I'm on my belly in the wheat stubble crawling through my decoys. My heart is trying to hammer its way out of my chest; the rest of my 71 year old 200 pound carcass is screaming that this is how they will find me -- my face in the dirt, pants halfway off my scrawny backside -- dead.

I reach back, hike up my belt, and take a breather. Blood from countless stubble spears covers the backs of my hands; a grasshopper is working his way up the inside of my pant leg. I'm hot, sweaty, dirty, and sore. And I wouldn't rather be anywhere on earth than here.

My heart backs down a bit and I crawl again. Sixty yards ahead, behind a rise in the field, is a flock of geese who landed short. If I do this right, they should get the double barreled surprise of their lives.

Masons are the most collectible of vintage factory decoys. made in several grades, the premier (center) is the most sought after. Home made shooting box holds the essentials for a day's hunt and makes a good seat to keep me out of the mud.

Waterfowl hunting has a special kind of magic I never tire of. To begin with, the habitat that attracts ducks and geese appeals also to an abundance of critters large and small. Over the last 10 hours I have seen doves, deer, turkey, a close up fox, a too close skunk, mice, feral pigeons, a falcon, buzzards, seagulls, sandhill cranes, crows, ravens, and dozens of chirpers and tweeters I cannot name. And hundreds of geese; none of them, up to now, shootable.

For my part I have done little: arrived in the predawn, set out some decoys, retreated to the base of a stone pile, sat on a flat rock, drank a Thermos of coffee, ate a ham sandwich, munched some cashews, puffed a few pipefuls of Prince Albert, and waited. So long as I measure my movements, I am invisable.

Early season geese are locals with well established routines that have not included this field. My son-in-law took off the grain late, and there are thousands of acres for miles around the birds are already using. Still, I have had opportunities. But they were passing outside the decoys, close enough for a good wing shot -- too far for me. My chance will come.

Canavasback ducks were shot to near extinction by market hunters, but have rebounded to huntable populations. Shot and shot holes in these vintage blocks tell us old timers weren't averse to shooting sitting ducks.

I do little calling. I answer a honk with a honk and a ka-ronk with a ka-ronk; nothing else. I have known callers who could turn birds inside out. My poor efforts dictate I err on the side of silence.

On the other hand, I am very particular about decoys. Not their size or shape or numbers or paint. I have decoyed ducks with upturned spades of mud across a flat. I have brought down snow and blue geese with a hundred or so paper plates scattered across a field. I've shot Canadas over cardborad silouettes cut out and painted the night before I decided to hunt a spot too remote to reach dragging full bodied decoys. But always because my set was believable.

Shore birds were another market hunter's favorite and regular fare in restaurants and dinning cars. Sold by the barrelfull, they were easy to decoy even with driftwood makeshifts like these.

Waterfowl do three things on land: eat, rest, and sleep. For the morning feed I set decoys in rough Vs with a sentry at the points. After noon, I change my spread to a loose scatter of resters, with stakes off, nestled tight to the ground. I throw in a few feeders, not more than two or three per dozen, and very few sentries. late afternoon, when birds again feed, I set decoys back on their stakes, group them in bunches feeding out from an empty center. In all sets, the majority, but not all of the decoys face the wind.

Carved in 1976 as a marker decoy, this little Bufflehead drake occasionally lured canvasbacks, goldeneyes and other divers over my puddle duck spread and into shooting range.

I believe in the power of confidence decoys. A mixture of species matches the everyday reality of birds: a few ducks with the geese, a few geese with ducks, a seagull, heron or a couple of doves mixed into the flock. My confidence 'coys are also range markers, placed in the perimeter of the spread to tell me when I can and cannot shoot. A bird that passes inside is shootable; outside not.*

Decoy carving has become such high art that most hunters are intimidated into thinking they cannot make believeable immitations. Besides, plastic decoys are so perfect it hardly seems worth the effort to chop, whittle and paint your own.

My first home made decoy was a complete disaster. He reminds me of the baby who was so ugly his mother put his bonnet on backwards.

My first attempt at decoy making was a wood, ratten and painted cloth snow goose. He was so grotesque even the decoys wanted to peck him. We tried him on the coffee table as a converstaion piece, but he left people speechless.

Simple tools on a pleasent afternoon can turn a block of cedar and a board of a pine into a decoy primed and ready to paint. Power tools can speed up the work, but I prefer old fashioned simple minded things -- probably because I am one.

There is special satisfaction in shooting over did-it-myself decoys, even if it's only one or two mixed with a couple dozen store bought Judases. None of my carvings are art, but even the poorest are folk art (definition: amatuer attempts by ordinary folks).

Since 1978, Sam Seagull has been my most successful confidance and marker decoy. Equally at home on land or water, he's been with me on more hunts than I can remember.

It takes time, in hunting and just observing, to see what waterfowl really look like: their attitudes, their behaviors, their social structure. It cannot be learned from pictures; only in the outdoors. The more I learned, the better my carving became. It is a continuous process and a continuing pleasure.

Carved thirty years ago, this little family was exceptionally effective on early season teal hunts. Regular season, I'd mix them into my larger spreads.

Short of the crest I stop to let my heart rest once more. Somewhere in the next six to eight feet the geese should spot my cap. I keep my chin to the ground and peer through the stubble watching for a goose head to pop up. Then I will jump to one knee, drop the first goose in the air and down the second.

I move forward: one push, two pushes, there he is. "Jump, Arni! Jump up!" But there is no jump left in me. I heave my rump skyward, drag my feet under and squat. The geese are in the air beating straight away. I miss the first shot to the left as the bird catches the wind and swings right. I overlead the second. They rise, gather into the wind, and are gone.

I pace the distance back to the rock pile; 110 yards that took an hour to crawl. I am taking home no meat. But my meories of the hunt are food for a lifetime.

Guns and decoys are memorials to days well spent and lives well lived. Like old friends, they get better the longer you keep them.

I remember lines from Cyrano DeBergerac. After the great swordsman has disrupted a performance at the theatre by dueling with a patron, Cyrano gives his entire purse to the manager as recompense.

On the way home, the Musketeer's companion suggests they stop for dinner. Cyrano declines.

	"Why not?" asks the friend.
	"Because I have no money."
	"What a fool," says the friend.
	"Yes," replies Cyrano. "But what a moment."

* Blinds, concealment, and camoflage are lengthy subjects. For a great How To, read Wade Bourne's "Disappearing Act" in the July/August issue of Ducks Unlimited magazine.

© 2007 Arni Dunathan

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Arni Dunathan is the author of the newly published collector's guide "The Encyclopedia of MARBLE'S Knives and Sporting Collectibles."