It's the last day of the early goose season, and I've failed miserably to help Major hone his retrieval skills. The time has slipped away, even though waves of Canada geese started arriving a week or so ago earlier than last year when the first flock landed on the north pond on the afternoon of Sept. 15.
The weekend was rainy and warm, not the kind of weather for a productive hunt of any kind. It was near dark on Sunday evening when I heard them come in honking raucously as they circled the ponds, checking for predators and scoping out a likely landing site. A fair-sized flock from the sounds of it.
Morning dawns with a heavy fog draping the bottom, the binoculars useless against the thickness. A light drizzle soon pokes holes in the murkiness, however, and the geese appear through the glass as pencil-like black stalks.
I eagerly roust my hunting buddy from his bunk, grab the over-and-under from the gun rack and pour myself into a pair of hip boots. A frantic search for some three-inch shells comes up empty; I'll have to settle for a handful of No. 4 two-and-three-quarter-inch steel shot left over from the days when my only firearm option was the old Remington 870.
With tail wagging furiously, Major senses the urgency of the moment. We race for the door, bumping clumsily into each other on the way out. By the time I've cranked up the ATV, my yellow lab is half way down the trail to the river.
It's time for some discipline once we get to the crossing. The boy will have to stay close from here on in, and he's warned accordingly as we cross the river me unsteady and sloshing water with gun held above my head, while Major slips otter-like through the brisk current.
The route is direct - 200-yards across the marsh. With luck, the geese will hold their position until we arrive. Unsure of exactly what it is we are supposed to be hunting, Major stays close, working back and forth in front of me and returning frequently for further instructions.
The geese are starting to gab back and forth, a sure sign they are preparing for the next leg of their journey southward. We'll have to hurry to get there before lift off while trying to keep our noise level to a minimum. By now, my garments have absorbed some serious moisture as the chest high Indian grass and big blue stem slough off their dewy jacket during the hike.
Finally, we bust through with Major arriving on the edge of the pond a few feet ahead of me. In a split second, the water explodes with fiercely beating wings and the wild honking of dozens of white-cheeks, all scrambling to escape skyward.
I pick one out and bring it down with a single shot 10-feet off the water. Startled at first, Major looks quickly left, right, then zeros in on the floating bird. He's there within seconds, collars the goose and returns it bank side with quick powerful strokes - a perfect retrieve.
Satisfied with his effort, he laid down by his prize and waited clueless for me come to him.
While the matriarch of the house spurns the offer to take part in the feast, Major and I stuff ourselves - the first opportunity of the new hunting season to share in Wisconsin's bountiful natural endowment.
- Lee Fahrney can be reached at (608) 967-2208 or at fiveoaks@mhtc.net.
The weekend was rainy and warm, not the kind of weather for a productive hunt of any kind. It was near dark on Sunday evening when I heard them come in honking raucously as they circled the ponds, checking for predators and scoping out a likely landing site. A fair-sized flock from the sounds of it.
Morning dawns with a heavy fog draping the bottom, the binoculars useless against the thickness. A light drizzle soon pokes holes in the murkiness, however, and the geese appear through the glass as pencil-like black stalks.
I eagerly roust my hunting buddy from his bunk, grab the over-and-under from the gun rack and pour myself into a pair of hip boots. A frantic search for some three-inch shells comes up empty; I'll have to settle for a handful of No. 4 two-and-three-quarter-inch steel shot left over from the days when my only firearm option was the old Remington 870.
With tail wagging furiously, Major senses the urgency of the moment. We race for the door, bumping clumsily into each other on the way out. By the time I've cranked up the ATV, my yellow lab is half way down the trail to the river.
It's time for some discipline once we get to the crossing. The boy will have to stay close from here on in, and he's warned accordingly as we cross the river me unsteady and sloshing water with gun held above my head, while Major slips otter-like through the brisk current.
The route is direct - 200-yards across the marsh. With luck, the geese will hold their position until we arrive. Unsure of exactly what it is we are supposed to be hunting, Major stays close, working back and forth in front of me and returning frequently for further instructions.
The geese are starting to gab back and forth, a sure sign they are preparing for the next leg of their journey southward. We'll have to hurry to get there before lift off while trying to keep our noise level to a minimum. By now, my garments have absorbed some serious moisture as the chest high Indian grass and big blue stem slough off their dewy jacket during the hike.
Finally, we bust through with Major arriving on the edge of the pond a few feet ahead of me. In a split second, the water explodes with fiercely beating wings and the wild honking of dozens of white-cheeks, all scrambling to escape skyward.
I pick one out and bring it down with a single shot 10-feet off the water. Startled at first, Major looks quickly left, right, then zeros in on the floating bird. He's there within seconds, collars the goose and returns it bank side with quick powerful strokes - a perfect retrieve.
Satisfied with his effort, he laid down by his prize and waited clueless for me come to him.
While the matriarch of the house spurns the offer to take part in the feast, Major and I stuff ourselves - the first opportunity of the new hunting season to share in Wisconsin's bountiful natural endowment.
- Lee Fahrney can be reached at (608) 967-2208 or at fiveoaks@mhtc.net.
