Day before yesterday

In Short

This narrative follows a lifelong duck hunter through the persistent frustrations of the sport in early 20th-century California. It captures the recurring dance between hopeful hunters and the "Dukklubbers"—the club managers who maintain a profitable business by promising great flights that always occurred "day before yesterday." Through a series of humorous, travel-weary anecdotes, the book explores the psychology of the amateur sportsman who, despite knowing he is being misled, continues to invest time, money, and hope into the elusive dream of a perfect day in the blinds.

The Story

The narrator defines himself as an "omnivorous" hunter, a man who spends his seasons traversing the California landscape, from Baja to the outskirts of San Francisco, chasing the promise of a full bag of ducks. His journey is defined by a repetitive pattern: he hears rumors of abundant flights, pays a premium to reserve a blind at a commercial shooting club, travels hundreds of miles, and arrives only to find that the birds have vanished.

At every location, the experience is mediated by the club manager—the "Dukklubber"—who invariably avoids responsibility by claiming that the hunting was spectacular only forty-eight hours prior. Whether at a rustic club or a high-end facility that scrutinizes a patron's genealogy before accepting a reservation, the answer is always the same: the birds were there, the shooting was legendary, and the hunter is, once again, two days too late.

Beyond the managers, the narrator contends with the "claim agents"—aggressive interlopers who stand in nearby blinds and brazenly assert that they shot the birds the narrator actually brought down. He details his struggles with "high shooters," impatient amateurs who blaze away at impossible distances, ruining the prospects for everyone else. Between these human obstacles, the physical hardships of silt-choked roads, and the occasional suspicious disappearance of his own harvested game—allegedly consumed by a remarkably selective cat—the narrator’s pursuit becomes a comedy of errors.

Even when he manages a successful day, the victory is hollow or fleeting. He recounts one rare, triumphant hunt at a now-dry lake where he and his partner actually secured fifty birds, only to have their haul mysteriously vanish from a clothesline overnight, leaving them with nothing but empty hands and a dubious story about a cat. The cycle concludes on opening day at a prestigious, exclusive club. Here, the narrator expects the "day before yesterday" excuse to be impossible, as the season has only just begun. Yet, when the skies remain empty, the manager simply pivots to comparing the current failure against the opening day of the previous year. The narrator acknowledges he will return to the blinds anyway, forever tethered to the hope of a successful hunt.

How It Unfolds

The prophecy of the Dukklubber The narrator introduces the tribe of "Dukklubbers," shrewd operators who exploit the gullible "Dukhunters" by promising success based on past events. This sets the cynical, humorous tone for the recurring cycle of anticipation and failure.

The long-distance pursuit Driven by rumors of massive migrations, the hunter commits to grueling, hundreds-of-mile journeys across California’s difficult terrain. Each trip begins with high hopes and ends with the familiar, maddening refrain that the birds were present just two days ago.

The war of the claim agents The narrative shifts from natural obstacles to human ones, detailing the infuriating behavior of other hunters who swoop in to claim birds they never shot. The narrator illustrates the helplessness of the honest sportsman in a culture where volume and noise often dictate ownership.

The exclusive illusion In a final attempt to secure a fair hunt, the narrator gains entry to an elite club with rigorous standards for its members. Even here, when the birds fail to appear, the manager seamlessly adjusts his excuses, proving that the cycle of disappointment is inescapable.

The People

The narrator is a self-deprecating, persistent optimist who recognizes the absurdity of his hobby yet remains addicted to the "dream of duck dreams." He wants an honest, successful hunt but is consistently thwarted by his own hopefulness.

The Dukklubber acts as the antagonist, a professional manager who acts with "apparent veracity." He wants to maintain a full roster of paying clients and uses the "day before yesterday" alibi as a defensive shield against the wrath of disappointed hunters.

The claim agents are the opportunistic, loud-mouthed men in neighboring blinds. They want to inflate their own bags and reputations, indifferent to the truth or the property rights of others.

Fred, the narrator’s frequent shooting partner, serves as a sounding board for the absurdity of the sport. He is just as prone to the same indignities as the narrator, together forming a duo that serves as a target for the larger, more aggressive personalities at the clubs.

In Its Own Voice

“And they knew no man might deny their prophecy nor prove it untrue, because they prophesied only of things that came to pass yesterday and the day before.”

The narrator uses this mock-biblical passage to frame the inherent dishonesty of the club managers who profit from the hunters' misplaced faith.

“All my life I’ve wished for a chance to go hunting day before yesterday, but I’m always two days too late.”

This sentiment encapsulates the narrator’s lifelong frustration and the temporal trickery used by those who run the duck blinds.

What It's Really About

At its core, the book examines the nature of obsession and the human tendency to prioritize hope over evidence. The narrator is less interested in the actual killing of ducks than in the "dream" of the hunt itself; he is a captive of a subculture that thrives on nostalgia and exaggeration. The book argues that the sport has been corrupted by commercialism, turning a connection to nature into a transactional, often petty, competition. It asks why we continue to participate in systems that treat us with disdain, suggesting that the "Dukhunter" is a fool not because he loves the outdoors, but because he mistakes the manufactured promise of a club for the authentic experience of the wild.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate dry wit and the tradition of the American tall tale will find this an engaging, quick read. It captures a specific, bygone era of California sporting life, where the isolation of the landscape—the "silt muck" and the "mythical dead-line" between cities—provides a stark backdrop to the narrator’s mounting exasperation.

Modern readers should be prepared for the period-specific attitudes regarding wildlife and the casual, often rough-and-tumble ethics of the era's hunting culture. The language is conversational and rhythmic, echoing the frustrated, tired voice of a man who has spent too many hours in a cold, empty blind. What stays with you is not the technical aspect of the hunt, but the narrator’s clear-eyed admission of his own folly. He knows he is being cheated, and he knows the "day before yesterday" is a lie, yet he keeps his gear packed. It is a warm, relatable portrait of the kind of person who will always choose to believe that tomorrow, or perhaps the day after, the world will finally deliver on its promises.