Levi slogs across the flats with his hands full.

After some particularly tedious air travel from Milwaukee to King Salmon, Alaska, I was looking forward to simply arriving at our final destination, the small community of Pilot Point, out on the southwestern Alaska Peninsula. After cramming our gear into Rick Reynolds' dark blue 185, we were off on the final leg of our trip.

We had no sooner settled in to enjoy the ride when things got interesting. With Rick flying the Cessna purposefully low along the Bristol Bay coast, hunting partner Steve Loebaka spotted a big brown bear strolling down the beach. To give us a better look at our first Alaskan bruin, Rick hit a steep, descending turn that put us barely 50 feet above the bad boy's head as he defiantly stood up and pawed the air in a gesture that said, "C'mon, just try me!"

After a second photo pass, we continued on as Rick pointed out whale and walrus skeletons scattered along the beach. Turning inland then, we began to survey some of the endless ponds, marshes and lakes that pockmark this part of the Alaskan Peninsula we'd come to hunt.

With Pilot Point's distinctive shoreline looming in the distance we began to search for fowl in earnest. Rick's favorite areas showed good numbers of ducks and what we thought to be plenty of geese. However, Rick spoke in disappointing terms of the number of geese. "The cacklers aren't here in anything near the numbers they should, or will be. It being only the last week of September you're probably a little bit early, and given our unusually mild weather, the geese are running a tad late. But we should be okay."

Little did we know that his prophecy would so quickly come to bear.

With the unexpectedly spectacular flight under our belts we hastily stowed our gear in Rick's new lodge, changed into hunting clothes, grabbed a quick sandwich and headed out.

There were a total of six in our hunting party--Rick, Steve, myself, my son, Billy, Levi, a young guide from Minnesota who was serving as Rick's right hand man, and last, but certainly not least, Jud, Rick's half Lab, half Weimaraner dog.

It was a short jet boat ride from the launch site at Dago bay to the tidal flats the boys had chosen to hunt that first afternoon. As we hit the beach we could see a bunch of geese feeding on an eelgrass stand exposed by the low tide, no more than a half-mile off. Rick wanted to simply jump the birds, hoping, with the group spread out in the adjoining cover, to pass shoot them when and if they returned. It was then we learned that Levi, though young, was not shy about getting into the mix; he argued the merits of quickly deploying a decoy spread, to lure any returning bird, within range of all the guns.

I sided with Levi, and in short order was glad I did.

After setting the spread, a four-dozen decoy mixture of floaters, shells and silhouettes, we hunkered down in a thick stand of taller grass to wait. It took a good half-hour before the geese began to drift back our way. That first wave of 30 cacklers was really intrigued by the Judas geese, and when they swung low over my head on locked wings, two of the three shots connected. Judd had no sooner collected the pair than a second flock arrived. Once again my stars were aligned, as the birds worked right to me. Hanging at less than 30 yards I took an easy right and left, filling my four-bird limit.

The tidal flats are tough on equipment.

Just like un-hunted ducks flushed from a prairie pothole, the geese continued to return, drawn no doubt by the allure of the lush eelgrass stand; and all the boys got in on the action.

When things finally slowed down with the geese, Levi plopped a dozen and a half mallard blocks on a nearby pothole, and in short order we had a decent little duck shoot going. The ducks, mostly pintails with a smattering of mallards, gadwall and teal, worked classically, as un-pressured birds normally do.

With the high tide finally threatening to overtake our position, we had to call it a day. Rick, who'd slogged after the skiff, was able to drive it right across the then-submerged flat to pick us up. With high-fives all around, we finished the shoot with 17 geese, 16 ducks, and one tired dog.

It had been a great start to our first Alaskan experience.

This trip developed out of my lifelong dream of hunting and fishing in Alaska. At age 52, the reasons I hadn't done it to this point were several.

First off, Alaskan adventures, by their remote nature, require a high cost of travel. With such basic priorities as raising a family, putting kids through college, and planning financial futures, the Alaska deal always took a back burner. Then too, bird hunting, primarily waterfowling, had always been my first love, and more or less directed my shooting life. Because Alaskan hunting, in my mind anyway, had always been synonymous with big game, it took me awhile to realize that our largest state had some very unique and high-quality bird hunting to offer as well.

As for fishing: Given that I've been a Great Lakes salmon and trout angler since my teenage years, and that the upper-Midwest's and Canada's walleyes draw most of my angling attention, Alaskan fishing never ranked as high a priority as it probably should have.

Rick Reynold's gun dog, Jud.

All negatives aside, the Alaskan urge began to overwhelm me at the turn of the millennium, so I got serious with my research. When I finally connected with Rick Reynolds, a lifelong Alaskan, I could sense he was just as waterfowl-driven. After following up with his sidekick, Levi, I was sure of it. When Rick explained that the tidal flats in Pilot Point serve as a major Alaskan staging area for all the Cackler Canada's in the Pacific flyway each October; and when Levi expressed his desire to work the birds over decoys, my interest was piqued. When Rick all but guaranteed a slam-dunk on all the fishing we wanted, I was in. And it didn't take much convincing for Billy and Steve to sign on.

We returned to the Dago creek flats the second day of our hunt, roughly duplicating the results of our first outing. But by the end of the hunt it was evident we'd fully educated the birds in that area. The arctic-nesting cacklers were fast proving darn near as wild and wary as Central Flyway snows.

With a devilish gleam in his eye, Rick announced over a pintail dinner that evening, "Tomorrow we'll introduce you to the goose flats. Then we'll see if you're really up to this Alaskan waterfowling."