas back home was the greatest treat of all.

READ MORE: I HUNTED WITH ACADEMY'S ATA ARMS AND YILDIZ SHOTGUNS, AND HERE'S WHAT I THOUGHT