The parking lot emptied rapidly as hunters headed to their blinds to setup before sunrise. The adrenaline was beginning to flow as I headed to my first duck dinner. As I approached the parking area, the headlights from my minivan glanced off waterfowling participants emptying gear from their vehicles. I pulled in alongside a couple of gentlemen loading their gear onto a two-wheel cart. "They must have a lot of gear," I thought, as I stepped out of my minivan. I greeted them asking if they could help me with directions to my blind. They obliged me and said, "just head down this road, cross the ditch and you'll see the blind numbers on a stake in the ground."

"Thanks," I said and off they went into the darkness.

I opened the hatch on my minivan and began to assemble my own gear. My plan was to wear all my clothing and carry in my gear. I kicked off my sneakers and pulled on a pair of thermal socks over my poly socks. I removed my blue jeans under which I had on a pair of fleece long johns. I then pulled on my waders. A black Labrador retriever startled me as he excitedly ran up, gave my boots a sniff and with a whistle from his master, was off into the darkness.

I continued dressing by adding a medium weight thermal liner jacket over a poly shirt and my shell over that. I flung my gun with choke tubes in a case over my left shoulder. My decoy bag went over my right shoulder and my field bag with shells, calls, extra gloves, binoculars, camera and snacks went back to the left side. In one hand I carried my campstool and the other a walking stick and flashlight. I felt like the "Stay Puff Marshmallow Man" in camouflage! I made a final mental check and headed into the same darkness that those before me hath trod.

I understood my friend to say, "follow the road to the ribbons and look for the markers with the blind numbers."

About 50 yards or so down the road, I spotted the first ribbon. Based on the map I viewed in the permit station, I determined I should enter at the second marker. So, on I went. Another 50 yards or so, I spotted another ribbon that I thought was my point of entry. With my small flashlight, I scanned across a ravine looking for my blind number. Nothing. I decided to return to the first ribbon, scanning the opposite bank to no avail. With my nose to the ground, I began to look for the point where the others had crossed, searching for a path or trampled grass. Unsuccessful, I decided to climb down the ravine and take a closer look. I picked a spot and slowly made my way through brush and tall grass to the bottom only to find it filled with water. At the base of the ravine, I dropped the gear from my shoulders and probed the water with my walking stick only to have it immerse itself in about a foot of thick goo. I thought it was odd that there weren't any signs of other entries. "Where in the hell did those other guys cross?" I thought to myself.

Pushing a stick into a mud hole is one thing, but stepping into it with this 285-pound body plus gear, is another story. The thought of attempting a crossing and getting into trouble without help nearby, was a scary thought at this point.

Tripping on vines and thick weeds, I struggled up the bank. It was decision time. Do I attempt to cross, or cash it in. I was a bit tired, frustrated and really had no idea where I was going. I decided to return to the car and wait for dawn. I dropped my gear and plopped into the front seat. I dozed off and on for about 30 minutes or so and awoke to the pop of gunfire.

Distant light had begun to peek through the trees on the eastern horizon. I heard the distinctive call of a hen mallard nearby and geese honking overhead. I thought about my preparation for this day, taking the hunter safety and waterfowl identification courses, purchasing the appropriate waterfowling gear, investing in a shotgun and the time I spent on the shooting range. I had awakened before the chickens this morning and drove 20 miles. "Nuts," I said to myself, "I came this far, paid my fee and damn it, I'm going to find that blasted blind!"

I threw my jacket on and headed down that road. This time I went past both ribbon stakes and with the help of dawn's early light, I could see that the road branched to the right and crossed that damn ditch over a culvert, no muss, no fuss! As I crossed the ditch I spotted the first marker. Numbers 24 - 29 with an arrow pointing left. That was encouraging. But how far down the trail to my blind? There was only one way to find out! Onward I marched.