A lifetime of helping is the legacy for hunter Denny Kumlin

Most people in this world want to be remembered for the good they do, and Denny Kumlin, who died Jan. 15, did a lot of good.

Born in Minneapolis in 1935, the son of a duck hunter who likely himself was the son of a duck hunter, Denny knew a bit about waterfowl, also about marshes and retrieving dogs and, not incidentally, his Browning A5. But he knew more still about giving back and about volunteering, and for these he will be long remembered fondly by his many friends.

Denny's father, Gus, first took his boys, including Denny and Dick, duck hunting not long after the end of World War II. Birds were plentiful in Minnesota and good places to hunt easier to find than they are today.

Then in 1953 or thereabouts, the three of them stumbled upon 40 acres of land alongside a west-central Minnesota lake that in October and November held vast gatherings of dabblers and divers, and in exchange for the privilege of pitching a tent alongside the lake and hunting the migrant fowl that traded atop its bulrushes, Kumlin ponied up $1 per day per gun to the landowner.

The hunting was so good that in 1957, the elder Kumlin bought the property, and for many years thereafter continued camping alongside it during duck season, father and sons together.

Denny, at about 6 feet 4, and Dick, about 6-9, had other interests as well, and both played basketball at Gustavus. Dick was better on the hardwood. But Denny was the more passionate waterfowler, an interest that ultimately would define a large part of his life and, in time, those of his two sons.

"I was 5 years old when Dad first took me duck hunting,'' said Denny's son, Jon Kumlin, 47, of Somerset, Wis. "My brother, Chris, and I would go with him every weekend, and oftentimes for long weekends: Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday. We'd hunt the same property my grandfather bought in 1957. In fact, I own that property today.''

In many ways, hunting, and also fishing, attract takers as well as givers. The former participate for what they can get out of the activities, counting coup by the number of birds or animals they kill, or, in the case of big game, the size of their trophies.

Other participants — including Denny, who was inducted into the Minnesota Waterfowling Hall of Fame in 2013 — are as concerned, or more concerned, about giving back to the sport as they are about taking from it. Such altruism can be accomplished many ways, including by contributing hard-earned cash, donating time, taking a kid hunting or fishing, or all three.

"No one was more committed to waterfowl and to Ducks Unlimited [DU] than Denny,'' said wildlife artist Dave Maass of Orono. "He organized the West Metro DU banquet for many years… and in every other way that he could he helped the organization."

These and other good deeds notwithstanding, the cold truth is most people do nothing to improve the nation's lands and waters. This is particularly true for wildlife, game as well as non-game, both of which exist in the numbers they do today thanks largely to funding provided by hunters and anglers through license fees, self-imposed taxes and other means — not least of which is volunteering, without which Ducks Unlimited, Pheasants Forever, the Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation and other habitat-providing organizations would collapse.

Yet a fair question in this postmodern age of increased urbanization, too-busy parents and gadget-crazy kids is whether future generations will be populated with sufficient numbers of individuals passionate about wild critters and wild places to sustain these resources forever — people like Denny Kumlin.

"Denny was one of the best volunteers I ever had in Ducks Unlimited,'' said Bill Allen, a retired DU regional director. "You could always count on him.''

When Denny died a couple of weeks back at 81, he achieved what most people aspire to achieve: to be remembered for the good they did.

danderson@startribune.com