|Literally the only picture I took this morning.|
But that first big flight of geese never came in this strangely odd El Nino winter. In the last week of the season, I was invited to hunt geese with some work friends on a farm that usually generates limits of geese. A typical morning might have you see one to two thousand geese, and kill a 6-man limit of 12 geese.
So we hunkered down and waited, and in the end probably saw about 60 geese total, shot and missed at one goose, and went home empty handed. This might not have happened, had the guide not told us to arrive at 9:00, leading some of the hunters to arrive at 9:10; and of course about 30 geese had landed around the pit at 8:55, and a few more at 9:05. I would have gladly given up another hour of sleep to have arrived at 8:00. Sigh.
But that's how hunting goes, and that's how many hunters' seasons have gone this year on the east coast. As one buddy told me, when I asked if they'd killed geese, "No. We did not. And I hope they freeze to death." A harsh sentiment to be sure, but after watching a few dozen fickle geese toy with us in a frozen, snowy corn field, good riddance to them.