Surely, these people think getting a handful of ducks is hardly worth the discomfort of climbing out of a warm bed, heading out into the darkness of a cold fall morning, lugging a pile of equipment around and then sitting motionless for hours on end. What these people will never know is that a waterfowler s pleasure comes not from a full bag, but rather from a full soul. That we measure our happiness not in birds taken, but rather in days spent afield with trusted friends, trusty smoothbores and trusting dogs. For us, autumn skies without ducks and geese would be like sleep without dreams. The waterfowler s world is one that sates all the senses.
Sights burn themselves forever in our minds.
An apricot sun bullying its way up through dawn s indigo sky. Hard-banking bluebills slicing their way through the decoys at breakneck speed. Miles of golden-hued wheat and barley stubble. Graceful Canada geese flaring at the blind, climbing skyward like homesick angels. The veil of morning s mist rising like a theatre curtain revealing a brilliant kaleidoscope of natural colours.