Two things make this limit-every-morning hunt possible for nonresidents like Brantley and me. The first is an early, bitter cold front that pushed the leading edge of the migration right into our laps. Mallards, gadwalls, wigeon, greenwings, pintails, and an assortment of divers sailed down on a northwest wind just as we arrived. The second is the hospitality of the North Dakota rancher. We had come to hunt ducks, but the most fun we have is hanging out at night, drinking whiskey and hearing stories from the ranchers who gave us access to their ground.