White Fronted Goose Hunt

WOW, have I got some great stories to share with you all. I had a wonderful 8 days of hunting Specs on their migration North to their breeding grounds. This particular hunt takes place in 3 Oregon counties and can only be done on private property. This is in an effort to reduce the impact of crop damage, by reducing the overall numbers of geese. Snow Geese are also legal to hunt for this special season. The daily limits were 4 White Fronted Geese (aka Specs) and 6 Snow Geese and the possession limit is double the daily limit. ODFW regulations here.

On my first trip to Klamath for the opener of this season on Feb. 18th. I never fired a shot or even had a shot in 3 days time. There were some around but just not very many and the landscape was still quite wintry and frozen. So I returned home and waited for the geese to arrive and also got some work done in the shop. I headed back to Klamath on Friday the 3rd of March and was hopeful that more geese were en route northward. When I turned the corner and got to see the Klamath River I was not disappointed. There were large rafts of resting Specs lazily enjoying a warm afternoon on the river. My adrenaline spiked for a moment as my mind began plotting my first evenings hunt.

I got Jet and I unloaded and put away our gear in the cabin, then got ready for an abbreviated evening hunt. I placed myself next to the river dike that I drove in along but in the pasture side. This way they'd land in the pasture when I made a good shot as they passed overhead. The pasture has been grazed down by cattle and subsequently is showing the first signs of green up. Geese find it hard to pass up on fresh tender grasses. I hunkered down in the ditch amongst the remaining ice, snow and mud and made like a statue. I felt like I was finally home, right where I needed to be. I could hear the Specs vocalizing whistles, buzzes and general chatter.  Their voices are incredible, somewhat like that of a ventriloquist. At times they sound so close and yet they're so far away you can barely see them.

It didn't take long til they decided to get up off the river and head my direction. My adrenaline rose again and I was ready. They passed over off to my left side and I  sat up and got my first double. Right on, yes this is what it's supposed to be like. In all I suspect close to 75 birds flew over and I was hearing more up river while I was waiting. This is a good start I thought to myself. Headed back to the cabin and processed the 2 Specs and was quite pleased with my early success. Sure glad to have gotten that case of Federal Black Cloud 3" #2's before I left home, made all the difference for my little 20 ga. Beretta O/U, love those shells!

You might be asking yourself why leave? Well the deal with these geese is that they'll spend 80% of their time resting in the river because they know that's the only safe place for them during daylight hours. So in the early mornings and last hour or so before days end, is the only time to catch them going from the fields to the river or visa-versa.

It's a short window of opportunity and this hunt is all about being mobile for me. If I see them crossing over the river dike some 200 yards away I've got to get myself there fast. Our property is not ideal for them this early in Spring, need more warm days for the alfalfa to get going. So I don't set out my 2 dozen Spec decoys nor do I have the number of decoys it would take to bring in large flocks of a hundred or more birds. Seldom can you pull in singles and doubles when they see and hear several hundred of their fine feathered friends calling to them within eye shot of your decoys. With big flock numbers you need just about equally big decoy numbers. I have decoyed with limited success over the past few years for this particular hunt, but with increased hunting pressure the birds become educated that much quicker and shy away from smaller sets.

While I was processing my first pair of Specs I was also trying to figure out where I'd go for the morning hunt. I glassed the river all along our property line to see where the geese were. I decided to go to the S.E portion of our property and hunker on the field side of the river dike. With still quite a bit of snow I was post holing every step of the way. It was loud crusty granular old snow with ice along the edges of the flooded fields too. It was impossible to be quiet about my approach in the darkness of early morning.

I got settled in and was listening to the Specs vocalizing in the river as daybreak began. Their serenade of rising and falling crescendos had my adrenaline mirroring them. Oh my goodness, seems they can sit and chatter for what seems an endless amount of time before finally committing to take off. I realize it's not just getting up at 4 am that tires me but also having my adrenaline rise and fall that contributes as well.

Through the chatter I heard a motor and thought perhaps a rancher on a quad or 4 wheeler across the river. I was thinking maybe this will get the birds moving. It got closer and closer than nothing, silence and all was quiet again. Umm, I thought and after a couple minutes of pondering and hearing the geese move directly down river and never cross the dike. I decided to get up and try to get a visual on this persons where abouts. Holy cow I said as I saw this fellow with his dog sitting on the river dike about 30 yards away from me. He was in one of those canopy 4 wheel drive huntin' the country, buggy thing a ma jigs you see on the hunting shows. His Chocolate Lab saw me and began to growl at which got the gentleman's attention. He turned to look behind him and saw me in full camo from head to toe including face camo. He apologized and we were polite to each other as he went on his way. I shook my head and realized my morning hunt was over. He sat there in his buggy, facing the river in the absolute extreme wide open, over grazed dike just hoping I guess for a random Spec or Snow Goose to fly within range. Trust me, it wasn't going to happen! I'm still shaking my head in disbelief. This is a photo of him leaving, priceless.

This was just the beginning and more stories to come including the best sneak I have ever had with a gun in hand.

Women's Hunting Journal          Integrity For The Hunt

Spec Hunt Update

This is just a quick nutshell report of my Spring Goose hunt. So far the geese have had it their way. With recent snows and cold temps at night, the possibility of pulling off an early morning sneak is essentially squashed due to loud crunchy snow giving away my every move. The property I have access to is not what the Specs are looking for either. For the most they are interested in fresh green shoots of alfalfa or any type of grasses or leftover oats and grain from last Fall's harvest. Our property is not grazed by cattle and has wonderful cover for typical hunting seasons but not favorable for this hunt. There is much more hunting pressure now than in past years and thus making for very wise quarry. The geese are sky high out of range by the time they cross over river dikes, irrigation canals and are able to drop right down like that of a parachuter hitting their mark safely smack dab in the middle of a 60 acre field. There numbers aren't this high for lack of smarts that's for sure. I've managed to get 3 thus far but that is well below from what I had hoped. I hope that with the coming fore casted rain that this will improve my odds and at least melt the snow and open up some ground for the birds. Sometimes I wish had a wetsuit and snorkel to gain access to these wise geese. Or maybe even spend the night in the ditch and wait for their arrival pre-dawn just so I'd be in position. Ultimately every day is a hypotethis on which way they'll come into the field or even which field they'll use. Or perhaps they'll just sit all day in the Klamath River (which can not be hunted) and go feed after shooting hours.

There is a wonderful abundance of waterfowl arriving and migrating Northward. I have been absolutely covered up with Canada Geese and all types of ducks, but none of them are legal, and they know it. I will be persistent and hope that some lesser educated specs come my way before the season ends on this Saturday. none the less I am savouring every hour laying out there in the field listening to Sandhill Cranes, whistling wings and a plethora of vocals. What a time to be afield, I absolutely love it!  Yep, they got it wired better than I do and they don't call it a wild goose chase for nothing!

I'll be out of blog range til Sunday but please leave a comment if you like and I'll get them published just as soon as I get my waders off !

Women's Hunting Journal      Integrity For The Hunt

Goose Hunting & 360*

Out of nowhere my ears alert me to the incoming honks and grunts of a flock of Canada geese. These are the Giant Canada Geese, the biggest and weighing up to 20 lbs. with a wing span of 7 feet. My eyes widen like those of a 4 year old on Christmas morning watching them land in a large field just a short distance away.

Considering how many degrees of departure are available for geese, it is no wonder that we seldom outsmart them. The odds are stacked in their favor and double that in mild conditions when they're not pressured by weather, predators or food. I'm talking about pulling off a successful stalk hunt; sneaking close to geese that are feeding in a large wide open field with a 360* view. It's one thing to be able to get in close while hiding behind an elevated dike and then wait while maintaining your concealment and excitement. The anticipation is often what busts us. Usually I'll be able to hear them talking and stretching their wings and just have to take that last fatal peek, to make sure they're where I think they are. In doing so there's a pair of wise old sentry eyes pasted to the rustling sounds I made while trying to be ever so stealthy. By the time I see them they've been watching me, head and neck stretched up high and then honking alerts the others that it’s time to fly. At the first loud alarm honk, you become painfully aware you just blew any chance you had of them flying anywhere remotely in range. You're toast, pate', done for, game over and you can't believe you did it again.

 I've experienced this on more than one occasion and I know there will be more jaw dropping days of getting skunked, with my so called savvy experience and knowledge of 35 plus years hunting geese. None of that matters when ultimately you are making an educated guess, a hypothesis on the direction they will depart. I was able to even the score by one, a few weeks ago down in the Klamath Basin of S.W. Oregon.

The conditions were warm and mild with very little breeze, just a hint of wind from the S.W. rolling over the banks of the Klamath River. Ice still covered the broader reaches of the river where there was less current. I was watching a flock of 15 or so large Canada Geese land in a 40 acre field of stubble with a strip of Triticale grain to their N.E., I pondered the various scenarios and odds for a successful sneak. Also trying to guess in which direction they'd take off. I was observing them from the comfort of the cabin on the hill overlooking the landscape. My adrenaline began as I visualized a successful sneak, wait I haven't even gotten properly dressed and I'm already celebrating. Whoa, slow down and let's get back to reality.

 Considering it was New Year’s Eve the geese were well educated to slow moving vehicles, bad decoys, bad calling and the like. I knew I had to be absolutely concealed and quiet from the very beginning. So I opted to take the long way around. I didn't let them see or hear me from the hill. Fortunately my truck was on the opposite side of the cabin from where they were feeding. I drove a short distance down the back side of the hill and then parked, quietly shutting the truck door and beginning my long approach. In all it was close to a 2 mile walk give or take, but when you're sneaking, it doesn't seem so far or matter. I headed S.S.W. to the river cutting across 2 fields, 2 deep ditches and getting to the river dike then turning back to the N. on my final approach to the dike that separates them from me. The fields were muddy, wet and sloppy so I wore my Cabela's waders and dressed light underneath to minimize sweating and then chilling while I waited for the geese to get air born. It was early afternoon and the clouds were building in and a S. wind was picking up. Finally a storm is rolling in. I managed to make my way to where I wanted to be. I thought the geese would either fly S.W.N. or E. Face it, no matter how much I tried to convince myself that I knew what direction they would take off in, ultimately I had no clue or scientific knowledge to base my decision on. The landscape offered me a few options of concealment that would allow me to be in range if they happened to fly near me. That was my scientific data, place hunter and gun in closest proximity of airborne waterfowl, always.

So it was and I just hunkered in and made myself comfortable for a spell, not knowing just how long that meant. I ate a good stout brunch after my morning hunt and  enjoyed several cups of strong coffee. That last cup may pose a problem in the not so distant future, if you get my drift. And as those of you know it's typical of geese, or big game to give you a shot opportunity when you are least prepared, as in relieving yourself. Just an FYI for those of you who haven't had this experience yet, believe  me it will happen.

 As I was relaxing, lying on my side in the mud and weeds my mind began to wander as it does when I'm in the field waiting for something to make its move. Off in the distance I hear dogs across the river barking, and the rumble of the train some 10 plus miles to the East of me headed for who knows where? Swoosh, I get passed over by an unsuspecting Northern Harrier as he/she hunts for rodents. The distant vocals of Ravens, Magpies and Kingfishers fill my background with familiar sounds like that of an old friend, comforting me and offering a sort of companionship. My focus drifts to the vegetation at the edge of my hunting caps bill. Watching small spiders climb the tall stalks of dead grass while simultaneously snuggling down into my high coat collar so none get to close. I can hear several voles gnashing root stalk just inches away from me. Occasionally I catch a glimpse of a vole crossing open ground going from one tunnel to another. The dike tops are riddled with vole trails and holes. They're vulnerable to hawks and small mammals when they dash above ground, and they know it too.  I ponder what their existence must be like and the myriad of tunnels they travel. My attention shifts to my shotgun barrel, the vent rib, the small brass bead at the barrels end and I trace it back to the fore-end, the silver floral engraving along the sides of the action. Feeling how my hand fits the wooden pistol grip with its fine checkering. Reflecting on all the miles I have travelled carrying this gun in my hands. We are old friends and have had some spectacular days afield together. It feels comfortable in my grip and if I could find another just like it I'd buy it in a heartbeat! This gun is close to 35 years old and has some dings and dents to show for the miles we’ve travelled. It has saved my butt on more than one occasion. Be it getting stuck in the muck or avoiding a face plant in a ditch with 2 feet of water or the time I almost broke my leg by stepping in a hole. Then there are the times it got used as a paddle when I broke mine or the time I used it to break ice so I could reach a downed Canvasback. The stories go on and I take comfort in its toughness and dependability.

Honk, wing flaps pushing air and a few more grunts and short calls. I am present again and shuffle my body to get comfortable and re-positioned in case the geese are close to lift off. I want to sneak a peek but I resist and just about that time I hear the unmistakable swooshes of air from the big birds wings propelling them upward into the sky. I shuffle once more hearing them talk and it sounds like they're coming my way. Again I resist exposing myself just yet, my pulse quickens and I feel the warm flush of adrenaline. Another 10 seconds and I can see them coming into view through the vegetation just off to my right side. The first bunch are about 10 strong and I stretch my torso upward into a kneeling position and shoulder my gun taking aim on the closest and as I squeeze off my first shot my coat collar interferes with my shot. I lower my gun grabbing my collar and stuffing it downward without thinking about it and get ready for a second shot. Irritated with myself for making that mistake I block it out of my mind and get ready for the second wave, the last chance for success and these are closer than the first. Not enough time to put in another shell so I have one chance left. I take aim and swing through leading on the closest one to me about 35 yards away. I squeeze the trigger, and continue my follow through, it's a solid hit I just knew it, yet the big goose doesn't even budge or pucker an inch. I lower my gun and exclaimed "you've got to be kidding me!" Totally and absolutely dumbfounded by the lack of response I got from a solid hit I hold on for the faintest of possibilities. My eyes are glued to the goose and it slowly starts to drift away from the others and at the same time locks its wings and is on a death glide. I only hope it lands in the field and doesn't make it to the river. I watch as it continues to drop lower and closer to the ground eventually landing. I am running as fast as I can in chest high waders through 6" of mud and uneven stubble. After about 100 yards I was out of wind and kept up a fast walk while never taking my eyes off where I had marked the goose’s landing.  Eventually I get to within range and am ready to shoot if he tries to take off. He never did, he was stone cold dead at my arrival with wings outstretched to either side, and head down in the muck. I was thrilled, relieved and impressed at the size of this Canada goose. He was huge and a part of me was thankful to have just the one to carry back to the truck. He almost made it to the river another 30 yards and I might be telling a different story.

I picked him up by his neck and felt his warmth and how heavy he is. I suspect a good 15 lbs. maybe more. After a moment or two of admiring him and realizing I'd just pulled it off, I gently swung him over my left shoulder and began the walk back to my truck. I feel the sweat trickling down my back and my face from beneath my cap. I unzip my coat and base layer to dissipate some excess heat. Soon I am sweating from head to toe and smiling every step of the way. Feeling my left hamstring from my run and hoping it's just a temporary strain. There's nothing like lying on the cold ground for extended periods of time in a less than comfortable position on wet vegetation and feeling your core temp drop, slowly pulling the heat away from your extremities. Then in a flash having to bolt upright and start sprinting. Your running feels more like your legs are encased in concrete, lacking fluidity and warmth. This is entirely muscle memory and desire driving you. Your breathing becomes heavy and labored soon realizing you have to slow the pace down. You've waited patiently and the last thing you'll let happen now is for that goose to get away because you were to cold, stiff or slow to reach it in time. You dig deep because you owe it to that bird and you’re not going to let some old coyote have an easy meal on your watch if you can help it.

Going over in my mind what just transpired and how the story will unfold as I share it with my friends. It all moves so fast in my mind yet it took several hours for it to unfold in real time. There are so many pieces to a hunt I savor each moment like it’s the last one. I do my best to absorb all the little nuances of being out there hunkered in against a wet muddy cold dike in the dead of winter. How the mud smells and the odor of wet grasses blown over by driving winds, rain and snow, the tiny insects that live in the dank vegetation and the rodents who thrive underneath the surface.  I wonder what they think if anything, when they feel us walking on the dirt over their tunnels. Perhaps it’s not worth the time for them to give it a thought. I cherish my time in the field and realize that I'm  just a visitor and though I am most comfortable out there I know well I cannot truly call it home. Not like that of the wild creatures that give me reason to return and match wits with. I am not equipped to call it home and so the quest of hunter and the hunted will continue far beyond my years. Enjoying the successes as well as the disappointments for they are all parts of what we call hunting and the 360* of possibilities.

Women's Hunting Journal  Integrity For The Hunt

Doubled Up

I manged to peel myself away from my temporary home for a few days to go south and see what Lowland Farms looked like. I hadn't been back since last March's Spec hunt. I must say that the primary reason for my tardy return was the poor condition of the landscape. There was hardly any natural cover left on any of the dikes making it next to impossible to hide or camouflage oneself from the sharp eyes of wary waterfowl. That is unless you happened to be a Muskrat or leech. So with expectations in check, Jet and I loaded up and headed south. At the very least we could enjoy the wide open spaces watching raptors, coyotes and Magpies. I wasn't sure if there was going to be much in the way of waterfowl present or not.

The weather was mild so far this year with an abnormally low snow pack and very little precipitation to date. I loaded all my gear just in case, as conditions can and do change rapidly when storms start to roll in. As we hit the edge of the property I was starting to feel optimistic. I was seeing a lot of vegetation and excellent cover on the dikes that were for the most part de nuded last March. Mmmm I thought to myself, this may be alright after all. I began to visualize in my mind all the ditches and places where I've found late season dabblers. The myriad of options began flooding my head as we pulled up to the cabin on top of the hill. It was late afternoon and not enough time to get a walk in so we unpacked the truck and settled into the cabin. After I put food away in the frig, turned the water on without any blown pipes(thankfully) and got a fire going in the wood cook stove, I took a good look over the fields and river with my binocs.

There were some divers in the river and nothing in the fields, no geese at all. In some ways not seeing any geese didn't bother me to much since I wasn't able to dig my ground blind out of my storage unit. It's buried deep in there, somewhere.
So we enjoyed a relaxing evening as the sun set watching the few hawks and Magpies fly the friendly skies.

I still had a couple days before the close of Pheasant season and if at all possible I wanted to get Jet on a big late season rooster. I kept an ear open for the cackle during my morning walk along the Klamath River. There was still some ice on the river in a few of the deeper bends where the main current runs wide of. I had to be selective of what I shot since Jet(now retired) was keeping the cabin warm. I don't swim well in icy water and whatever I shot had to sail onto dry land for me to retrieve. I chose to head downriver and check out Porto's point first then make a loop across the fields to another ditch. Just as I cleared the end of the ditch a pair of Mallards gained my attention with their wing beats and flush off the water. They flushed close, not far from the head gate and I was surprised to see them as I had passed them on the road paralleling the ditch. Fortunately they were feeding along the edges where the vegetation droops over the cut bank, essentially shielding us from each other. I swung to my right, shouldered my Beretta 20 ga. told myself to take my time and not rush my shot cause I may not get another for a very long time, as in next year. I got on target dropping first the hen and then the drake. I was able to retrieve both with ease and wished I had Jet with me, as those would have been perfect  retrieves for an older seasoned vet like herself. Darn I thought, so I perked my ears for that outside chance of a Pheasants cackle just for her.

I walked along the river dike listening for Whistlers and the like. I indeed heard them only problem was that they were well out over the river and off limits for me to retrieve. There were also plenty of Scaup and the usual array of Buffleheads too. So I started to loop around and cut across the fields before returning to the cabin. Maybe some more dabblers will swing over and check out the open ditches. It was getting close to noon and I never did get another shot. I arrived at the cabin and said hello to Jet and had a bite to eat. Took my waders off and relaxed a spell. The weather was starting to turn with winds and rain in the forecast. I let Jet out to stretch her legs and just about that time the wind really started to pick up. Oh boy, I said to myself this may be a good storm approaching. I processed my pair of Mallards and got the stove stoked up and just sat back and watched the storm roll in. I was content with my good fortune and so I decided to call it a day and see what tomorrow would bring.

Women's Hunting Journal  Integrity For The Hunt

The Big Freeze

I arrived home from a recent duck hunt just in time to spend the following day snow blowing and shoveling for the better part of 7 hours. All things considered I was no better off staying in Klamath County hunting ducks. The freeze is upon us now and here for the duration I'm afraid. Morning temps well below zero and a high in the teens. I had only made two trips to hunt waterfowl and now all the flooded fields are solid ice and the Klamath river also now with dangerous shelf ice and the potential for a full freeze across it's width. It has been many years since I've seen that river froze up tight as a drum, but this may be the year of a repeat performance. When I awoke at 3 a.m. Monday morning due to high winds slamming the little cabin and it's creaking sounds, I was hoping to get back to sleep for a short while. I never did and finally got up at 5 a.m. to a chilly 41 degrees inside, brrr. I fired up the wood stove and said hello to Jet and stalled her from her breakfast for as long as possible. Her internal clock is far better than any watch I've ever owned when it comes to her meal times. I got my cereal and coffee going and snuggled up to the wood stove. I mentally went through the packing of gear and cabin shut down checklist. The previous night it had snowed 5 to 6 inches and the west winds whipped up the Klamath into a fine froth of whitecaps.

On Saturday afternoon when we arrived it was brisk and quite comfortable. We took a lap around to jump our favorite ditches. We did get a nice Mallard, 2 Ring Necked ducks and we flushed a few Snipe, of which Jet made nice retrieves. In hindsight I wish I'd spent more time focused on hunting Snipe, as this was one of their last nights spent here before continuing on their migration south. Some of the ditches had thin layers of ice forming as did the flooded fields. Very few ducks in either places with the exception being the Klamath River where there were quite a few divers.

On Sunday the weather was turning colder with snow flurries, strong winds and white caps on the river. Jet stayed in the cabin as it was to dangerous for her to go in the river and I didn't want to take any chances. With her hearing about gone she is on auto pilot when a bird goes down and I didn't want her to get into trouble, or myself for that matter in rescuing her. I had a few good shots on a drake Spoonie and 1 Pheasant. The Spoonie was close enough for me to wade to it. I had to work hard to find the Pheasant, as he piled into a wide swath of tule's next to the river. This particular patch is dangerous because it has hidden water holes that are quite deep and ones footing is somewhat challenging. Tough enough for hunters but even worse for our 4 legged partners. They get more tangled that one can imagine, plus if they go front feet first into a water hole it can be life threatening. I've had to pull Jet out a time or two before when she's gotten herself into a predicament. When she gets that Pheasant scent in her head she is like a dog on drugs, she will not stop until she flushes them or I physically pull her out of there and convince her to come with me. Pheasants truly are her drug of choice.

Back to my story of retrieving the Pheasant without Jet's assistance. I spent a good 1/2 hour looking and had no luck finding the bird. I decided to walk the dike towards the old boat dock and loop around the field side of the dike in hopes of flushing the other rooster that I missed. After the better part of 1 and 1/2 hours I never did flush the second Pheasant and was now back up river from where I had dropped the Pheasant. I looped back to the river side of the dike and proceeded to go look some more for the downed Pheasant. I again "marked" the point from where I shot and took a straight line and this time after about 15 minutes I had succeeded. I was out to far before and made my way back in just a little and there he was crumpled in a pile, still warm to the touch. I was ecstatic as I hate to lose any bird or animal that I shoot. I was laughing to myself that Jet typically goes to short and now I tend to the opposite. Somewhere in there is a happy medium I'm sure. I felt like I deserved a can of Alpo for my efforts.

Throughout the day the snow squalls came and went as did the gusty winds. I retired to the cabin before quitting time and was happy to get my birds field dressed before darkness set in. The temperatures plummeted that night and I wondered if the cabin pipes would freeze and if there would be any birds left come morning. I knew with the temps being in the single digits the only open water was going to be the river. While I love to hunt the river it's no place to be by yourself in a winter storm. Even in fair weather early season hunts, I won't use my boat unless I've got a friend hunting with me. So the stage was now set for the arctic blast and big freeze of 2010. Jet and I hit the pavement at 0630 after a windy night in the cabin. The roads were glazed ice and not more than 3 miles down the road did I see my first SUV in someones front yard with a sheriffs patrol vehicle next to it. Driving north along the Upper Klamath Lake is a dangerous and treacherous piece of real estate. We drove slow and steady reaching home in a little over 3 hours for 120 miles. Happy to be home and looking forward to a good nights rest before we had to start the chore of snow removal in the morning.

As I sit here and type this story I am thankful for many things, even the ability to do the not so fun ones like snow removal. Jet and I want to extend our very best to you and your family and friends for a wonderful Thanksgiving. Please take a moment and think of those who are serving this country in harms way and their loved ones. We are fortunate to live in a wonderful country and lets not forget that freedom is not free. Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Be safe out there.

Women's Hunting Journal Integrity For The Hunt

White Fronted Goose Hunt, Pt. 2

Having spent the better part of opening week sick, I eventually regained my strength and returned for the final week of the season. Although I had not forgotten the skybusters ruining opening weekend. All I was able to do is hope they had been visited by a state game officer, informing them about shooting hours and maybe even gave them a warning or more. As of this writing I have not heard the outcome of my reporting them.

Anyhow, Dan and I agreed to meet up on Thursday and see if our luck was any better than the first week. I hunted Thursday evening and had little success while mostly trying to pattern the geese for the following days. Dan arrived late Thursday evening after a long days work and was more than ready to decompress and get some field time in. He hadn't hunted at all during the regular season and we were both excited to hunt together.

The next morning we hunkered in a small ditch next to an over grazed pasture, which was adjacent to the Klamath River where the Specs had been spending the night. We had nothing more for cover than camo netting as we waited for the geese to arrive. We spent a few hours listening to them vocalizing amongst themselves before they finally made their move. They are smart birds and have keen sight so we had to take advantage of even the slightest shot opportunities they provided. The shots were long and in the end of our first morning we each had 1 Spec to our credit. Dan was able to retrieve his from the field while mine had made it to the river and died there. It was to far out for me in my chest highs, so I drove up to the cabin and got Jet to help me. I marked the bird for her and she made a wonderful retrieve swimming out some 30 yards or so. Considering her age and fast decline in physical abilities this season, I was very proud of her effort.

After retrieving our birds, we headed for the cabin and a late brunch followed by much conversation about how and where to make our next hunt. There were about 300 to 500 Specs in the immediate area feeding in the fields for a few hours in the mornings, then returning to the river for the duration of the day. Not until after evening shooting hours did a portion of them return to the fields for a quick evening snack. So our best opportunity was the morning hunt and it took a lot of years of experience to decide just where to set up.

We opted for the number 1 field next to the river. Using the dig out excavated from my previous hunt with Jackie, we again took our positions. We had set out 6 full bodied GHG Spec decoys and with the light breeze they were moving well. As the sun began to rise the continual chatter from the Specs in the river behind us was making our hearts beat faster with each crescendo. Anticipating their taking to flight is an exercise in controlling of ones adrenaline, patience and learning the subtle nuances of their vocalizations. Ultimately being rewarded for such diligence in ways that are both unexpected and unpredictable. Once they finally decided to feed they came off the water in succession, not all at once, but in small bunches. With the sun in our eyes on the horizon we had a small flock land in our decoys. Whatever Dan and I were talking about ended abruptly and our attention was now squarely focused in front of us at 40 yards. We eased our camo netting up over the bill of our hunting caps with one hand to help shield our eyes from the blinding sun, while our other was firmly a hold of our shotgun. We are now frozen in whatever position we uttered our last words. With our hearts pounding the small flocks continued to circle our spread and eventually land. Our small set of decoys worked their magic and we were now looking at (and being looked back at) approximately 200 or more live Specs in our decoys at some 40 to 60 yards away. I was almost speechless and I whispered to Dan, what do you want to do? As we were both waiting for the other to make the first move, after a bit of quiet whispering we agreed on taking the next group that offered us a shot as they circled overhead. It wasn't long before we broke the silence and took aim skyward. The Specs in our decoys took off with great surprise and more noise than one can imagine. We had our days limit and were amazed at what we had just witnessed. Neither Dan or I had ever had that many live geese in our decoys before. It was an experience that neither of us will soon forget, if ever. Especially the handful of sentry's that kept a sharp eye on us, knowing something wasn't quite right yet not being able to clearly bust us.

We had succeeded at fooling some of waterfowls wisest birds. No doubt had we stayed silent they would have continued to land in front of us. Although we were becoming quite stiff, and even a bit cramped in the cool morning air lying on the frozen dirt face of the dike. We were all grins as we both got to standing and working the kinks out of our frozen poses. The down side were there to be one, is that we had also just educated all those geese to the subtleties of hunters.

None the less Dan and I had several great days of hunting Specs and portability was a key ingredient to our success. Just as the geese learned where not to go, we learned to better guess where they were going to go. It was about being in the right place to intercept their movements while coming off the river en route to feed. Soon Dan was on his way back home while Jet and I stayed to finish the last 3 days of the season. More of those stories to come down the road. Oh, and the skybusters were no where to be found, or heard!

Women's Hunting Journal Integrity For The Hunt

White Fronted Goose Hunt, Pt.1

I was down in Klamath for a special hunt this past February and early March. The opening weekend was a complete disappointment. Not so much due to lack of geese but other factors. My friend Jackie and I set up in a field against a dike face and had a few full body Spec decoys out. There were decent numbers of geese in the area, although with unseasonal mild temps and no snow, the geese had the entire state to go where they wanted. They were not pressured to any one area because of limiting factors such as snow covered ground, iced rivers, lack of food sources or inclement weather. We dug in our ground blinds a day before the opening with the usual optimism. I was fighting off early symptoms of a bug and doing my best to keep the upper hand.

We were in our blinds by shooting time on Saturday morning and waited patiently for the geese to make their move from the Klamath River to the fields. There was a lack of green up due to poor snow pack and less precipitation than normal years. The geese were finding food where ever they could with no real jackpot anywhere. Across the river from us there were a couple other hunters set up near the river. As the geese began giving us a look, the fellows across the way were shooting at geese well out of their range. Thus having a negative effect on all the geese in close proximity. I was beside myself with the display of poor judgement of shooting distance and the ill effects of educating the geese. Once they started shooting or what is known as skybusting, we had next to zero chances of calling in any geese to our spread. I watched as they continued to skybust and didn't see a single goose ever get knocked down. By the end of the first evening after we picked up our decoys, I continued to hear shooting well beyond legal quitting time. A healthy 20 minutes after the fact, which just added to my disgust. After we returned to the cabin I reported the location, number of hunters and associated facts to the proper authorities. Considering I wasn't feeling well they picked the wrong time and place for their display of poor ethics and disregard of game laws.

The next morning found me sick as a dog and able only to make a trip to the field to gather my gear and head home to lick my wounds. Jackie was on her way home also as work was on her itinerary. So, after a very disappointing opening weekend it took me a week to get back on my feet and entertain the thought of returning for the last week of the White Fronted Goose hunt.

Fortunately, the season ended better than it started. I'll have the conclusion in my next post in a few days. Jet even got into the action and had some proud moments.

Women's Hunting Journal Integrity For The Hunt