I have been contemplating it for quite some time, and I have come to the unquestionable conclusion that God is most definitely one of us -- you know, a duck hunter.

The thought first entered my mind while I was standing on the deck of our lodge overlooking Lake Oahe, S.D., in 1995. My best friend and hunting partner of more than three decades, Mark Saner, and I were enjoying our final sunrise of the trip before pushing off for our Kentucky and Ohio homes. The west side of the Missouri River resembles the desolation of the moon, however, the landscape was bathed in crimson tones of the early morning sun and the airspace above it was crowded with tens of thousands of migrating geese. Giant honkers, miniature cacklers, snows, blues, Ross's geese and specklebellies too numerous to count traded up and down the river, creating a deafening symphony.

"Look at that, admiral," I said to my friend. "Half of the geese in the flyway are up there this morning. I'll bet you that God is on the lake hunting today."

Saner looked at me as if I'd just lost my mind.

"Why would you say that, Griff?"

"Look at that scenery, the sunrise and all of those geese," I replied. "Where else would he be?"

The admiral smiled and slowly nodded his head.

"What sort of gun do you suppose he uses?" he quizzed. "A Benelli? An 870?"

"Nah," I said. "The man has to swing a perfect side-by-side. Probably a Purdy or maybe a Churchill. A Midas grade I would imagine."

God has to be a duck hunter, because who else would create something as magnificent as a wild duck? Sometimes however, my calculating mind tends to take things to an even higher level. Now, we all know Jesus found his disciples on the Sea of Galilee, where they were all fisherman -- allegedly. I maintain they were all duck hunters, and it was simply the off-season. After all, garnegays, a beautiful Eurasian puddle duck related to teal, migrate through the Holy Land on the way to their wintering grounds in central Africa, and because the Chinese had yet to invent gunpowder, nets were the only way for them to take home a limit for rumaki. But let's get back to why I personally believe God is a duck hunter.

After my mother died in the spring 2005, I purchased the lovely one-acre vacation spot on Rocky Fork Lake in southern Ohio that had been in my family since the 1960s. I made it my permanent home. The front door is less than a half-mile from the boat ramp, so I anticipated serious duck hunting in the years to come.

That fall, on the second day of the season, Bill Klaire and Richard Smith, two friends from Kentucky, drove up to join me on an early-season wood duck hunt. We shot four birds, but one special drake proved to be a life-altering experience for me.

Carolina wood ducks are among my favorite birds to hunt, but never in my years afield have I taken or seen a woodie to match my first duck of the season. The drake was enormous, with a huge crest and bold colors. More importantly, the duck didn't have a mark on it or feather out of place.

"You really should have him mounted, Griff," Smith said.

The thought definitely crossed my mind. I enjoy displaying trophy memories from my hunts, and I had 18 ducks and upland birds displayed in my trailer at the time. One of them was a drake wood duck I had also taken on the Fork years earlier, but that duck was a far cry from the one I now held in my hands.