Spring goose started yesterday in this area. I took a group of four to Boundary Bay. As I anticipated it was crazy. I'd done this the previous year and knew it had elements of a shit-show and this year was no different. South of 64st. I got there with plenty of darkness and the little parking lot was already half filled. After ten minutes of getting gear together and a quick huddle my group set off into the foreshore. We raced another hunter through the foreshore, knowing there were other groups already set up from the flashes of their headlamps. Soon that other hunter veered off and kept marching to what looked like a free area. All in the game.
During COVID and an extended off-work I had spent weeks converting federal campaign signs to black and white decoys. Cutting, shaping, painting and strapping in stakes. I can do it in my sleep now. Now it was time to test them for real. Once we got to our spot we found an extended stretch of shore and started planting them. I had my old assortment of Big Al's silos that still looked good as well as a dodgy set of foamies that were in various states of falling apart. The partial moon was glowing bright and I found we didn't need to use our headlamps at all. My silos planted nicely and in the stiff morning wind were already flapping.
After ten minutes of planting and re-planting and gabbing about the game plan we marked off our individual spots hidden in the foreshore weeds and then hunkered down to see to our own preparations. As usual bag management for me is an ongoing battle so I found myself second guessing access to things and gadgets but quickly squared away gun, shells, seat and cover. After the fiddling was over, all that was left was to sit, chat a bit and wait for opening light.
In the darkness we could hear the far-off soft honks of the geese and other birds. Then a shout "coyote!" and we all saw a coyote flit among our decoys. The damn thing had come to check out these dumb birds that had camped too close to its domain. Before anyone could grumble about not bringing a slug with them, the coyote was gone with the briefest of sniffs.
10 minutes to opening we could hear late-comers bumbling into the swamp and one of us stood up to make sure they kept their distance. In the brightening morning we could finally make out the other groups without lights. One fellow was sitting on a rise in the beach in the open - camo-ed yes - but with no attempt at breaking the profile. Others still seemed to be standing up in the grass but hopefully they would sit back down when the birds came. Everyone had a patchwork of camo - even in our group I doubt any of us would stand up to the human eye test - but perhaps from a distance it wouldn't be so terrible.
Then right on the dot, two shots off in the distance and then everyone lay back down for that happy time when you're peering at the horizon, listening for the honks, trying to make out whether the fliers are gulls or goose, every glimmer a hope. Now you didn't need telescopic vision to know the geese were there in the bay - congregating safely many klicks away from coyotes and humans. You could hear them speaking their morning language and make out black dots in a series on the sand. But would they come in? Memory tells us yes. Inland means delicious farm cover, the safety of golf courses, the standing pools and no-shooting areas. But would they come in over legal shooting ground when there were so many flight paths to choose from?
The red sun was gorgeous now, peeking over from the east, lighting up baker. The moon losing its glow. All the phones come out for the show, for the selfies, hopefully not for consolation pictures for social media. Ducks are up first and we mimic the actions we would make in October. "See you in a few weeks!" And we talk about how easy that shot would have been if it were legal. Of the three of us, the youngest in our group is new, barely two weeks from getting his hunting license. His brother beside him feeding him with tips. None of us were great goose hunters - more duck hunters - so the proof would be in the shooting this morning. Then with the first sighting of the Canadas lifting off from the bay the sight frees your mind of doubt and fatalism. They're flying!
Our necks are craning like bobbleheads now. Will any come this way? They are rising and falling a mile away where they have diplomatic immunity. They are heading toward farm land. Separate groups - healthy numbers - some flocks easily two dozen strong - they are all dots in the distance but soon they are bigger and you can make out wings but still they won't come close. Then a pause as the early fliers have settled to feed far away.
Then the first kill in our section of the foreshore. Three geese make a sudden appearance and try to make it through the scattered inland hunters. Two of them are downed right away but a cripple begins to fly drunkenly close to our position and our neighbour on the right. That's when I get my first 'kill' as both myself and the stranger put it down on the ground. But neither of us want to claim it. Finally my friends urge me to go get it which I do but on my way back one of the in-land hunters gives me a wave, we meet and I congratulate him and hand it over. A healthy bird that has been absolutely peppered by shots from nearly everyone in the foreshore.
The first excitement gone, we settle back down. And as usual with little prompting - I fall asleep.
Suddenly a hissed alert jolts me awake. This is why a small group is good. Someone's going to be looking in the right direction - and not asleep. "They're coming! Six-oclock!" Everyone seizes their gun. We're pointed in the wrong direction but quickly twist in our holes and peer up carefully. Sure enough, they are coming in from in-land. A group just shy of a dozen. Perhaps a group that had been loafing in the safety of the standing ponds or nearby golf course. All summer they had been free of being shot at but now they were about to get the surprise of their lives.
First the inland hunters got their shots off. One fluttered down. Other hunters less well sited tried skybusting which only made the group angle slightly off their original path. But for us it was still a perfect direction. Were they heading for the artificial safety of our decoys or luck? We could now make out their feet and beaks as they charged for the beach. Finally my hunting partner shouted "shoot 'em!" and we leapt up. In the next few seconds, the beautiful chaos. Big geese scattering in panic, feathers raining down. Somehow I missed my first shot as they were in-coming but as my target crosses overhead I spin, take a moment and bring mine down with the next two shots. The remaining confused geese still had not got ahead so I was able to slap in another shell and helped put down a cripple that nearly everyone had had a shot at. The survivors beating fast finally make it out of range, all except one cripple limping through the sky. It takes a fatal turn back inland where it crosses over one of our neighbouring groups who put it down easily.
Both of our kills had fallen right on top of our decoys perhaps validating our placement. In any case, both birds were not quite dead. I pounced on the one I outright killed and gave it a whirl. The second one my partner tracked down as it tried to scurry away and then struggled to dispose of it. Watching his trouble, I start to help him and throw down my goose to free my hands but when it lands it lets out a comical honk like a dog toy and proceeds to get up again! So I save my advice for myself as I brain it with a knife. As we were not quite clear who had killed the second, the group did a rochambeau for it and the victor was our new hunter who posed for his photo with much pride. Both birds are turkey sized and I recall my first two last year that absolutely winded me as I dragged them back to the parking lot. It is somehow hard to believe they can fly sometimes.
Settling back in our spots we are eager to get birds for the remaining members of our group. Twenty minutes later a group rises from the bay and again makes a beeline for our spot. Heads down we pray they will come closer which they do. A smaller group this time but three targets for four guns. We sit up and blast the group but it seems like all four of us have targeted one that tumbles out of the sky as the survivors climb out of range. Within the hour we get two more opportunities as more groups run the gauntlet but fail to make it to our spot. One final bit of excitement as a larger flight again comes out from the standing ponds. Every hunter in that section gets their shot and the remaining member of our group gets his bird. Of the dozen birds who broke for the beach, five were taken.
We stayed until we were the last remaining group and the activity seemed to die down. It was around 11 and the calls from our life commitments began trickling in. Someone has a remote meeting to get to. My girlfriend has woken up and has started responding to my social media posts. But we all have taken our first birds of the year. Opening day chaos is done. One new hunter got his cherry. All in all a successful day.
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Originally Posted by ab3
