In my younger days, I spent a great deal of time in the duck marsh. Showing up late to my first class in high school was not unheard of, neither was disappearing from my last class. Where I come from, if the weather is right, nothing can stop a determined duck hunter from getting knee deep in cold, icy and muddy waters in hopes of a limit of birds. My swamp was on the shore of the inland sea that is Utah’s Great Salt Lake, the smelly mud-bowl surrounded by marshlands is a waterfowl’s dream come true. To this day when the wind blows out of the west, and that familiar pungent smell is carried in on a breeze, it takes me back to those early mornings and late evenings trying to ID ducks against the pale gray backdrop as the sun set. continue reading here.