Waterfowl Season's End: An Insane Pass-shoot

The end of our waterfowl season came in the form of a pass-shooting run like nothing I have experienced that up close and personal. Many of us have seen these giant flocks of snow geese but few have been underneath them while they swirl through thin cold November air. Dad and I drove around looking for any open water had access to in hopes of finding a lingering bird or two. Overnight, every small slough, and much of the bigger water was locked up. We drove all over, finding huge concentrations of birds in the process, but none accessible. We ended up doubling back close to home, finding a usual concentration of birds north of town. We sat at a postage stamp of public for a few minutes watching these birds before pulling the plug as it was not a great fly-over area. With a bit of map work and some luck, we stumbled upon a no-maintenance dead end road that led us right to the greatest group of birds. These are snow geese, and I figured there was no chance in hell we would get much closer than a couple hundred yards before they all busted and Dad agreed. But we had to try!

At a steady pace we walked to the end of the dead-end road stopping only once to soak in the marvel of the thousands of swirling geese. When we got to the end at the red signs, we hunkered down. Dad found a clump of taller weeds and I used a single wooden fence post as my cover. The birds had busted but if we waited long enough they would work their way back. There were so many birds it was impossible to not get a tad overwhelmed. We sat as still as possible and waited for any bird that got close enough to take a passing poke. With as many snow geese as there were I did not expect the first flock of birds to make a pass over the top of us to be specklebellies. When Dad made the final call we pulled up and hoped for the best, my first shot folded a barred adult and neither Dad or I were able to connect again. At the shots, the roar of snow geese to the north was unreal. Again, we watched as they would swing closer and closer but we were just not able to get them to swing close enough. Just when we thought it was about time to call it a hunt, a wave of birds got up from the field to the north and made their pass over us.

Again, I was able to connect on a blue goose on my first shot, but no other birds came down. What birds were close-ish were now thoroughly stirred up. Dad and I easily could have waited the rest of the morning and afternoon at the spot and shot more birds, but with two birds in hand, and a half mile walk back to the car, we figured we should call it a season.

I could not think of a better ending, to our waterfowl season. As the lakes froze up, and the droves of geese made their annual flight south, Dad and I had the privilege of experiencing some of the most spectacular shows. Even during our less productive hunts, there was a level of enjoyment that is unmatched in the outdoor world. God willing I will have many more seasons to chase ducks with my Dad, and sooner than later, my boy will join in the insanity.

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