So I've been sitting around all day wishing I was in the marsh, dreaming of the new gear I cant afford and that Lab pup we cant have in our apartment... So my mind started to wander and drift back to duck seasons gone by. I remember my first duck, a Rudy Drake, I am remembering hauling decoys out in an Army duffle bag and wondering how I could afford shells or the gas it took to take a half day off of school, oh and the excuses why the school called and said I've missed class. I seem to recall that first Bull Sprig or the banded goose up at Harold S. Crane. Scouting trips all summer long, building blinds, and cleaning shotguns while watching the Robertson's before they where more popular than the Kardashians!!! My buddies old gun dog Sprig and the awesome retrieves she'd make for a downed bird. The openers when we should've stayed home and the 3 years serving in the Army while my buddies where slaying them in what is now the Legacy Preserve. My friend even had to be pulled out of the mud by the DWR (not his truck, he himself was stuck in mud up to his nipples). I cant help but think as I put my little one-year-old son to sleep the adventures we might have hunting together. the memories to come and the chance at some amazing hunts and slow days in the future. Duck hunting is so unique, the Marsh it self is a harsh mistress, but I wouldn't trade the past or the future for the world!!!