Twenty years ago Canada goose numbers in central and northern Maine were negligible. A group of waterfowling friends and I used to make annual trips to Maryland, New York, and Connecticut to enjoy dependable wing shooting for this wary and exciting quarry.

Then, slowly but surely, honker populations and hunting opportunities have climbed steadily, thanks to a transplant program of nuisance geese from other New England states instituted by Maine’s far-thinking Fisheries and Wildlife Department.

Truth be told, there are now several regional communities in Maine currently plagued with goose problems around parks, playgrounds, picnic areas and especially near village greens with small ponds. These so-called “nuisance geese” became the basis for Maine’s September season, so now when my friends and I hunt honkers, we are not only enjoying a thrilling sport, but we are also performing a community service. As I tell my eternally patient wife, “It’s a dirty job, but somebody’s got to do it!”

Hot hunting

When one sportsman tells another how hot the hunting is, that usually means there’s a lot of game and plenty of shooting going on. Well I’m about to relate a tale that took place recently where hot refers to the weather as much as the goose gunning. Over the years I’ve spent a few shirt-sleeve fall days in one goose blind or another, usually Maryland, but never in my life did I think that experience would occur in northern Maine.

Call it global warming, El Nino, or Mother Nature at her most unpredictable, but the Pine Tree State has experienced very odd weather conditions all spring and summer. And if the first week of September is any indication, autumn conditions are going to be just as erratic, variable, and bewildering for outdoorsmen. Within a six-day stretch we had rain, thunderstorms, severe wind and even some hail.

For three days temperatures peaked in the low 60s but were mostly in the mid to high 50s, and nights plummeted to the low 40s. There were even frost warnings in a number of areas, and then suddenly we turned a corner and just for giggles some higher power decided to throw in a trio of days with Texas temperatures.

Humid, cloudless days broached the low 90s with not a breath of air for relief at night so that even at dawn it was more than 70 degrees.

These were less-than-ideal goose hunting conditions, but my theory has always been that even poor hunting is better than no hunting, so Beaver Pierce, my cousin Steve Hitchcock, and I stuck to our plans regardless of the heat.

Perhaps the fact that it was the very first week of the early season, and we are all habitual honker hunters that had not blown a call or set out a decoy since last November explains our commitment. My wife suggested we ought to “be committed” for venturing forth in such sweltering weather.

A certain field of barley had been cut the previous week, and on three random occasions Beaver had sighted a flock of feeding geese on hand as he was driving past. That was before the heat wave had set in.

Perhaps our trio would never pop a primer, but I was pretty sure there wouldn’t be any flights passing through our bedrooms, so it was best to get up and get out where a goose or two might show up.

It was already 71 degrees when we began setting out our ground blinds and a decoy spread in the sultry predawn darkness. Anyone watching from a distance might have suspected three giant fireflies were flitting about the field as we worked with only the glow of our headlamps to set out our spread of 75 fake fowl.

Sunrise shooting

Our trio of low-profile layout blinds were set side by side only a couple of yards apart, perfectly situated with the breeze behind us and so the sunrise would not be in our eyes. Since waterfowl land into the wind, our bogus birds were set up in a “V” formation around and in front of the blinds with the open space enticing honkers to approach and land right into our eyesight and shotgun sights.

Exuberant about just being out and about on the season’s first goose hunt and hopeful that honkers would show up, we hid the truck among some distant trees, mopped sweat from our faces and hunkered into our blinds with five minutes to spare before legal shooting time.

All my friends understand that I’m more of a night owl than an early bird, but for events that involve holding a rod or gun, I’ll sacrifice sleep. Sunrise over the distant hills as we reclined in our layouts this particular September morn was worth every second of sleep lost whether we shot geese or not.

It was glorious, despite the imminent increase in temperature with each inch Ol’ Sol climbed on the horizon. I’m not sure just where the solitary goose came from, and only its single strident “herr-onk” pulled our collective eyes away from the developing sunrise.

Perhaps the single bird was a scout, or maybe a greedy, hungry honker trying to beat the others to breakfast. Whatever the case it was well within range, hovering over the decoys when its call alerted us to its presence.

Steve popped up like a Jack-in-the-box and sealed its fate with an express load of No. 2 steel pellets. We all jokingly chided each other for our rookie mistake of inattention, but at least we weren’t going to get skunked. Steve had just trotted out to retrieve his bird, lifting it high to show us it was a big, mature specimen, when distant honking drew our attention to a far flock bearing down on our location.

Adrenaline pumped and excitement peaked as Steve hustled back to his blind, Beaver began waving a goose flag and I got to work playing what I hoped was a sweet serenade on my short-reed call.

Distant dots materialized into seven sets of beating wings as Steve joined me in the calling chores, and the group talked back, setting their wings far out to examine our fake flock. Just out of range the geese swung wide to circle us, wary as always, and we changed to a quieter calling cadence, coaxing the big birds to join the feeding frenzy.

Tense as a fiddle string, carefully moving just my eyes rather than my head, I watched the suspicious seven make two more swings around the decoys. Then, as if in slow motion, the big leader banked toward the landing zone, dropped its feet and glided earthward.

This is always the moment of truth, the ruse has worked and every goose hunter lives for that fabulous sight as honkers back-paddle wings, glide and prepare to settle in. Shooting is almost anticlimactic but no less a part of the hunt, and so all three of us sat up, selected targets and fired. Birds flared, shotguns blared, geese fell and we all tried to find second targets for follow-up shots.

Two geese flew away unscathed, and with no other birds in sight we all jumped up, reloaded and hurried out to pick up our honkers. Gathering back at the ground blinds we once again scanned the sky. Sighting no beating wings we took a few minutes to admire the big, beautiful Canadas.

We patted down displaced feathers, hefted each and checked for leg bands, and felt pride, accomplishment and just a bit of sorrow, as it should be with any true sportsman. Then hiding the birds under shell decoys so they couldn’t be seen by incoming flights, we returned to our layouts.

Less than 10 minutes later we heard lots of honking coming from behind us and Beaver turned his head enough to see more than 20 Canadas bearing down on us. We flagged, we called, we wasted our time. The flock turned away before getting within 500 yards and headed for another field, setting their wings to land. Then for some unknown reason three geese lifted back up and made a beeline for us, dropped their landing gears and settled in. Steve and Beaver made short work of them.

My turn came a short time later, when a pair of geese arrived with plenty of fanfare. This duo never stopped honking once they spotted the decoys and made right for my end of the spread, button hooked across – presenting a perfect left to right passing shot as they floated in, and I went two-for-two for my first double of the new season.

Walking back to the blind with a hefty honker in each hand after only a two-shot volley has to be one of the greatest feelings in waterfowling. Unfortunately my victory lap was cut short when Steve told me to hurry it up, there were more geese in the air.

I’m not sure if it was the 40-yard dash with a brace of big birds or the rush of adrenaline from another flock bearing down, but as I stretched out and covered up, once again I was sweating. This flight of about a dozen geese wasn’t as cooperative, circling our setup again and again, wavering but never committing. Feeling as if we were losing them I suggested that on the next pass we have a try, after all they were the only ones taking the chances.

Our volley left us with empty guns and three geese down, and one of them had only a broken wing and was making a run for it. Beaver was out of the blind like a sprinter out of the blocks, circling wide to cut off the escape route and finally getting close enough to drop a shell in the chamber and terminate the cross-country race. Puffing and with perspiration dripping off his nose, he was still grinning when he arrived back with what looked like the largest goose of the day.

Less than half an hour later we were limited out and picking up the decoys, at a very sedate pace I might add, and it wasn’t even 7:30 yet.

Since the temperature was rising with the sun, we were all happy to load up and head for breakfast in an air- conditioned restaurant and rehash our hot hunt. I’ve never had faster shooting anywhere, even along Maryland’s Eastern Shore during peak season, nor have I been gunning in any warmer conditions. I never thought I’d see such great goose gunning in Maine, but now when another waterfowler asks if the honker hunting is hot yet, boy have I got a steamy story for him!

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