Waterfowling is a sport of planning and strategy. It's a thrill when the plans work and a great hunt is had, but it's a challenge when the best-laid plans fail, and it's back to the drawing board. Football is also a sport of planning and strategy; I guess that's why I like waterfowling and watching football.

The "crew" preparing the spread.

For both, calling the right play at the right time can produce great success; conversely, calling the wrong play at the wrong time can lead to complete failure. This is a story of waterfowl hunting Xs and Os.

THE PLAYING FIELD
Our hunting area in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains includes two small irrigation reservoirs about a mile apart. The reservoirs are completely drained by mid-summer and sit empty until the water is turned back on to refill them in the fall.

Grass grows in the dry reservoirs during the last several weeks of summer. A few years ago we noticed that when the water is turned on in the fall, it floods the grass, thus floating the seeds, and the reservoirs briefly become the closest thing to a flooded rice field you'll ever find in Montana. They also become a smorgasbord for local ducks and geese.

As in football, timing is everything, so each fall I ask the ditch rider, Leonard, to call me the day he turns on the water to refill the reservoirs. He's happy to oblige.

THE JV SCOUT TEAM
The third week in October, my boys Kevin, Erik, and Tyler were free on Thursday and Friday thanks to the school's annual teachers' conference. On Thursday, Kevin, a senior, played his last regular season football game, and Leonard called to tell me that he had turned the water into the reservoirs.

Friday morning found us set up on the shore of the upper reservoir in our willow and cattail blind. It was a perfect fall morning. Upon our arrival the geese left the upper reservoir for the lower one, never to return. The ducks left, too, but the few that returned made a bee-line for the knot of 1,000 coots floating in the middle of the rising reservoir--with the exception of the four we bagged, which included our first redhead, downed by Tyler.

I have no idea where the thousand coots came from. I'm certain, though, that they all received the memorandum to attend the Coot Conference on the upper reservoir the third week in October. Do coots and teachers share something in common?

As we sat in the blind, frustrated by the coots and disappointed by the geese, we realized that our hunt had become a scouting mission instead of a hunt. We were the JV Scout team. Based on our armed reconnaissance, we began to draw some Xs and Os in the sandy shore and devised a plan for Saturday morning. Back to the drawing board!

THE PLAN
The plan centered on the classic fundamentals of divide, conquer, and divert. Sunrise was at 7:45 a.m. Erik and I would go to the upper reservoir, and we would be completely set up at 7 a.m., ready for 7:15 a.m. shooting time. Presumably, any birds we disturbed would fly down to the lower reservoir. Kevin and his two friends would be set up at the lower reservoir by 7:15 a.m.

Presumably, any birds they disturbed would return to the upper reservoir, where Erik and I would be waiting. Kevin and his friends would set up quickly, and we figured we would keep the birds moving between both reservoirs, giving both teams good action. It sounded great on paper--or in the sand, that is. With a new plan and new hope, our fists met in the middle with a yell: "Go Team!"