Opening Day Bucket List

Cold and dark, only missing one element to make the perfect opening day of Wisconsin duck season. The easiest 4am wakeup of the year is here and our 9yr old black lab knows it’s business time. She paces next to our gear knowing her favorite day of the year has finally arrived.

Chug a cup of coffee, throw the gear on, dog in the back of the truck. Check, check, check.

We’re lucky enough to have hunted the same marsh for 3 generations, located next to one of the bigger preserved marshlands in Wisconsin. Ducks are sparce compared to the days when my grandfather had to fight the DNR for water rights, but tradition never dies. Have yet to miss an opening day with my old man since I’ve been able to shoulder his Remington 1187.

We drag a bag of decoys back to the north blind and trudge out to set up a spread. Sammie, not in her spry days anymore but still toting the same energy as the 4-month-old puppy we left at home, follows me around dragging decoy strings as I drop them. In the distance a beaver slaps its tail at us as a show of force that will never amount to anything.

Finally, everything is set and the 20-minute wait for first light begins.

Our shooting window is short with the birds being mostly local to the marsh, but we get some shooting in right away. Bird down, retrieve, repeat.

Shooting slows, but a pair of trumpeter swans swoop in and hang out with us for the morning. Later a bald eagle comes home with a fresh walleye. She eats while keeping a cautious eye on us from her nest on the other side of the marsh. The hunting might have slowed but it’s still the best place to sit and watch the world turn.

9 o’clock. Both the time and the direction a small flock of mallards swings in from. I call and they circle the decoys. Perfection. I let a shot out and two birds fall. Surprised, I don’t even get off a second.

Dad and I look at each other: “The hell just happened?”

As Sammie retrieves the first bird, I realize a box on my bucket list has been checked. We high five and discover the second bird’s fate is one duck hunters know all too well. It’s down, but not dead. Usually not a problem with a good dog, but while she retrieves the first, the downed greenhead swims off too far for a shot to be effective. Would it even count if I shoot again? Who cares, Sammie’ll find him.

Luckily the marsh is fairly shallow, so I avoid filling my waders on the 75yrd trek over to the beaver dam he swam behind. Sammie works back and forth over the swamp reeds but there’s no bird to be found. Half expecting a confrontation with our friendly neighborhood beaver, we search a good long while. As my insulated waders start to feel like a Swedish sauna, it kills me to realize that this bird could be lost to the marsh. We head back over the beaver dam and as Sammie hits the water the bird splashes away hoping his fate isn’t yet sealed.

Found him.