As a young hunter, my family celebrated ‘the’ duck opener in Wisconsin as one of the most prestigious holidays. It brought in friends and family from across the state—dusting off their canoes, patching their neoprene waders, and hitting the marsh for a traditional Midwestern wild duck chase. I’ll never forget the smell of decomposing vegetation as we navigated the sea of towering cattails with nothing but a compass, handheld mag light, and like the old matriarch leading her herd to water, generational intuition.
Despite this lack of modern technology, we made it back to the same hole before shooting light, year after year, a feat I never gave my dad and uncles enough credit for. Looking back on this tradition, it was never about stacking birds—The ducks merely brought us all together in pursuit of a common goal— to live and learn from life as outdoorsmen.
Now in my mid-30s, I’ve grown to understand and appreciate the significance of ‘the’ Duck Opener, and I’ve taken it upon myself, with the help of some dedicated pals, to keep the spirit of opening weekend alive. October 2, 2021, marked the 8th season of our own version of this widely celebrated tradition. We’ve dubbed it, The Opener.
The seemingly simple task of getting the band back together for an adventure-filled weekend has proven to be quite challenging. Football games, delivery rooms, and unfilled elk tags are just a few notable roadblocks we’ve encountered. But again, to give credit where credit is due, I had great mentors who taught me the playbook. I just needed to trust it.
The reality is, not everyone will make The Opener but making it easy has proven to sway the odds in our favor. What that translates to is simplicity: same place, same people, same time, every year. For us, this means the state-defined ‘Opening Weekend’ pursuing a small yet reliable pocket of geese nestled deep in the Rocky Mountains. This is our stage.
Some of my fondest childhood memories include my dad and uncles reminiscing about past experiences and lessons learned. I absorbed a lot from them, both the good and perceivably bad, depending on your audience. The marsh is a common ground between us to relive old times and add new stories to the memory bank.
This ‘common ground’ played an essential role in my childhood version of The Opener, and we’ve maintained it throughout the years. The goose field has become a place where we can genuinely be ourselves and know that we’re in good company no matter what happens.
Often filled with funny stories and constant blind banter, the Opener rarely hosts a dull moment. In my younger years, what I loved most about it was learning from my mentors. Among many other skills, I learned how to set decoys and blow calls.
The last few years, a few younger men have attended our Opener. They’re full of excitement and eager to learn. I’ve found myself spending more time sharing my knowledge and experience versus holding the gun. There’s something rewarding about passing those valuable experiences on to the next generation. Learn as you go; teach what you learn.
Learning together: SANDHILL CRANE HUNTING
This year, we drew limited entry Sandhill Crane tags putting a unique twist to The Opener. Aside from shooting a few in Saskatchewan years ago, none of us had ever hunted cranes, making for a rare opportunity to all learn together.
By law, we’re only allowed to take two cranes per permit holder for the entire season. Knowing we can only take a few, most guys would pass shoot them, or maybe buy a few decoys and hope they come in. Not us. This hunt was our one chance to enjoy something together for the first time, so we studied their tendencies, made calls to our pals who have experience grinding them up in Texas & Oklahoma, grabbed five dozen decoys, and learned how to talk the talk. We went all in!
Setting up that morning was a bizarre experience. On a goose or duck hunt, we’re very confident in our ability to pull off an A/B/C type strategy, but this morning, we questioned everything. Tight or loose decoy spread? Heavy or weak on the top end? Run a long line or keep everything central? It was a constant state of ‘what if’, but eventually, we took what we knew about geese, loosely applied it to the decoy spread, and waited anxiously for the first flock.
It turns out our combined gut feeling was right, or at least I like to think it was. There’s a chance it wouldn’t have mattered what we did because these birds are never hunted, but we’ll take a little credit for it because they ate it up. Watching those cranes put their landing gear down and maple leaf out of the sky is truly a unique experience. As we wrapped up our final hunt of The Opener, we all left the field wondering if crane meat lives up to its ‘ribeye of the sky’ reputation.
There’s no way a crane could taste like a ribeye, but we judged the flavor based on the idea of ‘best in the sky,’ just as the ribeye is the most flavorful cut of beef. We put it to the test with multiple seasonings and marinades. We smoked a few, high-heat grilled a few and fried a few— all of which turned out great, but naturally, some were better than others. My favorite was a plucked butterfly cut, leaving the fat on and searing it in a cast iron with butter and garlic. Overall, the taste was delicious, far better than a Canada goose and similar in taste and texture to a specklebelly.
With another successful Opener behind us, I look forward to the 16-week marathon ahead. More jokes to laugh at, stories to tell, and memories to make. More experiences to be had and knowledge to share. But most importantly, more time afield with family and friends in constant pursuit of life as an outdoorsman.
