Jim Caramore has carved so many duck decoys over the years that his handmade birds have found their way into homes and collections from Alaska to England, with stops in California, Louisiana, France and plenty of places in between.

But to appreciate just how much joy Caramore gets from making them, you need only spend a few minutes with him in his Calverton garage.

Surrounded by stacks of colorful ducks, pieces of cork, cedar wood and a lifetime’s accumulation of tools, the retired Nassau County police officer is like a kid showing off his favorite toys.

He reaches for one bird, then another, explaining the differences between species, demonstrating how he shapes their heads and proudly pointing out the little details that distinguish one creation from the next.

His eyes light up as he talks about his handiwork. There’s an infectious, happy-go-lucky quality to Caramore, a man who clearly loves what he does and seems just as delighted to share his creations as he is to make them.

And he’s made an extraordinary number of them.

By his own estimate, Caramore has carved roughly 3,500 duck decoys over the decades, each fashioned by hand, one bird at a time.

In his most productive years, he turned out more than 200 annually. Hundreds have been sold, hundreds more given away to friends and acquaintances, sometimes in such quantities that even Caramore is surprised by his own generosity.

These days, he works at his own pace. Sometimes he carves birds. Other days he cuts wooden heads, prepares cork bodies or makes the wooden dowels that hold everything together.

“I’m always in the mood to do something different,” he said.

A duck blind in Hempstead Harbor

Caramore’s fascination with decoys began decades ago, when he was a young Nassau County police officer assigned to the Sixth Precinct.

A fellow officer invited him duck hunting on Hempstead Harbor.

Caramore had never hunted before and wasn’t particularly sure what he was doing. The two men spent the day in a duck blind without much success.

But something caught his attention: the rubber duck decoys his friend had brought along.

The birds fascinated him.

Woodworking was already in his blood. His grandfather, for whom he was named, was a master carpenter who Caramore said helped build much of Queens Village. He was also an old school taskmaster who insisted that everything be done by hand.

Caramore recalled family members joking that World War II had been a blessing because it allowed them to escape working under his grandfather’s watchful eye. That reverence for craftsmanship left a lasting impression.

Over the years, Caramore built furniture, tables and even a grandfather clock. His garage workbench, mounted on wheels so he can move it wherever he needs it, is another of his creations.

“I’ve always played with carpentry,” he said.

But those rubber ducks in Hempstead Harbor inspired something different, that Caramore decided to try making his own. His earliest efforts were entirely self-taught, including a broadbill decoy he remembers admiring with considerable satisfaction.

He thought he’d become pretty good at carving.

Then he met Al McCormick.

‘Mr. Decoy’

McCormick, a renowned Long Island decoy carver from Westbury, was known affectionately as “Mr. Decoy.”

A World War II Navy Seabee, McCormick possessed extraordinary woodworking skills and an almost unbelievable ability to transform ordinary materials into intricate duck decoys.

Caramore remembers watching him turn a simple block of wood into a beautifully shaped duck’s head in 15 or 20 minutes.

“He was a machine,” Caramore said, shaking his head at the memory. “I never seen anybody like it.”

McCormick fashioned his own carving knives, sometimes grinding down old steak knives to create specialized blades capable of reaching tight spaces around a bird’s bill. He even built a wooden drill press to ensure the holes he drilled into large goose heads were perfectly centered. His patterns were frequently cut from discarded metal baseboard heating covers. Nothing went to waste.

Caramore estimates McCormick carved at least 55,000 birds during his lifetime, along with countless additional heads.

The two became close friends. Caramore even lived with McCormick for nearly a year during a difficult period following his divorce.

McCormick’s influence extended well beyond carving techniques. He represented a kind of craftsmanship Caramore deeply admired: resourceful, patient and utterly devoted to the work. Caramore still treasures examples of McCormick’s carving and patterns.

During the interview, he proudly displayed one of his mentor’s broadbill heads, marveling once again at the speed and skill required to make it.

His own version, he acknowledged, took about 40 minutes.

“I’m never going to be an Al,” he said cheerfully. “That’s okay. I don’t care.”

A floating work of art

Caramore’s decoys begin with surprisingly ordinary materials.

The bodies are fashioned from thick sheets of cork, cut into shapes using a band saw. The heads are carved from cedar, sometimes salvaged from old fence posts or discarded lumber.  He uses pine boards for the bottoms, wooden dowels to secure the heads and waterproof adhesive to hold the bodies together.

The finished birds are painted and protected with spar varnish. He even brands the bottoms with his own maker’s mark. The process is practical, economical and deeply personal to the retired cop.

An old cedar post that someone else might toss into a dumpster can become the head of a mallard, teal or wigeon. Caramore delights in showing how each piece fits together, turning a decoy upside down to demonstrate its construction or pulling out a wooden template to explain how he achieves a particular shape.

His birds are what carvers call working decoys — sturdy enough to be tossed into the water and used by hunters.

But Caramore suspects most never get wet.

“I’ll bet you 95% of the birds I sell or get rid of are never going to hit a bathtub,” he said.

Instead, they end up on mantels, shelves and in collections, appreciated as examples of traditional American folk art.

Caramore charges $35 per bird, regardless of species.

He also takes requests and has carved birds beyond the familiar ducks of Long Island’s bays and creeks, including seagulls, shorebirds and a full-size red-tailed hawk.

The hawk, he said, was a one-time undertaking.

A flock that traveled the world

Caramore’s international following developed largely through word of mouth and an unusual arrangement with a Maryland cork supplier. During the late 1980s and early 1990s, the owner of Chesapeake Decoy Works began promoting the work of eight decoy carvers, including Caramore.

The exposure introduced his birds to buyers far beyond Long Island.

Orders came from Louisiana, Oklahoma, England and elsewhere. Over time, his decoys spread across the country and overseas. Caramore can still rattle off many of the places where his creations have landed, often remembering the people who acquired them as vividly as the birds themselves.

Yet selling decoys has never seemed to be his principal motivation.

He gives them away freely, sometimes so freely that he loses track. One friend received approximately 150 decoys from Caramore’s collection. Another, in Oyster Bay, accumulated so many over the years that he eventually offered to return them.

“I knew I was generous,” Caramore said with a laugh. “I didn’t think I was that generous.”

(This reporter now owns two of Caramore’s creations).

The Calverton man finds particular pleasure in visiting someone’s home and unexpectedly spotting one of his creations.

“I’ll be working at somebody’s house, and oh, there’s one of my birds, and oh, there’s another one of my birds,” he said.

For a man who has spent a lifetime making things, there’s something especially satisfying about knowing his handiwork has become part of other people’s lives.

Passing along the tradition

Caramore is also helping ensure the craft continues with another generation. He has taken two younger men under his wing, teaching them the fundamentals of decoy carving. Both previously worked for a plumbing company that Caramore uses. A casual acquaintance developed into a friendship and eventually an apprenticeship.

One of the men, Ian, has become particularly adept at hunting down affordable carving materials through Facebook. That’s no small contribution.

Caramore remembers when a case of three cork sheets cost $45 or $50, delivered to his door. Today, he said, the same quantity can cost around $300.

Ian has located supplies being sold by former carvers and their families, including a substantial collection in the Albany area.

Caramore speaks about his two students with obvious affection. They’ve also returned his generosity, helping him move from his former home in Glen Cove when he needed assistance.

The carver estimates that in his Calverton community of 126 homes, he receives three or four calls a week from neighbors looking for assistance with repairs or other projects.

“If I can do it, I do it,” he said.

Although he spent 20 years as a Nassau County street cop, Caramore still considers himself a carpenter first. It’s the identity he inherited from his grandfather and the work that has brought him lasting satisfaction. He also builds and paints model trains, another outlet for his seemingly inexhaustible desire to create.

Asked what keeps him carving after all these years, Caramore paused briefly.

“I guess it’s the art,” he said. “I guess it’s the artist in me. I just enjoy creating.”

Caramore acknowledges that he’s slowing down. Some jobs, like roofing, are firmly in his past.

But he has no intention of putting away his tools.

“I hope I have a hammer in my hand the last day I’m alive,” he said.

Caramore can be reached at jabar@optonline.net.