Albion Geese 1
We did as we had done previously, this time with Jesse and I taking the state line, Jared going past the couple houses into Idaho, and this time Terry pushing the pond. There were a lot of ducks flying, but not many geese. One group came out over Jesse, in `the Corner’; he got a couple shots off, but nothing came down. I got off a couple shots at some high mallards, but nothing came down.
Jesse said he had a spot near Albion he wanted to try – and I asked if he wanted me to go with him. “Sure” … so I did. We first checked out the flat beyond the Albion turnoff north of Carlsons Plumbing. Then we went toward Albion, and in the flat east of the trailer court ponds there were about 100 geese, with one big Canadian `Mama’ watching over the rest. I parked, Jesse got out, and they flushed. He expected they might go to the flat north of Carlsons, but they went north. We got in Red Jeep and pursued. It had been wet, but then the temp dropped below freezing, and we could get Red Jeep out on the `Primitive Road’ about a mile north of the trailer park. We couldn’t find them – and turned back as the `road’ got dicier. Jesse wanted to climb the hill north of the flat by foot; I wanted to get back – but, what the heck – I’m already out here; `Let’s do it’.
The temp was just below freezing – so the plowed field with grain sprouts was firm and good for walking – but if the temperature climbed a few degrees, it would be a real mess walking out. We walked the ridgeline in search of the geese. They weren’t in any of the basins for flats – though it looked good. The pair of binoculars I was using were awkward, and as such, ineffective. At some point it would be reasonable to jump a deer, and we finally did – a nice whitetail buck. I said that we ought to still see the geese – and – we did – or, should I say, they saw us, about 1000 yards out. They flew out south, low – and disappeared. They had evidently been sitting just a little ways beyond where we turned around in Red Jeep.
We walked (and walked and walked) around west and then south … Jesse providing the gentle hope that we might see them again – to keep us going. The wind was stiff out of the east. Ducks were flying low level below the skyline and through various saddles and over ridges to get to the trailer park ponds. `Oh, to be there when they come though – would be so sweet.’ The geese had also been flying low level. The temperature had climbed a bit and the fields were starting to get soft.
Then Jesse spotted the geese again – who had also again spotted us – this time maybe only 300 yards out. They flew, and landed in the flat where they started. Jesse had a hunch not all had flown, but didn’t say anything until, `dang, there are some more … but they’ve also seen us’. They flew, some to the flat, some to a secondary knoll on the other side of the road.
We were now in a good spot – but there wasn’t anyone stirring them up – and we were due home a while ago, so we discussed various ways to go back. Certainly we would more than double our chance at shots if we split up. We decided that Jesse would go south and then come up on the ponds and flat from the west. I would go to the ridge by which we had come – and maybe get a shot at something coming in or out.
I made it to the ridge, and watched Jesse, now nearly a mile to the south, work east. Though there was no chance he’d get a shot, he jumped the bunch that were south of the road, and then came toward the pond. I was positioned at the east-most knoll toward the car. He radioed that he jumped the ducks, and they were coming my way. They came around below me, to the east, swinging around the hill, out of range. Then he said there were two coming up behind me. What did he mean, `behind me’? `Oh, that `behind me’.’ I couldn’t get around fast enough, and they got past. I said that I wasn’t in a good spot – but then caught myself – I was in a good spot – it just didn’t work out well for the ducks. Words have power.
Jesse radioed that he would be getting the geese up next. I got positioned well. He said they were up and coming my way. I waited, then I could see them coming around to the east, below my level – essentially as the flock of ducks had. I drew up on a predominant goose in the middle of the group and let the top / full choke barrel go. Two birds crumpled. My second shot didn’t fell anything. Without time, or at least warning, to reload, a second part of the group came right over me, much closer than the group out of which I had taken two birds.
”Two birds down; I’ll hold tight and see what the rest do.” Jesse was getting some shooting at ducks as well. My vantage point was good. The main group of geese went north, appearing to pass, or at least get, west of Kamiak Butte. A smaller group flew north, then east, and then was working its way south, perhaps toward the flat near Carlsons, but perhaps east of there.
When things had settled, I went down for the geese. The first had come down about 50 yards below me and was now dead. The second was about 60 yards, to the left of the first, and was now standing and honking. She looked quite healthy; I was worried she could perhaps fly. I leveled my full choke barrel on her and shot. Bird still standing. I shot two more times. Bird still standing. I closed the distance – worried it might still be able to exit. Maybe 35 or 40 yards, full choke; this time I could see two puffs of feathers where Triple BBB shot hit the bird, but she still stood, occasionally honking. I only had one shell left ( … having left the house hours earlier thinking I might only get a shot or two in the whole adventure).
`Shit’, the goose stood as tall as a child, and now I would have to kill it hand to hand. It was eerie. Finally I broke her neck after wringing it what seemed like fifty times. She still flapped about. Nature is beautiful, but sometimes ugly … non-cruel, and cruel.
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I now had the task of carrying the geese on out to the road. They were huge. I could hardly believe how heavy they were. A few days earlier Terry had got three geese a half mile or so from the road and complained how heavy they were – and henceforth took a backpack. I silently scoffed at the time. But not now. These things were heavy, I switched arms or put them down every fifty yards or so. |
I ate part of an MRE as Jesse jumped and shot at some more ducks. He came back with one mallard, and report of a jam using his Winchester pump. Dang that was fun. Maybe a place to hunt again, and perhaps with decoys.
Earlier I had joked with John Lag and Brent Wenger, and now Jesse - that hunting is like sex – so much fun and excitement thinking and even talking about it – sometimes for days - all the anticipation – and then sometimes the event itself is great, and sometimes a flop. All we could do was try to eventually get in front of those geese, and eventually we did. This little tryst turned out good.
Jesse had a cell phone ... I called Tammy explaining our being several hours overdue.