Every year, my brother Dan and I hunt the opening day of duck season. And each year, without fail, we manage to pull some boneheaded move. Three years ago, we left two of the three boxes of shotshells in the car. Two years ago, we set the alarm for 4 p.m. instead of 4 a.m. Last year, while paddling to our spot in the dark, I reached for the dry box at my feet, swung open the lid to retrieve a Twinkie, and heard a plop. Apparently, one of us had put the duck calls on top of the dry box because we never saw them again.