Outwrite Outdoors

Growing up in a household with what I would call a serious archery deer hunter, I had little exposure to waterfowl hunting until I met Derrek, who later become my husband. Even then, it was years into our relationship before he convinced me it was worth getting up an hour before sunrise on cool fall mornings to field hunt geese.

My first hunt was opening morning of early season. We were hunting a hay field on his family’s farm and had invited what would become “the guys,” even though two of us weren’t really guys. That first morning we didn’t see or hear a single goose, but I learned about the other aspects of goose hunting with “the guys,” including the laughing and joking and general good time that could be had in a field. Though we didn’t get anything that first morning, Derrek convinced me that I needed to give it another try.

We went out with just one of the guys, Rick, the next morning. We were hidden in the uncut weeds under a large maple in the middle of the same field. We saw a few that passed us by for other area fields before we caught the interest of a lone goose. It was quickly decided that Derrek and Rick would pass on the goose. It was all mine.

They called and flagged and the goose locked it wings for a spot directly in front of us. I pulled up my shotgun and waited. As the goose came closer, without my noticing both of the guys drew up their guns, thinking I had froze up. Finally something clicked in my head and I pulled the trigger. I hit the goose directly in the chest with a great deal of force since it was only about 15 feet above me at that point. Okay, so maybe I thought there was a lot of force behind my shot because both Derrek and Rick shot the goose too at the same time. The well-peppered bird dropped almost directly into my lap. They don’t get any deader.

Rick later took two birds that morning. Since Derrek had taken no birds that morning—he says he was too busy calling for me—he “refused” to help me clean my bird, saying, “it was part of learning how to hunt.” Rick ended up teaching me to clean my bird, and I proudly ate goose jerky for a few days.

It turns out that having to clean my own birds was a good idea. On more than a few occasions since that first successful hunt, I have taken birds when Derrek wasn’t so fortunate. Every time Derrek refuses to help me clean my geese. Maybe I should learn to call geese? That way he’d run out of excuses.