The Gus Bus

Entry #12

My earliest duck hunts never began with a short ride in a windshield protected side by side that delivered us right to the duck hole where decoys were already in place. When I was a pre-teen and through my teenage years, our hunts never ended 1-3 hours later with ducks in tow and enjoying a big boy breakfast at home by 10:00 a.m. Who wouldn’t identify as a duck hunter if that was all there was to it?! 😎

My boyhood hunts were an all weekend experience! An adventure that began with a 20 minute jon boat ride in the dark down a swollen river with me holding that Wal-Mart flashlight that I referred to in a previous blog entry. We’d get in a couple three good hunts within that 48 hour weekend. Hunts that usually ended with ducks hanging from homemade lanyards which were essentially rope with handtied loops on each end for slip knots. My particular duck tote doubled as the belt for my rubber waders. So, what did we do during all those hours between hunts?

Our down time was spent in the ‘Gus Bus’ which was the brainchild of my grandfather Gus Albright. The Gus Bus was an old school bus painted green that proudly rested on the bank of a hairpin turn of the mighty White River. It was voided of it’s soldier lined rows of bench seats and retro fitted with bunk beds, a card table, folding chairs as well as a butane stove . Steering wheel and ragged driver’s seat were still in place and the entrance/exit was the original swinging door operated manually with a big chrome lever.

If you ever rode a bus to and from school, you’ll remember that you were surrounded by retractable windows and virtually no automotive insulation. The Gus Bus had no electricity and duck season was November - January. 🥶 Lights inside the Gus Bus were 1-2 Coleman propane lanterns hung on hooks dangling from the interior walls.

Repair for the Gus Bus after some jackass once took target practice with a rifle (probably as he boated by) was to stuff bullet holes with wads of fiberglass insulation. Other than that, no maintenance needed since the plan was for the bus to be there forever, ‘Into The Wild’ style with dry rotting tires and all.

Our afternoons were usually spent hunting or scouting the flooded bottoms for ducks. Either way, it left me exhausted and starving by dark-thirty. Dinner time meant two welcomed treats. One was food which meant the butane stove was fired up thus providing us the second comfort in the form of heat. 🔥

Since heat rises, I always claimed the top bunk. It stayed plenty toasty inside for at least a couple hours after the stove was turned off (for safety reasons). By now it would be about 7:00 p.m., pitch black dark outside and according to Gus, time for bed. I always made sure I was stretched out on that top bunk fully clothed while it was still warm because it wouldn’t be long before the temperature inside would be only sightly warmer than the temperature outside.

After hearing Gus’ plan for us the following morning and hoping the short lived heat inside the bus helped dry gear that was inevitably wet, it was time for entertainment. Laterns were turned off and the small transistor radio that was strapped to a west side window (for best reception) was turned on. The station never changed. It remained on the only frequency that broadcast Razorback basketball.

When the game ended, the challenge became dodging several obstacles that prevented me from getting a good night’s rest. Lights out meant the mice 🐭now took refuge inside the bus with us and could be easily heard foraging for leftovers. As unnerving as that can be for a kid, it was nothing compared to the distraction that was developing across the narrow aisle in the bed next to me.

The freight train sounds that came out of that man’s nose and mouth prevented slumber for me probably along with any wildlife within a 25 yard radius. Gus’ base toughness accompanied by his sub zero down filled North Face mummy bag kept him hibernated thru the entire night. Where as I struggled to keep my body temperature above 97 degrees fully dressed for next day inside my thin synthetic filled hand me down sleeping bag. Which, by now, had seemingly welcomed the frigid air inside with me.

The final obstacle was weighing the need to crawl down from that bunk to ‘use the forest’ versus the strong desire to stay curled up inside my bag. Sometimes the nerves that innervate the bladder made that decision very clear for me. So, I would descend, don my heavy coat and boots, pull that cold door lever and hustle outdoors for some relief. After which, I’d have to start the whole process of getting back to sleep all over again.

When that cartoon sized alarm clock sounded, I’d nearly jump out of my skin from the sheer volume. It was an old school alarm literally with two large bells 🔔on top and resting in a pie pan inches from my grandfather’s head. Because he was so hard of hearing, the pie pan was needed to ricochet the sound directly into his ears. 🙄 Good things were ahead once that alarm rang out….. stove on, breakfast prepared and then off to one of the five duck blinds strategically constructed on his property. Afterall, that is why we were there!

The discomfort of my sleeping arrangement would soon be erased by the sound of mallard wing beats all around followed by sunrise and their appearance in our faces. When you fold a greenhead🦆 in the timber, it’s like getting a birdie on number 18. It keeps you coming back whenever you are invited! “What time are we meeting next weekend Paw Paw?!”

Create Powerful Memories!

Jeff Chandler at Chan Outdoors

Me decades later with a mallard pair several hundred yards behind where the Gus Bus was parked.