I'm going to Iowa on Thursday night so that I can experience the joy of sitting in a camouflaged boat out on the marsh while the sun comes up with some old friends and waiting for the ducks. In the last few minutes before the dawn, we'll all be silently praying that shooting hours and duck flight closely coincide. I'll be hoping for teal screaming by, crusing low over the dekes, mallards coming in with their orange feet up, and maybe a shoveler or a gadwall just to liven things up.
Of course, it's also possible that no ducks fly near or at all. That the marsh is quiet except for the sounds of eggs and bacon frying, coffee pouring out of thermoses and into cups held by cold fingers, and of friendly voices razzing each other about one thing or another. And that too is a good way to spend a morning. Since I haven't done either one in a couple years, I don't much care.