We sat in a brushy, half-made blind along the edge of a marsh as the sun broke over the hill behind us.

It was cold and frosty, but we would feel better when the morning sun warmed us as we waited. Soon, it would be shooting time, and the ducks would be flying.

Suddenly, a small flock of woodies whistled across the sky beyond the trees.

Shots were fired by other hunters off to our left, making the ducks flare away from our location. It didn’t matter, though, because more ducks would be along in a few minutes.

Moments later, another flock approached from the other direction. Their beautiful colors shown brightly in the morning sun. We fired two quick shots as they set their wings, and our lab eagerly hit the water to retrieve the ducks.

Everything went well that morning, unlike some of my memories from the past.

When I lived in Wells, a group of us decided to go duck hunting one October morning. We dropped off two of our friends along the upper end of Elm Lake, and Don Voorhies and I took a canoe about six miles upriver.

We planned on floating down the Kunjamuk to the lake in an attempt to drive the ducks from the backwaters to our waiting hunters.

Our boating adventure took two hours longer than expected. Blow downs, log jams, beaver dams and thick, brushy riverbanks hindered our float. While we fought our way down the river, our friends waited in ambush, waist-deep in marsh grass, where the river entered the lake. Finally, we heard them shoot.

They fired two shots apiece as a lonely pair of mallards flew out of the timber and across the open water. The problem was, they got bored waiting for us. They weren’t paying attention because the only two ducks on the entire river escaped. By the time our hunters saw them, the ducks were already out of range. All they did was make a little noise, never ruffling a feather.[an error occurred while processing this directive]

Another time, this same group of school teachers was hunting grouse along the West Branch of the Sacandaga River below Black Bridge. There were quite a few birds on the popple-and-thorn-apple riverbank. The gentle hill was a perfect location.

As I dropped down onto the flat, two ducks burst out of a small, quiet spot along the river’s edge. The season was open and the shots were perfect. The problem this time was the river. I made two good shots and had two downed birds on the other side of a raging torrent of water.

My lab never saw the birds but eagerly tried a couple of times to cross the fast, cold, white water. Finally, a long walk back to the truck and a longer drive around the old roads got me within a half-mile of the ducks.

Two hours later, I was back hunting with my friends. Lesson learned!

One other memorable duck hunt still brings back chills.

Another teacher and I canoed up the river and occasionally stopped to jump-shoot ducks from secluded potholes just beyond the riverbanks. All was going well until I stepped out of the canoe and went out of sight into the deep water.

It was Veteran’s Day _ Nov. 11 _ and it was cold. It took me three additional dives in the frigid water to find my shotgun. By the time we got back to the truck, my teeth were chattering and my knees were knocking. I was chilled to the bone. Any more ducks that day really didn’t matter.

I look back at many of the great adventures and quietly chuckle to myself. But I’d do it all over again, just to relive the fun we had so many years ago.

What’s Happening?

The sixth annual Venison Donation Banquet, sponsored by CANY, starts at 5 p.m. Oct. 28 at the Oneonta Elks Club. Tickets cost $25 and are available at Losie’s Gun Shop (607-432-6452), or by calling Al Bowers at 607-432-6398.

Rick Brockway writes a weekly outdoors column for The Daily Star. E-mail him at robrockway@hotmail.com.