Late, Late-Season Geese

Your guide to bagging a Christmas goose. At 100 yards out, three geese locked their wings for final approach. The expert calling of my hunting companions made it look as though they were leading the huge, dark birds in on a string. At 50 yards, I watched the lead bird’s head crane to the left and to the right. He knew something was amiss and he threw his wings into mad back flap, in an attempt to slow his progress and beat a hasty retreat. Gravity was conspiring against him though as the momentum of his 16-pound mass hurdled him ever closer to the ground. “Take em!” someone shouted further down the line and mayhem ensued. Six hunters sprung the doors on their blinds and sat up to unleash a barrage of 12-gauge fire on the big birds. One by one, the geese’s wings folded and they cascaded to ground, each hitting with an audible thump on the hard, frozen ground. Bill let out a hardy: “Way to go boys!” as the last of the six geese hit the deck. It was the first flock of the morning and if it was any indication of what the day held in store, it was going to be incredible. Written by T.J. Schwanky

 

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