Back in about 1972, opening day of pheasant season, we were hunting a large nearly dry playa lake in the Panhandle of Texas. Our group was led by my Dad, and included my brother, uncles, cousins, brother-in-laws, friends, customers, vendors, perhaps twenty-five people total. And about half of us had the same last name.
As the sun rose it was apparent there was a low fog. Ducks and geese were flying all over, perhaps as low as ten yards above the ground. We brought down dozens of ducks and geese. Most of us didn't have duck stamps nor were our semi-autos plugged.
The game warden shows up and we line up for a check of our guns, licenses, and duck stamps. That warden checked one Remington 1100 four times and another twice. He inspected one particular duck stamp several times.
