On hunt day and arriving at the gate, I was expecting to unload a literal ton of gear. After all, that’s what the magazine said I needed. Instead, dad dropped down the tailgate of our old pickup and handed me two mallard decoys and one piece of folded up (and quite stinky) brown burlap. Confused, but trusting the seasoned hunter, I started my penguin-like walk toward the water. Luckily, dad carried my shotgun as I fumbled with the little bit of gear I had.

Walking over 100 miles, or what seemed like it with my clothing selection weighing me down, we made the quarter-mile hike to the water’s edge. We, or should I say dad, had read the local tide guide and timed our hunt with an incoming tide. One funny thing I remembered is that my dad had brought a fishing rod. At the time I just thought he might throw out a lure if the hunting was slow.

Surveying the shoreline, we selected a small spit of land that had an old log laying parallel to the beach. The way the tide was coming in, it created a nice little eddy that I’m sure a few sea-run cutthroat were hanging out below. It was explained that we would set the two decoys in the soft water behind the point and the ducks would fly right into this calm, protected water once they saw the decoys.

Unwrapping the 10-foot decoy line and decoy weights, I reared back and was ready to heave the decoy halfway to Canada when I heard a barking behind me. Not a dog, nope. It was my dad heightening his voice to inform me that we would be simply setting the decoys down at the water’s edge. Poking a little fun at him, I stated something to the effect of “yeah, like that’ll bring ’em in.” I’m lucky because my hunt mentor of a father had more patience than a tree. He explained the tide was on its way in (higher up the beach) and that within the hour, the decoys would be in perfect position.

Still, I quietly questioned his motives, but we moved on. The next to-do was the duck blind. Aw, I was ready to go gather tree limbs, pull up every piece of seaweed, and cover us up like professionals. Nope, wrong again. At the base of that slimy old tree that had been peacefully left by a high tide, he simply sat down behind the main part of the tree and the root wad. I went and sat down next to him on the open water side, and he laid the (still stinky) burlap across us like a throw blanket. This wasn’t what I had imagined at all! In my mind, there was NO WAY a smart ol’ duck would commit to our decoys with us just sitting there.

Finger to lips and a “shhhh” that followed, it was time to hunt. The shotgun was handed over. I cracked the barrel open, checked it for a shell, and held tight onto a yellow shotshell that was handed to me. Dad had purchased one box of shells. They were 2 ¾ inch, steel 2-shot for 20-gauge shotguns. We didn’t have to wait long. In my disbelief, two birds came screaming in like little fighter jets toward the point not 15 minutes later. Before my dad could ask, I barked out “BUFFLEHEADS” and the birds flared and sped off. Lesson quickly learned.