In my neck of the woods, last Friday’s weather report called for evening showers. Comparing drizzle to what we got would be like comparing a flashlight to a floodlight; there was thunder, wind, and prolonged, eye-squinting lightning – and rain. Lots of rain. A roof- thumping, window-splattering deluge, really. At the end of the second hour I phoned Beaver Pierce and then Roger Shaw to suggest discretion and a dry, warm bed rather than a torrential, predawn goose hunt that had been our plan. Both heartily agreed.

When my phone rang at 8:30 and Tom Wolters related the results of a late afternoon goose scouting drive, I could have sworn the rain had let up a bit. Over an hour’s time, flock after flock of Canada honkers arrived from every direction to visit a recently harvested potato field. In the end more than a thousand geese were at hand. There was a brushy hedgerow to hunt from, so we wouldn’t need to lay out in the mud and puddles, Tom offered. Yes, the storm was really letting up, I told myself.

Tom Wolters lives in Michigan but owns a beautiful camp on Madawaska Lake, so he spends his summers and at least one month of hunting season in Maine. This fall Norm Nykamp made the trip north to help Tom during his moose hunt and then enjoy some great duck and goose hunting. We had done some goose gunning the previous week with mixed success, but in my book, any hours spent setting decoys just so and calling passionately to outwit wily honkers is rewarding regardless of results.

I got on the phone to Roger and Beaver, related the news of the huge group of geese, and suggested they cancel plans of sleeping in. “I’m pretty sure the rain is letting up,” I said, “and besides, it can’t pour this hard all night.” Promises of a sky full of noisy Canada geese looking for a place to land in our decoys temporarily blinded their good sense as well and we agreed to meet at my house at 5:30. After gathering my gear, and just before hitting the sack, I turned on the outside house light to check the rain. It was still coming down heavy enough to drown a duck. “Can’t rain like that ’til morning,” I mumbled wistfully as I snapped off the light and headed for bed.

Soggy sunrise

As we loaded decoys and gear into the bed of Beaver’s truck under yard lights in the predawn darkness, a steady, soaking mist still fell. “Thankfully, the wind and 40-degree temperature will take our mind off the rain,” I offered. Two hooded, less-than-amused faces looked my way. We had a 25- minute drive to meet Tom and Norm, and the anticipation of decoying geese combined with the truck heater buoyed our spirits despite the rain spotting the windshield.

When we spied Tom’s truck pulled over at a back road intersection, we blinked our lights and he led the way. We turned off into a farm yard, zigzagged around the house, barn, and machine sheds onto a field road awash with rivulets of muddy water.

Traveling abreast of a tall, thick hedgerow on the left and a harvested potato field on the right with standing water reflecting the headlights, we stopped after half a mile.

Socked in with low clouds, sunrise and shooting time would both be late this morning. Everyone bailed out and began unloading guns, gear, and six dozen full-body goose decoys, trying to concentrate on the task of setting up rather than the steady cool rain. Full camo rain suits were the outfit of the day, and thankfully we all had opted for calf-high rubber boots. On my first trip into the field with four decoys I sank well past my ankles and the muddy ooze tried to suck my boots from my feet with each step. We soon learned to try and walk in the truck and trailer tracks as much as possible.

Unexpected company

As I was making my second mud run loaded down with fake waterfowl, I noticed a light in the distance. I couldn’t remember a light on the far hill, nor a house in that direction. Then the light moved and another appeared beside it. At that time of the morning and in this weather there was only one explanation, even aliens wouldn’t be so foolish, it had to be another bunch of crazy goose hunters.

Tom volunteered to slog up and chat, so rather than set out and then pick up, we suspended activity and hunkered under overhanging trees. It turned out there were four hunters, all from Bangor, and they had spent the night in a popup camper. No hedgerow for them, they were going to lay among the decoys on the muddy ground, covering up with camo cloth. The quartet had arrived at 4:30 a.m. to set up. Notably younger than our group, I wondered if they were foolish or just tough. Then decided, no, they were hardcore goose hunters, just like us.

The Bangor boys were happy to have us set up on the tree line. They felt more decoys and calling would coax passing geese to the field and we would all get shooting. After all, the field was huge and we were a long distance apart so safety wasn’t an issue. That’s sportsmanship and camaraderie afield, the way hunting should be. We hurried to finish our setup, hid the trucks back at the farm, loaded guns, checked out calls, and waited for full light.

Nothing happened for at least 30 minutes, except the rain picked up. Thankfully the wind was at our backs and the bushes gave some protection, but gloves wet through and glasses had to be wiped dry frequently. “Perfect weather for waterfowl,” I voiced, and as if on cue, a distant honking riveted our attention south.

Great gunning

A group of about 25 geese wavered toward our field, too far to call, but close enough to see the wing flag Tom was waving to imitate landing birds. As the flock ventured closer, three of us began calling and coaxing on our goose flutes. One lone bird peeled off and made a pass over the decoys of the hunters at midfield and never came out. At the shots the big bunch flared, but we kept calling and flagging. After two wide passes a cluster of five set wings and floated over the spread at 35 yards on Tom’s side of the spread.

Tom banged down a double, Norm dropped one, and Roger tumbled a straggler. Beaver and I were on the wrong end of the line to do any shooting. In the next 20 minutes, two more bunches of birds swung over the field high, checked out both setups, and winged on to greener, less muddy pastures. A handful of birds went to the Bangor boys and they tagged a trio toward their limit.

There was a lull in the action for 15 minutes during which the wind shifted and picked up, blowing the rain in our faces. It’s nice to have something to occupy your mind when the geese aren’t flying. A dozen honkers made a direct approach a few minutes later, low and interested. We groaned and moaned on the calls, teasing them closer, but they swung wide and circled. Comeback calls hooted, and the geese turned and made another pass, just out of range, and then over the hedgerow and behind us.

We kept pleading with our calls and four of the pack broke away, set their wings, and glided right into the hole from the left. Beaver and I each tagged a passing honker and Roger knocked feathers from the trailing goose just a split second before Norm anchored it with a load of BBs. After that flurry of action Tom and Norm had a pair each and the rest of us needed only one goose apiece to fill our 10-bird limit.

For the next half-hour the rain got heavier and so did the goose traffic, but we couldn’t close the deal. On two occasions we had birds working at the same time the other hunters did, and both times they got shots and flared our geese. On the plus side, they limited out, picked up, and left our decoy spread as the only game in town. We worked a couple more good-size bands of birds, but despite their interest not one single honker would commit. We began to think we would have to settle for long shots if something didn’t change.

Then we heard more honking, but it was coming from behind us and that hadn’t happened all morning. Nine geese swept low over the tree line and made a wide circle outside the decoys. We coaxed and called for almost five minutes as they circled, looked, called back, and teased us. Then, as if our wish was answered, a trio of birds split away and swung right over the decoys in single file. Beaver and I cartwheeled our two and Roger sped his along with the first two loads and made a terrific long distance shot to swat the third honker and fill our limits.

As we unloaded guns and happily congratulated each other, another small flock passed over. Oblivious to our presence, after one swing by, a single goose dropped like a stone and settled in among his plastic relatives. All conversation stopped as our quintet of soggy sportsmen stared aghast. There, waddling among our spread, was a bird with a very obvious yellow neck band, as well as a metal leg band.

Legs bands are rare, and none of us had seen a neck band before. It’s the Holy Grail of goose gunning. The bands are devices used by federal wildlife officials to keep track of how old the birds were, migration routes, their ranges, and more. Hunters who shoot a banded bird send in the band and get back information including the age of the bird, where it came from, and its sex.

Later we all admitted to having impure thoughts about shooting this rare bird, but we had our limits and, despite the temptation, we were sportsmen. We watched and wished for five minutes. Thankfully, the rain masked my drooling, and then we flushed the banded goose and began to slog through the mud and pick up decoys. I know every one of my hunting buddies was thinking the same thing about the unique honker that I was; perhaps we’ll meet again some rainy morning.

Outdoor feature writer Bill Graves can be reached via e-mail at bgravesoutdoors@ainop.com