The waterfowl season on the prairies had been a good one. The stars had aligned -- I had the blessing of my household's "management," the weather and the birds had cooperated and I'd successfully completed an early-season tour of duty through Manitoba and North Dakota. But the three-week, non-stop schedule had been grueling. I arrived back in Wisconsin, my home base, just past the middle of October, tired yet satisfied. Neither feeling lasted very long.

With mild weather patterns holding winter's icy grip at bay, good hunting conditions all across the northern prairies were set to last well past October. A lenient Mother Nature gave me another chance to go at it again. And after a week at home, I was well rested, and itching to go. All I needed was a destination.

Setting up in a wet bean field with the Arctic Cat.

It was barely November when I got a call from John DeVries. John had experienced what was for him a pretty duckless season, so he was fairly enthusiastic to get into some action. You see, John eats, sleeps and breathes waterfowl hunting, so I've learned to never underestimate his ability to find bunches of birds. And after a few minutes of conversation, and by the tone of his voice, it was obvious that he knew the whereabouts of a hefty concentration of field-feeding fowl. The location was North Dakota, and he was looking for some help to work them over.

With a daylong run behind me, I hooked up with John just past sunset. Jay Strangis, editor of Wildfowl magazine, and his black Lab, Buddy, rolled in an hour later. Over burgers and sodas at a local pub, I mentioned that I hadn't seen much in the air driving in. "Well, you will first thing tomorrow," John said with a reassuring grin.

DAY ONE…CLASSIC ACTION, "FOWL-UPS"
Following John's dust cloud as we raced down the prairie roads that first morning, we arrived at our chosen field in little over 10 minutes. John, ever the general, hustled his four-wheeler off the trailer, all the while barking a steady stream of orders at us, the outfit's designated soldiers. In no time we were headed down a puddle-pocked prairie trail. I rode the bike with John, while Tanner sprinted alongside. Jay and Buddy hoofed their way in.

After an errant attempt at a shortcut across a sodden soybean field, the firm-based two-track brought us to a water-edged field of standing corn. With dawn already soaking through the thick, ground-scraping scud, we hastily chucked a couple dozen mallard blocks into the standing water, set a pair of spinners and laced the pond's lee shore with a number of full-bodied decoys. The day's first ducks, barely discernible in silhouette, momentarily joined our spread. Realizing the ruse, they soon flushed in a flurry of wings. With the set complete, we spread out and hunkered down in the cornrows.

Low-profile Field Fowler blinds amongst the decoys.

Continued -- click on page link below.