Thursday, November 14, 2013
After the first 24 hours of goose season have passed, you won't find me hunting on a day on which either the moon is full OR it's predicted to be 59 degrees by lunchtime, let alone both. But I'll go.
I'll go because I can still remember in perfect detail the last goose I shot, in January 2013. It was a tough shot, I somehow got it right - overhead-left moving front-to-rear on the wind at about 40 yards in the air - stalling in the wind to look at the decoys for just a moment. I pulled the trigger, and the big bird fell like a stone, dead in a pile just 20 yards to my left, in the heavy thorned vines of the River's sandy shoreline.
I'll go to rekindle relationships with people I respect - people I rarely speak to outside of waterfowl season. We'll enjoy fresh Maryland rockfish and oysters, and toast to another season of hard work, success, and fellowship on the water. We'll have a cigar and tell tall tales of hunts that were not as good as we remember them; and of close calls that hopefully weren't as dangerous or exciting as we remember them.
I'll go to relax and remember why I go to work. I'll get my head together and by late saturday afternoon, I'll be home and ready to focus on more important things once again. But first, we'll go out into the dark water, chasing the big moon and waiting for the sun to rise with birds on the wing.