Back from the Great White North late yesterday. It's always hard for me to come home after such a trip, because I'll have to wait yet another year to do it again. Battled the airlines, the elements, and even a virus this year and still feel a bit down after it's all over. Maybe it's age, but coming back to the "modern" world after the comparatively calm and slower backwaters seems to be more of a jarring sensation as well. Uncluttered highways and bucolic scenes are really becoming quite charming to me as the Denver metroplex grows ever-the-more dense and frenzied. Ah well, you'll be happy to know that an Elsie downed the first Ruffie of the trip (my brother and his trusty 16 Featherweight Field). Bird numbers were not as advertised by the MDNR, and were easily down by 60% or more from last year. This might be a result of the noticeably heavier hunting pressure (last year's good press no doubt played a part) but more likely, was due to poor clutching success. Most of the birds taken by our group this year were very mature adults. The walleyes were sulking as well, but Destry will be happy to know (if he doesn't already) that the duck hunting was still quite good. A fairly good resident duck population was substantially reinforced by a blast of cold Canadian air that brought invading hordes of Redheads, Bluebills, and Snow-geese that shamelessly buzzed our decoys (and at their peril!). That shot of cold weather also seemed to get the Ruffed Grouse out and a bit more active after it passed. Nowhere as good as last year, mind you, but at least enough to allow us to bring home a full cooler (overweight, according to the bedamnedable airlines!) for the winter larder.