Climbing into Craig's duckboat at the backwoods landing felt like stepping through a time warp. Though in my 60th year, I felt every bit as giddy as a 12- or 13-year-old kid would on his first duck hunting adventure. I don't know why, And I sure can't explain it. But that's what happens to me every time I get a chance to do something different, to try something new in our wonderful world of wildfowling. An odd sensation? Maybe. But it's one I never hope to lose.

Though we were past the middle of October, the damp, mild air wedged between the steaming marsh and the low-hanging scud felt foreign and downright unpleasant given our northern Minnesota latitude.

Though I gave it little thought then, the unseasonable weather wasn't going to prove the only surprise on this trip.

I was invited by a longtime friend and owner of McArdle's resort on Minnesota's famous Lake Winnibigoshish, Craig Brown.

While most of our conversations over the years have naturally revolved around the essence of how, where, when, and on what Big Winnie's walleye, perch, and pike are biting; we were forced to stray from fishy subject matter, to that of Craig's professed, but seasonal passion for northwoods waterfowling. And that piqued my interest.

It was only natural that I found his tales of gunning the ringneck flight in the area's rice lakes and marshes particularly compelling. Partly because if they'd have come from anyone else I'd have quickly dismissed them as totally unbelievable, and partly because it sounded like so much pure and simple fun. Given the facts, I really had the itch to see and experience it for myself.

Now, understand that Craig is one of the top-producing fishing guides on Big Winnie. Day in and day out, he simply goes about his job in a very unassuming, matter-of-fact manner. And it's from the same low-keyed, understated perspective that he speaks of his rice lake hunting.

"It happens every year at about the end of the third week in October. One day the marsh is empty, the next it's full of ringnecks. Sometimes they come in overnight. Then the next morning, packed tight in with the coots, they're literally bouncin' right off of the boat as you motor through the rice under pre-dawn's cover of darkness. Heck, I've seen 'em so thick we reached out and caught 'em barehanded as we motored along," Craig explained.

Like I said, if I'd heard this from anyone but Craig, I'd have blown it off.

"In other years, even on light-winded, bluebird days," he continued, "I've sat out in the swamp getting little more than sunburned, when first one flight of 20 or 30 birds suddenly appeared in what had for hours, been an empty western sky, only to dive-bomb into the rice like it's their long lost home, in the span of mere seconds.