Swimming with the Geese

My track record for goose hunting remains unchanged: zero, nada, zip. I went home after sunset on Super Bowl Sunday empty handed. Too bad we don’t have pizza delivery around here. The bad news is that this past weekend was very different then any other goose hunting trip I’ve done in the past two years, despite not dropping any birds.

What started with the usual early morning start was only complicated by the fact that I’d stayed out a bit later than I wanted to the night before playing poker with some buddies. By buddies I mean the guys that took my money and sent me home a few dollars poorer. Four in the morning isn’t so bad, as long as you don’t forget to set your alarm like I did. For some reason I woke-up 20 minutes after my unset alarm was supposed to go off. Luckily my goose hunting buddy knows me pretty well and doesn’t get bent out of shape when I show up 20 minutes late each and every time we get out. I’ll have to work on that.

After a quick pit stop for gas and picking up my buddy’s son in Longmont we pulled into the parking lot at the Simpson Ponds State Wildlife Area (SWA) just northwest of Johnson’s Corner. I think they should rename it “Goose World”. Seems that we picked the one day when everyone else also thought it would be fun to go goose hunting. The parking lot had at least a dozen trucks and half a dozen trailers. The trailers are important because that’s where the dozens upon dozens of decoy were stored before the twenty something hunters set them up on the frozen ponds in preparation for the first flights of geese at sunrise. We were too late to grab a great spot, a good spot, or even a crappy spot. We resigned to take a really crappy spot and hope that we could pick off a bird that didn’t respond to the billions of decoys. That’s when the fun really began for me.

I grabbed my shotgun, my gear bag, and hotfooted it toward the really crappy spot, just in case someone else grabbed it and we had to give up the hunt altogether. On my way across the ice I came to a spot that must be a shallow channel between two of ponds. With sunrise just minutes away I neglected to notice that the ice was particularly clear and thin and charged straight ahead, dead set on getting into position before the geese started to fly. As I plunged up to my waist in the icy water a few thoughts crossed my mind. None of them can be published in this paper or any other paper with standards for decency. Fortunately, as I already mentioned, the spot where I fell in was shallow and I was able to jump out almost as fast as I fell in. Drenched in frozen water I made a beeline for the truck where my buddies were still gearing up.

Imagine the most you’ve ever laughed in your life, multiply it by two, and that would the amount of laughter I heard from my buddies as I stripped off my soaking wet clothes and dove into the truck to warm up. Cold, wet, and embarrassed I wondered what karmic sin I’d committed to be rewarded with a refreshing dip in the pond. I told my buddies to keep going and I’d figure out something to keep hunting. I tried braving the cold with just some long johns and my sockless boots, but that got embarrassing quickly after a carload of folks on their way to church pointed in my direction and started laughing. The something I figured out was a quick trip to Sportsman’s Warehouse in Loveland to buy some dry socks and pants. Returning to the SWA, the fun just got better.

Moments after I pulled into the parking lot a Colorado Department of Wildlife officer pulled in behind me and proceeded to check our hunting permits, shotguns, and shells. In my haste to be only 20 minutes late picking up my buddy I neglected to grab my permit. On the bright side, I did have my current fishing/small game license which showed that I’d paid for my Colorado waterfowl permit. On the not-so-bright side I didn’t have my Federal Duck Stamp with me. Seems the computer system that tracks Colorado permits doesn’t keep track of the Federal permits. More thoughts that can’t be published in any respectable newspaper ran through my head. Since the DOW officer hadn’t actually seen me actively hunting I got a break and she didn’t issue me a fine; instead she gave me a stern warning and made it clear that if I even thought about pulling my shotgun out of its case she’d write me a ticket. Not wanting to waste the time and money I’d already invested in this goose hunting holiday I jumped back in the truck and drove to Sportsman’s Warehouse again to purchase another Federal Stamp. Thank goodness they’re cheap and the money goes to protect wetlands and other waterfowl habitat.

The insult to injury was finally getting our decoys out on one of the ponds for the late afternoon flights only to see every possible goose we could hit shot down by the hunter in the adjacent pond. So what if he had more decoys and knows how to use a goose call. Our meager spread of decoys could easily fool a half-blind goose any day of the week. I can’t really say I was too surprised. Whenever one of my buddies or I tried to call in the geese we sounded like a bunch of American Idol rejects. The 4^th chair oboe player at the elementary school could call a goose in better than any of us. At least now I know what I have to do for the next goose hunt – stay away from the thin ice, don’t forget my permits, and learn how to use a goose call. What could be easier? I think I’m going to take the rest of the goose season off and start getting ready for next year. That way I have a shot a regaining the circulation in my lower extremities sometime in the next twelve months and maybe those poor folks that saw me on their way to church will recover too.