There is a weird little stretch in September where waterfowl season feels like it’s already in full swing and somehow hasn’t really started yet. We’ve been hunting geese. Ember has been getting retrieves. Decoys have been scattered across the garage, trailer and yard. Blinds have been brushed. Calls have been hanging around my neck enough that Danielle probably considers them part of my normal wardrobe by now.

But duck opener is still sitting out there on the calendar.

Minnesota’s regular duck season opens Saturday, September 26 this year, and we’re officially getting close enough that every weather forecast suddenly feels important. Early goose season wraps up September 20, leaving us a few days where the focus completely shifts. The goose gear gets reorganized, duck decoys start moving toward the front of the trailer, and my attention turns toward every little patch of water within driving distance.

I’ve learned over the years that this final stretch matters more than we sometimes give it credit for. It’s really easy to spend the week before opener buying things. A few more decoys wouldn’t hurt. Maybe another jerk rig. Definitely another box of shells. Apparently I need another headlamp even though there are probably nine headlamps somewhere in our hunting equipment already.

But most of the things that determine whether opening morning goes smoothly aren’t things we buy.

They’re things we do before we ever leave the driveway.

Remove the Dumb Problems Before They Become Hunt Problems

Everybody who waterfowl hunts long enough eventually has one of those mornings where you’re standing at the landing in the dark trying to figure out why something doesn’t work. A battery didn’t get charged. A trailer light isn’t working. Somebody can’t find their license. The dog leash is sitting on the workbench at home. The headlamp batteries are dead. A decoy bag has somehow become a knot that would take a commercial fisherman three hours to untangle.

Those problems aren’t dramatic, but they can completely change a hunt.

That’s why my goal this week isn’t really to “get ready.” We’ve been getting ready all summer. My goal now is to remove as many variables as possible.

The fewer stupid problems we have to solve at 4:30 in the morning, the more attention we can give to the things that actually matter once we get there: wind, birds, concealment, decoy placement and dog handling.

I’m starting with the things that can actually prevent us from hunting. Trailer tires get checked. Bearings get inspected. Lights get tested. Batteries get charged. Fuel gets topped off. The motor gets run. Navigation lights get checked. Trolling motors, graphs and anything else we’re going to depend on gets powered up in the driveway.

It’s not nearly as exciting as building a decoy spread in the yard, but a wheel bearing has a much greater ability to ruin opening morning than a mallard decoy facing the wrong direction.

The Boat Needs to Become a Duck Boat Again

Our boats get used hard throughout the summer, which means there’s a transition that has to happen every fall. A fishing boat and a duck boat might technically be the same boat, but they aren’t organized the same way.

Suddenly we’re adding guns, dog equipment, decoys, anchors, blind material, extra clothing and bags that weren’t there two weeks ago. Space disappears quickly. Weight distribution changes. Things that were easy to reach while fishing suddenly end up underneath three dozen decoys.

That’s why I like loading the boat before opening morning and actually looking at it.

Where is Ember going to ride? Where are the guns going? Can I reach the emergency equipment? Can I reach the anchor? Where are the headlamps? Where are the shells? If something goes wrong in the dark, can I get to what I need without unloading half the boat?

Those little details don’t seem important while you’re standing in the driveway.

They become very important when you’re standing in knee-deep water before daylight trying to remember which bag contains the thing you need.

This is also when I want to think about safety. Low-water conditions can change familiar routes, expose hazards and make areas we normally run much different than they were last season. An old GPS track is useful, but it doesn’t mean the water underneath the boat looks exactly like it did a year ago.

I don’t want opening morning excitement to override common sense.

We’ll get there.

I’m Trying Really Hard Not to Bring Every Decoy We Own

This might be my biggest personal challenge.

I own a lot of decoys.

Danielle is aware.

For years, my default approach was basically to bring everything because we might need it. The problem is that “might need it” eventually turns into hauling a ridiculous amount of equipment into places where half of it never leaves the boat.

I’m trying to get away from that.

Instead of starting with how many decoys we can fit in the boat, I want to start with what the birds using that particular spot are actually doing.

If we’re hunting a little pothole where ducks naturally land in small groups, we don’t need to recreate the continental duck population. If we’re hunting bigger water where visibility matters, that’s different. If we’re targeting teal and wood ducks in tighter cover, that’s different again.

There shouldn’t be one “opening day spread.”

There should be a spread for the place we’re hunting.

That’s something September goose hunting has really reinforced for me this year. Realism matters more than inventory. Putting the right number of decoys in the right place is more valuable than putting every decoy we own somewhere simply because we hauled them there.

I’d rather have two dozen decoys positioned intentionally than five dozen scattered around without much thought.

And if we can get away with fewer than that, even better.

Movement Is Going to Matter

One thing I absolutely want ready before opener is motion, particularly movement on the water.

Not necessarily spinning wings everywhere.

Actual water movement.

A dead-calm marsh can make even great decoys look fake. Real ducks swim, feed, turn, splash and create ripples. A plastic decoy sitting completely motionless on perfectly flat water doesn’t do any of that.

That’s why jerk rigs have become such an important part of our setups.

They’re incredibly simple, but a few decoys moving can make the entire spread look alive. The ripples move through nearby decoys, everything starts shifting slightly and suddenly the whole picture looks different from the air.

But the time to discover a jerk rig is tangled isn’t opening morning.

So clips get checked. Line gets checked. Anchors get checked. Anything battery-powered gets fresh batteries or gets charged. Battery compartments get inspected for corrosion.

I’ve learned enough times that “it worked last season” is not a maintenance plan.

Ember Doesn’t Need More Retrieving Right Now

This opener feels different because Ember feels different.

She’s 2.5 now, and something has really started clicking this September. Watching her successfully retrieve 11 Canada geese over one weekend was one of those moments where all the training suddenly felt worth it.

She’s not trying to figure out what we’re doing anymore.

She knows.

Maybe a little too well.

Last year I was trying to build her confidence and get her excited about live birds. Now we’re dealing with the opposite side of that equation. The drive is there. The excitement is there. When birds appear, you can practically see her thinking, I know what happens next.

So I’m not interested in throwing 50 bumpers this week.

Ember knows how to retrieve.

What we’re working on is everything that happens before the retrieve.

Place. Stay. Watch. Wait.

Then go when I tell you.

That’s the part that matters now.

The Dakota spring-loaded dog blind has already helped tremendously because it gives her a defined place in the field. I’m starting to think of it less as a blind and more as her workstation. When she’s inside it, her job isn’t retrieving. Her job is being calm and waiting.

When I release her, the job changes.

That’s a distinction I want burned into her brain because duck hunting is going to add another level of chaos. Geese are exciting, but ducks can be coming from every direction. Birds might land in the decoys. Somebody might miss. A cripple might hit the water while another flock is circling.

She can’t decide when the hunt is over and the retrieve begins.

That’s our decision.

And considering how badly she wants those birds now, learning to wait might be the most important thing we teach her all season.

I’m Trying to Scout Habitat Instead of Just Driving Around Looking for Ducks

This might be the biggest change I’m making personally.

I’ve spent plenty of evenings driving around hoping to see birds. Sometimes it works. Other times you drive for two hours and begin wondering whether Minnesota still has ducks.

The problem is that simply searching for visible birds isn’t always efficient.

There is too much grass. Too many cattails. Too much shoreline cover. Ducks can be sitting 40 yards from the road and you’ll never know they’re there.

So I’m trying to scout habitat first.

Where is the shallow water? Where is the food? Where are the protected pockets? What does the shoreline cover look like? Where could we actually hide? Can Ember work there safely? Can we access the spot without blowing every bird out of the area?

Then I want to think about how birds might use it.

Instead of driving past a marsh and saying, “I don’t see ducks,” I’m trying to ask whether that marsh has the ingredients ducks are going to need when they arrive.

That’s especially important this year because water conditions can completely change familiar spots. Last year’s great little pocket might be nearly dry. A mediocre marsh from last season might suddenly have perfect shallow water and newly exposed food.

Old scouting pins are useful.

They aren’t answers.

We still have to go look.

Opening Morning Doesn’t Care About Plan A

Opening day has a way of making us emotionally attached to a spot.

We’ve been thinking about it all week. We know where we’re parking. We know how we’re getting in. I’ve probably already built the decoy spread in my head 17 times.

Then the forecast changes.

The wind swings 90 degrees.

Now what?

This is why I want backup options that aren’t simply another pin on the map.

I want to know why the backup works.

Maybe Plan A is perfect on a northwest wind but gives us nowhere to hide on a south wind. Maybe another shoreline becomes significantly better. Maybe the stronger wind makes a protected little pocket much more attractive to birds.

The conditions get a vote.

I’m trying to become much more comfortable abandoning the plan when the conditions tell us to.

The birds don’t care that I spent three days thinking about Plan A.

Build the Hide Before You Perfect the Spread

This is one of those things I know and still occasionally screw up.

We get to the spot in the dark. We’re excited. We immediately start throwing decoys.

Then daylight gets closer and suddenly we’re scrambling to finish the hide.

It should be the opposite.

If the birds can see us, the decoys don’t matter.

I want the hide essentially finished before we worry about whether the third mallard on the left needs to move six feet.

That means looking at the setup from the water instead of only from inside the blind. Pay attention to the outline. Think about where the sun will be after sunrise. Match the vegetation around us as closely as possible where it’s legal and appropriate to use it.

And now we’ve got another piece of the hide to think about.

Ember.

Her blind needs to disappear too.

A perfectly concealed hunter sitting next to a big obvious dog blind doesn’t accomplish much. The dog, blind, hunters and equipment all have to look like they belong there.

If birds start consistently getting to the edge of the spread and leaving, I want our first reaction to be looking at ourselves before rearranging every decoy.

Sometimes the problem isn’t floating in front of us.

Sometimes the problem is holding the shotgun.

The Final Week Should Actually Be Pretty Boring

That’s what I’m realizing.

If we’ve done everything correctly, the night before opener shouldn’t be chaos.

The batteries should already be charged.

The trailer should already be checked.

The boat should already be loaded.

The decoys we’re bringing should already be selected.

Ember’s gear should already be packed.

Licenses and current regulations should already be handled.

The route should already be known.

Plan B should already exist.

I don’t want to be standing in the garage at 10:30 Friday night looking for something.

I want Danielle to walk through the garage, look at everything sitting neatly by the door and be slightly suspicious because I’m apparently finished preparing for a hunt before midnight.

That’s the goal.

Boring Friday night.

Exciting Saturday morning.

Opening Day Doesn’t Have to Be Perfect

This might be the reminder I need most.

We build opening day up all summer.

We talk about it. Prepare for it. Buy things for it. Scout for it. Imagine that first flock dropping into the spread.

Then sometimes opening morning is incredible.

Sometimes it’s chaos.

Another group gets to the spot first.

The wind changes.

The birds don’t cooperate.

Somebody forgets something.

Ember decides a floating cattail deserves her immediate professional attention.

That’s waterfowl hunting.

Danielle and I have had enough outdoor adventures together now to know that the hunts we remember aren’t always the ones where everything went perfectly.

They’re the ones where something happened.

A first bird. A ridiculous mistake. A dog finally figuring something out. A sunrise that makes everybody stop talking. A plan that completely falls apart and somehow turns into a better story because of it.

That’s what I’m looking forward to again.

Right now the trailer is getting organized. Batteries are getting charged. Blinds are getting brushed. Decoys are getting sorted. Ember is getting some final obedience work. And I’m spending entirely too much time staring at maps thinking about places ducks might want to be.

Soon all of that preparation gets tested.

Some of it will work.

Some of it won’t.

We’ll adjust.

That’s the part I love.

Waterfowl season is months of preparation followed by a few seconds where everything happens at once. Wings appear over the cattails. Somebody whispers that birds are coming. Ember locks onto them. The calling starts. The ducks make another turn.

Then another.

Their feet drop.

And suddenly it’s opening morning again.

We’re ready.

Or at least as ready as waterfowl hunters ever really are.

– Max & Danielle
Burley Outdoors