Thanks for the annual dove count down Stan.
Lots of good memories, but I mostly think of the simple stuff. When my boy was too little to shoot, he was sitting with me on a so so duck day. I was watching where I knew they would come from, he was watching in the other direction. Pretty calmly he whispers some are coming. He spotted them and by luck I got a clean double. He was the retriever and didn't want to walk out in ankle deep water about twenty feet out. After he got over the hump of that first retrieve, I had to call him back when it looked like he was going to get water over the top of the wrinkled up over sized waders on him later in the day. He was antsy to try, so I finally let him line up on a duck that had landed and was paddling around a good seventy yards away. He was way off, could barely steady the gun, but then he was in the hunt and couldn't wait for the next chance.
I like a lot of the memories of hunting alone. I like the feeling of a ten minute nap on the edge of a marsh after really busting my tail, getting all fired up, but now it's only nine in the morning and the limit is lined up near by. It's usually no fun while it's happening, but I remember the really bad weather hunts and never regretted it when I decided to go out. I like the rare times for me, waterfowl hunting in pea soup thick fog. You can hear birds around, but can only start to make them out when they're inside fifty feet. I'd rather be around a little bit of good dog work than do a lot of shooting.
