Burn notice
Millwright regains passion for life, duck hunting after being badly injured on the job
When an avalanche of steam exploded onto the floor of East Chicago, Indiana's Sun Coke Energy plant last year, the last thing on anyone's mind was duck hunting.
Bill Manoski was in the direct path of the blast, and as he dropped to his hands and knees, the only thing he was thinking about was getting away from the intense pain.
Before the accident, he planned to start duck hunting again. He hadn't gone in decades, having spent all of his time raising children and working.
Now, his plan to revive the sport he and his deceased father shared was on hold indefinitely.
Bill Manoski was in the direct path of the blast, and as he dropped to his hands and knees, the only thing he was thinking about was getting away from the intense pain. | 
Don Mulligan
Bill Manoski and his 30-year-old waders on their first duck hunt in three decades,
only a year after 20 percent of his body was badly burned in a work accident. |
Before the accident, he planned to start duck hunting again. He hadn't gone in decades, having spent all of his time raising children and working.
Now, his plan to revive the sport he and his deceased father shared was on hold indefinitely.
When Bill woke up in intensive care, he recalled coworkers tearing his clothes from his body. He later found out they continued to burn him even after he was far removed from the blast.
His hands, feet, arms, legs and part of his face suffered deep tissue burns, and required several surgeries to graft new skin.
A year has passed and some of the grafts are still causing him pain and trouble. He is far from healed, both physically and emotionally.
Nonetheless, Bill decided it was time to return to life. He went back to work, and started thinking about the duck hunt that was stolen from him the day the steam hit him.
A friendship renewed
Bill and I were inseparable in high school. We did things neither of us will ever admit to, and shared thousands of hours together scouring Indiana fields, ponds and woods looking for something to shoot.
We almost always came home with all the shotgun shells we had when we started the day, but didn't care.
When he asked if I wanted to go duck hunting this year, I was touched.
I asked him to come to my farm to hunt a five-acre beaver pond in one of my wooded valleys. Despite always seeing lots of ducks there, I had never taken time to hunt it.
A fitting setting for two guys duck hunting together again for the first time in 30 years.
Upon arrival in camp, we both started sorting through our gear. My decoys hadn't been wet in years and his waders looked like they could have fetched a few dollars on the Antiques Road Show.
"I tested them last week," he assured me. "They are airtight, I promise."
"I hope so," I answered. "I don't think they sell repair kits for 30-year-old rubber and canvas waders any more."
The next morning, the entire instep of one of his boots tore open the first time it hit water.
Thankfully, my waders were a little more up to the task, and I set the decoys in two-feet of water amongst hundreds of dead, flooded trees.
We tucked a couple stools into some swamp weeds on the bank and began the wait for daylight.
The old Bill would have seized the moment to tell me all the reasons why I am not only the worst shot he's ever met, but nothing more than an imposter among all the real outdoor writers in the world, but not the new Bill.
His near-death experience made him a different, more introspective person.
Since his accident, Manoski approaches hunting as more of a social gathering among friends than a simple opportunity to shoot at ducks. | 
Don Mulligan
Since his accident, Manoski approaches hunting as more of a social
gathering among friends than a simple opportunity to shoot at ducks. |
His near-death experience made him a different, more introspective person.
With his traditional predawn cigar glowing in the dark just a couple feet from my face, he uttered a question the old Bill would have never asked.
"So are you happy with your life," he asked, taking me by surprise.
"I don't know," I quickly answered. "I was sure you were going to ask me where I got those cheap decoys."
"Nope."
At first light something whistled overhead, but neither of shot.
"Was that blur a woodie?" I asked.
"Yes," he said.
"Remind me, is it ethical to let them land before we shoot?" I asked, knowing the answer.
"Certainly not," he added.
Evidently, neither of us remembered how fast wood ducks flew.
By the end of the morning, exactly 12 wood ducks flew or swam within gun range of our position, but neither of us ever pulled a trigger.
On one occasion I spotted three wood ducks swimming through our decoys that neither of us saw enter. They were gone before either of us even raised our gun.
Just like old times.
We ended Bill's fist duck hunt since the accident with just as many shells as when we started. Neither of us cared.
We were both just happy he was alive and ready to start hunting again.
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