Every hunter has a favorite quarry, a particular species of game that draws that outdoorsman afield with the strength of an addiction. Time after time the huntsman matches wits with this preferred game animal, not in spite of being outsmarted time and again, however, but because of the many thwarted attempts and eluded shots that generate more respect and greater desire to outwit that special wily, wary adversary.

Woods-wise whitetail deer are some sportsmen’s nemesis, while woodcock with their dipsy-doodle flight patterns are the antagonist for many wing shooters, and crafty coyotes represent the Moby Dick of varmints for numerous rifle-toting Captain Ahabs. My personal love/hate relationship exists with the keen-eyed, ever-vigilant, guile-laden Canada goose.

If I were forced to make a choice, to select just one game animal to match wits with for the remainder of my seasons afield and afloat, without hesitation I’d select the shrewd and sage giant honkers. Not only are geese a terrific challenge to hunt, properly prepared they are a culinary taste treat as well, thereby offering hunters two very distinct and satisfying rewards.

After pursuing geese going on four decades, including dozens of trips to five states and three Canadian provinces, my stock answer to the basis of my compulsion is simple: The only thing predictable about gunning for geese is their unpredictability. As evidence I offer this most recent episode in an ongoing saga.

Hopscotch honkers

During the week prior to October opening of goose season, a couple of friends and I relentlessly scouted likely roost ponds and nearby grain fields attempting to pin down feeding and flight schedules for local flocks of Canadas. Despite regular dawn and dusk forays covering a vast number of local lakes and farms, we just could not steadily link birds to a favorite location.

Although we pinpointed three huge groups of geese which kept a perfect schedule of winging out to feed just after dawn, then back to water for several hours of R & R, and then repeated the process a couple of hours before twilight, every bunch of birds kept playing farm-field hopscotch.

I’d pinpoint a feeding flock just after daybreak, but when I rechecked that spot in the late afternoon, the fickle fowl never returned, having selected another grain field for their evening repast.

On the following morning yet another crop field got the nod, creating a vicious circle of waterfowl hide and seek that was slowly driving us to distraction. After three days of “now you see them, now you don’t” scouting, our trio just couldn’t tolerate the anticipation any longer. We needed to actually go hunting for geese rather than just drive about and spy on them.

Beaver Pierce, Bruce Hussey and I comprise the “B” team, not just because our first names all start with “B,” but because our gear is packed, our vehicle loaded and we can be ready to hunt geese at the drop of a hat, and we’re all willing to drop that hat. Having randomly seen geese in one cut grain field, albeit with some regularity, we decided to take a chance and set up our three-man hay-bail blind and a 75-decoy spread one afternoon. It was torture.

Between 3 and 6 p.m., geese winged infrequently and haphazardly past us from every direction. But despite our enticing setup, interest was minimal. We managed to scratch only two honkers and each was a Hail Mary passing shot.

A couple more days of that ever-enjoyable scouting routine yielded the same hopscotch honker results, but the weekend was upon us, so we played the “pick a field and hope” game again. This outing proved to be another lopsided victory for our fine feathered friends. Only two small flocks were sighted and not a shot was fired. However, our setup and take-down time for the decoy spread and blind was broaching record-setting pace. As usual, work interfered with hunting for a few days, but one or the other of our group managed daily pre- or post-work outings to search for likely locations.

At midweek, our B team was augmented by one member when longtime gunning companion Buddy Horr arrived from Dedham for a three-day honker-hunting holiday.

A half-hour before dawn the next morning, our quartet was setting out decoys in yet another cut grain field near a roost pond. This was no regular landing zone, but Beaver had spotted birds feeding the previous morning. If geese leaving the pond flew over, perhaps our decoys and calling might entice a few within range.

As the skyline slowly transformed from darkness to daybreak, in the distance we could actually hear the geese squawking and gabbling in that serene stillness just prior to sunrise. Goose chatter is always an encouraging and exciting melody for compulsive honker hunters.

The soft, occasional goose nattering became louder and more strident, a sure signal that birds were getting ready to fly off the water to find a morning meal. Eight big Canadas suddenly appeared over the far wood line, so we got busy flagging and calling to attract attention, our adrenaline rising as the group swung for a closer investigation. Then our hopes were dashed as they turned away at 75 yards, not flaring in fright, just not liking something they saw about our setup.

Four more flocks of 10-20 Canadas winged near over the next half-hour. We flagged and we called heartily, and although every bunch veered closer to investigate our fake flock, each one refused to broach shotgun range.

We tried not flagging at all. I even switched calls three times trying for a more enticing tone, and a couple of times we didn’t call at all. In a last-ditch effort, we even changed the entire configuration of our decoy spread from a “C” pattern to the more open and inviting fishhook setup. Same results. No takers. Over the entire 31/2 hours, we coaxed and cajoled at least 300 geese passing the outskirts of our field. In the end, only a single and a pair were enticed. That’s a lot of time and effort for just three birds, but we didn’t get skunked.

Rags to riches

Work curtailed my gunning the next day, but with no remorse whatsoever, Beaver, Bruce and Buddy planned an afternoon hunt and even borrowed my complete outfit of decoys.

Although I was even able to force a smile and wish them luck before trudging off to the salt mines, the green tinges of envy must have shown through a bit. My body might have been at work, but my heart was in the goose blind and my mind kept roaming through dozens of great goose-gunning scenarios.

Come to find out, I really didn’t miss much as far as shooting. Only two flocks of geese ventured near the boys’ field and they refused to alter their flight plan to even glance at the decoy setup. Everyone was pretty discouraged, not so much that there were limited shooting opportunities – big Canadas are an uncanny quarry – but more so because we just couldn’t locate a dependable feed field with a steady flow of hungry honkers. With no reliable spot to shoot the next day, we decided to split up into pairs the next morning and reconnoiter in hopes of discovering a new goose haven.

Buddy and I had searched the countryside via back roads and field trails for more than an hour finding no large bands of birds, only a couple pods comprised of a dozen or so geese. We were actually turning around in a hilltop potato field when Bud spied a wedge of birds spiraling downward in the distance. Grabbing the binoculars, he scanned the sky and spotted two more lines of geese arriving and watched the first flight circle and settle below the far tree line.

We tore off in the direction of the landing geese. I drove while Buddy navigated and tried not to get carsick while bouncing around and scanning the sky through binoculars. Zigging up one side road, then jagging onto another farm field road, we followed the arriving skeins of geese until about 10 minutes after our first sighting we discovered their destination.

No fewer than 300 honkers polka-dotted the secluded grain field, with more flights arriving every few minutes. Within half an hour, I’d discovered which farmer owned the land, tracked him down at his potato storage building and received permission to hunt his land that afternoon.

The sunny mid-October morning turned into an unusually warm fall day with clear cloudless skies and temperatures in the low 60s. Because the birds had fed all morning, I worried they might not need to eat in the afternoon due to the temperate conditions. If they did decide on afternoon brunch, I wanted a reception committee waiting, so a quick phone call to Beaver and Bruce set a 3 p.m. meet-and-greet in motion.

By a few minutes after 3, our four layout blinds were set up and further camouflaged using chafe from the harvested oats. Six dozen full-body and shell decoys were arranged into a realistic and inviting array. After finishing, our foursome was stripped down to T-shirts, sweating and panting from our efforts in the warm sun.

Once the trucks were driven far off and hidden, we each loaded our shotguns and shimmied into our ground blind cocoons to wait and slow roast in the afternoon heat.

Although I didn’t voice my opinion, this was not weather conducive to good goose gunning, but as I’ve learned through experience, in the dictionary beside the word unpredictable should be a picture of a Canada goose. My silent concerns during the first hour of waiting were voiced by the others during hour two of our birdless vigil.

By 5:30, 21/2 hours into the hunt with only 30 minutes of legal shooting time remaining, things were looking bleak. Then with a single strident honk that broke the stillness of twilight, we went from rags to riches. Our elation of a sure-thing goose quickly failed as the lone bird flew right past without so much as a sideways look or a break in wing beat. Not a good sign.

Mere minutes passed before we heard more geese. Over the tree line a group of six appeared, swinging noticeably in our direction when Beaver began waving the goose flags. At about 70 yards the group split and three birds set their wings, gliding in front of the blind at about 40 yards. Beaver toppled the front goose and I yanked the sky from under the wings of the trailing bird. The middle honker swung wide and made a larger circle, but when I began calling, it turned back and approached again from behind. At 25 yards I popped up, fired and filled my two-bird limit.

Before we could retrieve our three geese, another flock of a dozen or so was bearing down on our decoy spread. With just a couple of double-cluck calls from Buddy and me, they set their wings for a closer look. Only the front four geese were close enough on that pass, but I called the shot anyway, and when the smoke cleared Beaver had dropped his second honker while Buddy and Bruce accounted for one apiece. Again there was no chance to pick up downed birds as a huge gaggle of 30-plus Canadas winged our way, so we covered up and called.

I reminded Bud and Bruce to be careful as they only needed one apiece, and when the first dozen geese glided over the decoys they each picked out a big gander and cartwheeled the pair from the string. From first shot to last, our eight-bird limit had taken roughly five minutes. We picked up our downed geese in the twilight, then packed away our outfit, smiling all the while.

Time after time, goose hunters are in the wrong place at the wrong time, the honkers shy from the decoys or they just don’t fly near at all, but every once in awhile there’s an outing like this last one and all’s right with the world. Is it any wonder the unpredictable Canada goose is my outdoor obsession?

bgravesoutdoors@ainop.com