We did encounter one less than desirable experience with a landowner during our week there, and I almost regret relaying the events because of the congenial nature of every other native I met while in North Dakota. But if you duck hunt more than just a few days, something out of the ordinary will almost always take place.
We had set up for a dry field hunt in a cut barley field, had killed a few ducks, but had noticed ducks beginning to pile into a deep valley on the backside of a corn field about a half-mile away.
The fastest scout among us, Bailey, was quickly on the move to check out the lay of the land and find out where these ducks were headed. He returned out of breath in about an hour, with an attitude that can only be described as that of a 16-year-old schoolgirl after being asked to the prom by the starting quarterback.
Bailey excitedly stated, "What I have witnessed ain't really what you would call a simple duck hole; this place looks to be more like a duck-killing complex!"
He further reported that there were piles of mallards to be had, more than ample cover for the ambush, and all would take place in a location of extreme scenic beauty.
At the risk of killing Foots with the long walk in there, a plan was made to assault the complex before dawn the next morning.
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