The man had grown up in a family of hunters, in a place where the sport is woven deeply into the cultural fabric. It’s embraced, celebrated. Blaze-orange “Welcome Hunters” banners are such a commonplace that only their absence is noteworthy.

His particular passion was duck hunting and that alone should tell you how serious he was. You can be a casual pheasant or grouse hunter, even a casual deer hunter, but you can’t be a casual duck hunter. The sport is too demanding, too time-, gear-, and preparation-intensive. If you want to hunt ducks your only option is to go all-in.

Corey’s green-and-yellow plaid shirt stood out like a sore thumb. The yellow was almost a neon yellow. The green? Linda Blair vomit.

As we hiked along a lonely trail that stretched between two small Madison River tributaries, the southwest Montana afternoon sky shimmered with sunlight as it sliced through pockets of storm clouds. The grass of the lowland pastures was high and deep green. Below us, miles away, we could see the Madison, shining silver in the patches of sun the clouds failed to filter out.