In just under two weeks the Bay's dawn chorus will be subsumed by a salvo of shotgun blasts signalling duck shooting's opening morning.
While the recent cyclone may have washed away a few maimais, there's an unbridled passion that goes with this pursuit.
Spurring on the passion is the annualprotests from animal protection groups, who let loose a swarm of press releases every year asking for the practice to be banned.
One such group, Safe, has labelled the sport "indiscriminate slaughter".
Maybe they're right in some quarters, but in my case the allegation is laughable. I'm a hapless duck hunter - and an awful shot. If any birds fall after my two barrels are cleared then it's a small miracle.
In fact if the fowl didn't exit the water in bunches and/or if shotgun pellets didn't spread in their trajectory, then I'd go hungry.
Which brings me to why they're prized.
Usually I do the meat up in some sort of dark, syrah-dominated ragout, but this year I'm swapping the French influence for an Asian one - courtesy, Al Brown's duck red curry, with star anise and lemon grass.
Frankly that's the only reason I like to train a 12-gauge in a mallard's direction. Truth be told, after I've managed one, I actually quite enjoy missing the next few.
But I still pull the trigger, solely for the look on my sons' faces, who clasp their hands over the ears to minimise the ear-splitting blast, smiles wide, surprisingly content sitting in flax bushes sans cellphones and Facebook.
