Fresh Fowlers

Scouting out the latest waterfowling guns

We were hunkered down on some nameless hunk of rock a mile or so offshore in Long Island Sound. We'd abandoned all pretense of duck hunting, because the driving snow and sleet were blinding us as we squinted out over the blocks. The icicles of spray from the rapidly rising tide rattled off our Filsons as our precarious perch began to flood. Even the Lab had retreated from her place in front for the more prudent shelter of our lee. My pal was trying to start the outboard, but it wasn't cooperating.

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