By Chris Dollar, For The Capital
By Chris Dollar, For The Capital
Capital Gazette Communications
Published
02/07/10
The snow kept falling, gaining speed until finally the creek was enshrouded in dreamlike whiteness. Massive oaks became blurry sticks, and cordgrass hung low with a frosty dusting. You heard them well before you saw them. To some it's a mournful sound; for others the guttural peals signal opportunity. On this day, it meant only one thing: a final chance before the curtain closed on another waterfowl season.
Stock still, our eyes locked onto the black and gray flashes canvassing the winter sky. Dozens of wild birds, frantically calling to each other, their wings cupped and feet dangling like solid black paddles, finally set down...
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