Not that duck season was uneventful. It was a great season – a record-setter for Willow Break – but weird. In the year they started naming winter’s cold fronts, repeated clippers brought ducks but not the massive waves of ducks expected; not mallards and pintails. Not this far south. It was the day after Christmas that I saw my first flock of shovelers, colloquially referred to as “Ramzillas” for good reason, or even the first sizeable flock of green-wings. But where there's duck hunting, there's always hope.
