At about 10 o'clock, I saw my compadres across the pond begin to gather their decoys. I had heard, on more than one occasion, that weather conditions could effect the movement of ducks. They sometimes don't become active until late morning. Having had nothing to shoot at (yet), I was hoping that perhaps this might be one of those mornings. I continued to gaze skyward, giving an occasional quack on my call, more for practice than tactic at this point, anticipating flashing wings heading for my decoys.

About 11 o'clock, the two hunters to my left had scooped up their two-dozen or so dekes and were exiting the pond. The refuge requires all hunters to be out of their blinds by noon. In an attempt to get all of my five dollars worth of hunting time, I stayed to the bitter end. After all, I did lose a couple of hours up front.

The skies remained free of birds for that last half hour and around 11:30, I ejected the same three shells I had loaded just hours earlier, pulled up my decoys, packed up my gear and headed out.

Walking back, I relived the morning in my head thinking how dumb I was not walking further down the road in the first place, but extremely pleased that I persevered to experience my first solo duck hunt. I returned to my minivan one last time and all that I had so neatly packed the night before, was now being tossed into the back like Monday morning's laundry.

The last official duty I had to perform was to complete and return the record of waterfowl taken to the permit station. You are asked to record the number of birds recovered, lost and which specie. I grabbed a pen from the glove box and with the authoritative signature of a British agent, I proudly placed two zeros in the boxes.

Birds or no birds, it made no difference to me. To use the fishermen's' cliché, I was hooked. Granted, the process of getting to the blind and back was tiring on these old bones. Come tomorrow, I'll give 'em a rest. As for today, I did it! Not as fast as I might have been some years ago or as strong, and definitely lacking style points. Call it determination, perseverance or just plain stubbornness, I wanted this adventure and I got it, on my own! The end result for me was a greater appreciation for our surroundings and gratification in the adventure itself.

As I drove up to the now uninhabited permit station, another car pulled alongside. As we stepped from our vehicles and walked toward the depository, I asked the driver of the other car how he did.

"Oh, a couple of mallards," he replied, "How was your day?"

I smiled, nodded my head slowly in the affirmative and said, "Fine, thank you…just fine."g a 12-gauge on a hard boiled egg.