Ryan Bybee is a tough guy to fish with.

Well, for me, anyway. It’s not that we don’t have a good time when we’re fishing together, it’s just that we have different ways of fishing.

I like to run and gun. Find the active fish, pick off the biters, move, move, move. Ryan, on the other hand, will find the fish and wait them out. Once he knows they’re down there, he’ll sit all day in one spot, patiently working them, meticulously planning a deadly onslaught. And you know what? He’ll out-fish me every time. I just don’t have the patience to fish his way.

Luckily, however, we are on the same page when it comes to duck hunting. We are hard-core to the end and we both prefer to hunt in the nastiest weather nature can throw our way in late November, versus those days of bluebird skies in the early season. We will always go the extra mile, sitting all day if necessary and going right back out there in the morning to do it all over again.

Like I said, we usually share the same philosophies on duck hunting – except for one memorable day a few seasons back.

It was mid-season and we were hunting one of our favorite diver lakes. We are both diver junkies and generally consider any duck whose feet aren’t set far back to be unworthy of shooting, except for those late-season, red-legged mallards.

As usual, Ryan’s canoe scarcely had enough room for two paddlers because it was nearly overflowing with plastic representations of bluebills, goldeneyes, redheads, ringnecks, buffleheads, and, mostly, bluebills. Just because I like hunting divers with Ryan doesn’t mean I share the same philosophy of bringing every decoy I own on every hunting trip. But hey, sometimes that’s the compromise you make. I secretly sense Ryan only brings that many decoys when I hunt with him, as I’m sure he doesn’t enjoy picking up that many blocks on his own.

It was automatic to make our way through the darkness to the point jutting from the lake’s south shore, where we have enjoyed many great diver hunts in the past. We reached the point and put down our paddles. Ryan excitedly began opening decoy bags, but I just sat.

“I don’t know,” I finally spoke. “I’m just not feeling the point today.”

Ryan looked at me as if I’d just told him I wanted to quit duck hunting.

“What? Why not?”

“I just think it’s too early,” I replied. “I don’t think there are any divers here yet.”

Ryan looked skeptical. “So, what are you saying?” he asked.

“Well, I was thinking maybe the river mouth would be a better bet. You know there are mallards around and they love to fly up and down the river. I just think it’s too soon for divers.”

Ryan was noticeably displeased. “All right,” he sighed, picking up his paddle. “We can at least take a look.”

I felt that we were doing the right thing, although I know Ryan had his heart set on hunting the point. We wrapped around another blunt point and reached the river mouth. Again, we stopped paddling as we assessed the situation. Our moods had now reversed.

“I think we’ve gotta go with the river,” I said, pleading my case. “We didn’t kick up any flocks of divers on the way over. I just don’t think they’re here yet.”

“But you know there are always some birds around this time of year. At least ringers,” he defended. “We always hunt the point,” he added.

It was clear no one wanted to give in. Oh, that’s the other thing about us: We can both be pretty pig-headed, but especially around each other. No one wants to admit they are wrong.

We could see we weren’t getting anywhere. I don’t remember who suggested it, maybe Ryan, but we decided to split up. There weren’t many birds around anyway, so why put all our eggs in one basket? Ryan left me a few decoys and took the rest as he made a frantic scramble to get back to the point before shooting time.

Well, now I felt kind of bad. I’d put him in a tough spot. Oh, I didn’t feel bad that I got to hunt where I wanted. After all, I was convinced I had the better spot and Ryan would see that soon enough. I just felt bad that he was going to have to hustle to be ready by shooting time because during the mid-season lull, many times that’s the only shooting we get all day.

Ryan left me maybe a dozen decoys. It didn’t matter much anyway. Mallards like to trade up and down the river and I figured I would mostly be pass-shooting. He needed those decoys on the point. Ha-ha, and he would have to set them all and pick them up all by himself!

I was just tucking in the weeds when a drake ringneck buzzed my decoys. “Ugh, I should have been ready!” I chastised myself. Sadly, this hunt was no longer about enjoying the sunrise, watching birds decoy and sharing time with a hunting companion. It was all about pride now, and I’d be damned if Ryan was gonna get more birds than me!

I knew that right now, just 400 yards away, Ryan was stumbling around in the muck, struggling to get his ganglines deployed off that point. No doubt a few birds were buzzing him too as he toiled, his shotgun tucked safely onshore, well out of reach. Oh, he had to be sweating now!

Boom! A shot shattered the morning stillness. Boom! Boom!

I was shocked to hear him shooting so early. There was no way he could have set half his decoys out by now, and Ryan always has to throw out every decoy in the boat.

I cocked an ear his way and heard the unmistakable clunk of a wooden paddle on an aluminum canoe. We didn’t have a dog. Son of a gun, he must have been retrieving a duck!

I was now fully alert. I scanned the tip of the lake for motion. My ears strained to pick up the whistling of duck wings coming up the river behind me. I pirouetted on the sandy bottom, ever-watchful for birds. Minutes passed without a duck in sight.

Boom! Ryan shot again. Just one shot. He either got it or it was a pot-shot with no time for a follow-up. And I’ve seen him shoot – Boom! Click-click. Boom! Click-click. Boom! He must have been chasing a cripple. Dang!

Well, I had kind of pigeonholed myself. From Ryan’s position, he could see nearly the entire lake, and ducks all over the lake could see his decoys. I was taking a gamble on the river. If they didn’t fly the river, I was out of the game. No, no, no, what was I thinking? Of course, they would fly the river mouth. They always do this time of year. I was right. Ryan would see.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Oh, sure! I figured Ryan was calling to tell me he was in the right spot! Ha! I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of – hmm, but maybe he needed help. I decided I’d better check.

It was a picture message … of a drake bluebill lying across the bow of his canoe. Ugh! Ryan knows how desperately I want to shoot a drake bluebill! I can never seem to get one!

Oh, ho, ho, now I was really anxious to shoot something. They say we go through stages as hunters. It starts out with the kill being important, then limits, and eventually, the hunter becomes satisfied just with the experience and the kill becomes just an accessory to the hunt. I have never focused on the kill or on shooting a limit. I have always hunted just for the experience. Ever since I was a kid, I enjoyed the sunrise, the sound of duck wings in the dark, the challenge of making a good setup and the thrill of watching a good hunt come together. It had never been about the kill for me. Well, until right now! I would show Ryan!

Actually, the more I thought about it, it made sense that I hadn’t shot anything yet. The mallards usually feed early in the river, then loaf near the lake at mid-morning. It was just a matter of – Boom!

Oh, come on! This was getting ridiculous! How could he be getting all the shooting? I should have been in the right spot. Ryan can get entrenched in his ways. Sure, that point is great late in the season, but this early in the year, the divers just aren’t around! The only logical place to hunt should have been the river mouth! This just didn’t make sense!

I still hadn’t seen a bird since that one drake ringer at first light. Now the sun was well on its way up into the sky. The mid-morning mallard flight was due. Overdue.

At 10:00 my phone buzzed again. I begrudgingly retrieved it from my pocket. I knew full-well who it was.

“Hey, you ready?” Ryan asked.

“Yeah, I guess,” I mumbled.

“Ok, be right over.”

Oh, boy! Well, how long does it take to pick up decoys and paddle 400 yards? Because that’s how much time I knew I had before Ryan was rubbing it in my face.

My mind worked tirelessly to analyze the situation as I picked up decoys. I still couldn’t figure this out. I’d seen one duck all morning. My river mouth mallards – my ace in the hole – never showed. And somehow Ryan had managed to decoy at least one bluebill and likely some other divers. It just didn’t make sense this early in the season.

Too soon, I heard the clunk of wood on aluminum again. A minute later, Ryan materialized around the blunt point. He was beaming.

I waded out to meet him, a decoy sack slung over my shoulder and shotgun in hand.

“Don’t even say it,” I started.

“What, you’re not gonna let me have my fun?” he boasted. “You know you’d be rubbing it in if the roles were reversed. Hey, I told you to hunt the point with me. But somebody just had to hunt the river mouth for all those mallards …”

“All right, all right. You win. How many did you get?” I asked in suspense.

“Ha ha,” Ryan chuckled.

“All right, let’s see ’em,” I repeated.

Ryan laughed again. “I never saw a bird,” he replied.

“But you must have shot a half a box of shells!” I stammered. “And the bluebill pic!”

“That picture was from last year,” he grinned. “And the shells were well worth the price to see the look on your face right now.

“Sold it pretty well, didn’t I?”