Sleep is hard to come by the night before the opening of early teal season. It might be the rough ground of the campsite, which my back hasn't felt since the end of deer season. Or the high-pitched whine of tree frogs that my suburban ears have become unaccustomed to. More likely, it's my anticipation of the hunt. In my mind's eye I see birds tolling through the marsh, 10 yards away. I worry about missing, which is too often a fact of life when shooting at teal.