I exceeded the bag limit Saturday but never fired a shot.

While sitting in a blind with Ryan, as his shotgun remained idle, I blasted away.

Philip, left, and Paul collected their decoys without a bird in the bag either.

While my companions kept their powder dry, I blew through a memory card of photos - almost 2 gigs worth - to create this posting. At 9:30 a.m. we went home cold, wet and mystified by the lack of ducks. A delightful duck hunt and I have proof.

I am a dedicated nimrod with a Nikon. The transition from 12 gauge to 600 f/4 commenced a decade ago.

I started giving it all away - from gear to gullies - to my duck hunting crew. Paul received my blinds and flyways. Ryan obtained hip waders, camo and decoys. Philip hunts with my old shotgun and canoe. I kept the lenses and camera bodies.

Now I rarely return from hunting without something aside from laments.

The men who introduced me to hunting as a child, Uncles Bob and David, appreciated that photography season never closes. They encouraged me, as an adult, to pursue wild game with a camera.

On a rainy day two weeks ago, my uncles and I ate lunch in David's kitchen next to the ripping wood stove. Bob stated that a slug of song birds were migrating through the farm that day. David said a that bush beyond the barn was mobbed by Robins.

I heeded the advice of my guides and pursued the berry bush.

After an hour, the photo of a Robin chomping berries was captured and filed in my memory card.

Bob and David never moved away from the wood stove. They claimed that the view - of a photographed crouched in pouring rain - was too good to ignore.