A Call from the Bayou Beast

If you were to search for the definition of a traditionalist in the dictionary, you would find the following, "an advocate of maintaining tradition, especially so as to resist change." I, for one, find this definition limited—failing to acknowledge the traditionalist’s role in honoring one's culture, keeping alive the experiences of one's youth, passing on what we’ve enjoyed to the new generation. 

One long-held Louisiana tradition is the practice of duck hunting. Tracing its origins to the Native American tribes that originally inhabited the land, the pursuit of waterfowl once involved the use of Bolas—a primitive throwing weapon that consisted of weights tied to the ends of interconnected cords, used to grab animals by tangling up their legs.  Some reports suggest the Native people also used nets to trap ducks in canals or other small bodies of water. The French and Spanish colonists came later, muskets in hand. Since then, the tradition has evolved to be an important part of Louisiana culture. Today, the older generation tells stories of ducks once darkening the sky in swarms, as recently as fifty years ago. 

Today, due to the grim reality of a declining migratory population, the sport is waning in followers. A reason for this decline of duck hunters is that today, fewer ducks are making it this far South. The rise in duck hunting further north and the shrinking of wetlands has made it harder for migratory ducks to find refuge here. A study conducted by Ducks Unlimited found that since the 1970s, Louisiana can support three million fewer ducks due to rising sea levels and declining habitat. At one point in time, Louisiana was the premier destination to duck hunt in the nation. Now, she struggles to maintain her coasts, shelter her wildlife, and keep her traditions going. 

[Read this: Could coastal restoration bring waterfowl back to the Maurepas Swamp?]

In certain corners of the state, though, traditionalists hold fast to the hunt and its associated culture. In Avoyelles Parish, you will find a man named Dale Bordelon. A tall, serious, French man—not Cajun, he is sure to point out—Bordelon has made a name for himself as the craftsman behind Bayou Beast Duck Calls. "A duck call is like a fine piece of art or a beautiful person; it just attracts me,” he told me when I made a recent visit to his workshop. This is where you’ll find him most weekends, working on calls made the traditional Louisiana way, with cane. "This is how the old Frenchmen did it," he explained. 

On a table just beside him are his tools:  pieces of river cane, rasps and files, pencils, and his famous jig. He has made everything he uses himself. "I refuse to have anything made,” he said. “It would be cheating." His workshop is warm with the scent of cypress shavings and cuts of river cane, all enclosed in shades of brown and metal. Here he works, not tirelessly but passionately, churning out a handful of cane calls a day. When I visited him, our conversation was frequently interrupted by the squeal of a call. Any chance he gets, Bordelon is practicing, and bettering his practice. 

Hunters have been using river cane calls in Louisiana since the 1850s, when visiting Midwesterners were out hunting ducks using a little pipe that sung. After that, the old Frenchmen sought to recreate the pipes, using the river cane growing abundantly throughout the region, which naturally has two holes on each end. They then learned how to widdle a Louisiana soundboard. And before they knew it, they had some of the first cane calls. Dale grew up watching the old timers regale him with hunting stories and showing off their cane calls. "These old people would come to our work, and they'd have their button string looped with a cane call,” he said. “It stays with them like their wives." This experience is how his fascination began.  

"I will tell you like this, that's my DNA, and that's me,” Bordelon said. It’s been over thirty years now since he started making the duck calls himself. "At first, I wasn't terrific. I couldn't make the call sing." But, after years of persistence and love for his heritage, Bordelon is now considered a master. On a good day, he can knock out five duck calls. He doesn't count, and he doesn't need to. He intends to keep doing this until the day he dies. "If I could live like I am doing and going to the camp and hearing their old stories, I would give away my entire bank account. If I knew I would live till ninety doing this, I would give it away tomorrow," he said.  “A lot of people are switching from duck hunting to deer hunting due to the fact there are less ducks coming to Louisiana than twenty years ago. Die-hard duck hunters like myself will never give it up. If we, Louisiana, were to let go of our hunting traditions, we will lose our heritage. Louisiana has so much duck hunting history. I guess I feel it is up to me to keep it alive, and I love it.” 

Keep up with Bordelon on the Bayou Beast Calls Facebook Page.