Here is an article I wrote some years ago, whilst on the eastern shore of the Chesapeake Bay, just prior to the Goose hunting season. The magazine where it was published is now out of business but was called "The Shoreman" and was a monthly for which I shot covers for over two years.
It really doesn't make any difference your stance about hunting or guns for that matter, the story is more about tradition, attitude, and man bonding with his/her surroundings.
"OPENING DAY--The Dream Realized"
Early, 4:15 A.M., and the temperature on the shore was somewhere in the mid thirties. No one minded because it was the much anticipated opening day of the goose season. Adrenaline was going to keep us warm, at least until the first flight of birds approached the blind.
It would have been the same anticipatory feeling if we were approaching a deer stand, a hedge row in search for quail or a turkey blind deep in the North woods. Or departing on a much anticipated vacation. It is a special experience that begins when the alarm goes off and the sky is still dark as ink. The dreams of the previous night, however, are still very much with us.
Pre-hunt breakfasts are as special as the rest of the rituals of the day. During goose season in Kent Count, MD, most restaurants are open for business at 4:30 A.M. It is an integral part of the experience. Simply put, such a breakfast involves the consumption of far more coffee than we normally drink in a short period of time and the intake of enough cholesterol to clog a major tunnel. Beyond the nourishment is the intake of a camaraderie shared only by those harboring the same dreams.
The trip, in an old bateau to the blind, serves to reinforce either the anticipation or the actual fact that it is really cold. We thought that the dog shivering in the bow of the boat was saying that dogs also have dreams. The dog is a Lab or Chesapeake retriever that seems never to want to grow up. He can swim two hundred yards through cold, icey, choppy water to bring back a goose weighing fifteen percent of his own body weight. Be happy about it and ready to go for the next one.
First light is special too. The decoys are set and the first "Honks" of the geese are heard off in the distance. The "Krank-Krank" of the great blue heron tells us that we have invaded his ritual fishing grounds and that we are are only visitors here. Somewhere in the distance the first shot of the season warns us that this is serious business and we should be alert.
But first, comes the sheer enjoyment of the sun beginning it's assent over the pines on the opposite shore and illuminating the marsh bordering the creek upon which we wait. The smell of the salt marsh is unmistakable. In another half hour the black water in front of us will start to turn a brief golden shimmer, and then to lighter and lighter shades of grey as the leaden sky is reflected.
The geese come into our decoys and expert calls and limits are taken, but this is not the highlight of the day. The shooting, while a part, is not upon reflection, why we are here.
Instead it is the culmination of the entire experience, shared with good friends. Participating in the brief moments of being associated with the wonder of this place and all the parts that make it the dream realized.
Skip Willits
It really doesn't make any difference your stance about hunting or guns for that matter, the story is more about tradition, attitude, and man bonding with his/her surroundings.
"OPENING DAY--The Dream Realized"
Early, 4:15 A.M., and the temperature on the shore was somewhere in the mid thirties. No one minded because it was the much anticipated opening day of the goose season. Adrenaline was going to keep us warm, at least until the first flight of birds approached the blind.
It would have been the same anticipatory feeling if we were approaching a deer stand, a hedge row in search for quail or a turkey blind deep in the North woods. Or departing on a much anticipated vacation. It is a special experience that begins when the alarm goes off and the sky is still dark as ink. The dreams of the previous night, however, are still very much with us.
Pre-hunt breakfasts are as special as the rest of the rituals of the day. During goose season in Kent Count, MD, most restaurants are open for business at 4:30 A.M. It is an integral part of the experience. Simply put, such a breakfast involves the consumption of far more coffee than we normally drink in a short period of time and the intake of enough cholesterol to clog a major tunnel. Beyond the nourishment is the intake of a camaraderie shared only by those harboring the same dreams.
The trip, in an old bateau to the blind, serves to reinforce either the anticipation or the actual fact that it is really cold. We thought that the dog shivering in the bow of the boat was saying that dogs also have dreams. The dog is a Lab or Chesapeake retriever that seems never to want to grow up. He can swim two hundred yards through cold, icey, choppy water to bring back a goose weighing fifteen percent of his own body weight. Be happy about it and ready to go for the next one.
First light is special too. The decoys are set and the first "Honks" of the geese are heard off in the distance. The "Krank-Krank" of the great blue heron tells us that we have invaded his ritual fishing grounds and that we are are only visitors here. Somewhere in the distance the first shot of the season warns us that this is serious business and we should be alert.
But first, comes the sheer enjoyment of the sun beginning it's assent over the pines on the opposite shore and illuminating the marsh bordering the creek upon which we wait. The smell of the salt marsh is unmistakable. In another half hour the black water in front of us will start to turn a brief golden shimmer, and then to lighter and lighter shades of grey as the leaden sky is reflected.
The geese come into our decoys and expert calls and limits are taken, but this is not the highlight of the day. The shooting, while a part, is not upon reflection, why we are here.
Instead it is the culmination of the entire experience, shared with good friends. Participating in the brief moments of being associated with the wonder of this place and all the parts that make it the dream realized.
Skip Willits
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