 | |
| Harvest Moon |
For many
waterfowlers that first brisk Northern breeze that sweeps the pungent fragrance
of the lake depths through the valley, means it is time to prepare for resident
Canada goose season. While the public basks in the last few days of summer and
revels in the glory of Labor Day weekend, goose hunters are preparing for
Opening Day.
Field bags are packed; decoys are set out
in out fields, their deceptive motion swaying with the slightest wisp of air. Layout blinds are prepared by
picking wheat and clover off the ground and stuffing it into the stubble straps
of the nylon blinds, which sit on the dewy ground. It takes more than
an hour and a half to properly grass the blinds and crawl into the
coffin-shaped boxes.
 |
| Dawn of Fall |
As the
first rays of sunlight melt over the mountains, the sky lights up in salmon and
helio, outlined by soothing sage. There is not a cloud in the sky and the sweet
smelling northwest wind bodes well for our crew of anxious fowlers.
We are
sharing our traditional cup of coffee and donuts when it happens. Far out on
the bay, the echo careens off of the rocky beach. Her-onk! The breakfast flock
is awakening.
 |
| First call |
We
return the call with a simple cluck and leave the rest to the imagination.
Sometimes the best call is the one that leaves curiosity in the mind of the conversationalist.
We wait.
Soon,
another muffled, yet intriguing honk comes from the bay. We answer back with a
curt hail call.
That gets the ball rolling! Now we are in an aggressive
dialogue about how wonderfully tasty the wheat is this morning. Within minutes
we can hear the entire flock begin to debate about when to leave the roost.
Juvenile voices say “now!” while the more guttural adult tones profess
“patience.” It’s like listening to a family on Christmas morning.
 | |
| All Set |
Twenty minutes pass. We are all silent in the field, when one of our band of brothers calls out “Two from behind! Right over the trees! And Silent!” “Get down!” I counter. Blind doors snap shut and we all disappear in stalks of wheat and sheaths of clover.
These are the scouts.
 |
| Patience |
We let them circle the spread and do not call or move. They examine us closely, then slide gently back out over the water and land in the center of the bay, clucking to the flock of 300 birds.
The
question comes up every year. Should we have shot when they were hanging over
the decoys? My answer has always been “no.” Let them take the news to the flock
that the field is full of geese and there do not appear to be any predators.
Ten long minutes pass. Our hearts are beating wildly, hoping that we made the right
choice. And then it begins.
We hear
the wing beats flapping against the water as the family pods begin to peel off
of the flock.
Within moments, the sky is alive with honking, as powerful wing
pinions flail at the air. They are arriving in flocks of 10 – 20 birds at a
time.
The first flock to lower altitude swings from right to left across the
spread then turns away to the South.
A single bird back pedals and drops his
dark black boots to land in the decoys. “Let ‘em land!” I whisper. When the
second flock sees the single bird on the ground, he calls to them.
 |
| First Bird |
They cup
their mighty wings in an arc, the shape of which is emblazoned in waterfowlers’
memories for generations.
As they glide in to finish their landing, feet
outstretched, necks craning, I wish that I could freeze this moment in time and
somehow convey to all those who do not hunt what a magnificent spectacle we get
to witness.
Some
call the Canada goose a nuisance because it fouls their lawns and golf courses.
I prefer to think of them as majestic brethren seeking a connection to us.
 | |
| Smile of Success |
