Tomorrow is my favorite day. Goose and dove seasons open in PA.
I’ll be out early tomorrow morning to arrive at my spot just as day breaks. I love that moment when the bugs go quiet and give way to the birds, like a change in shift. Off in the distance the geese come alive too, getting organized for their day.
At some time, no one knows when, the chatter turns into a cacophony of honking and a rush of noise signaling the upward launch of hundreds of birds. They come up behind us rising off the lake and struggling for altitude to clear the trees that shield us. As they emerge above we open up with a furious fusillade of shots tearing at the stillness. One, two, a third drop from the sky into the hayfield. Breathless from the excitement and nursing sore shoulders we walk out to claim our prizes. It’s a good morning.
In the afternoon we shift gears and take our 20’s out into the dove field. There’s a shady spot on a hill in the lee of some trees and we set up our chairs and a pile of shells and in seconds the action is on with one’s and twos and threes of bobbing and weaving birds in every direction, a constant swirl of targets that never seems to end. Taking a break to catch our breath we scour the fields for our harvest. A few more rounds and it’s time to go, comfortably tired and satisfied.
That night we dine on goose steaks and jalapeño dove breasts with beer and a smoke and a campfire. And a hearty toast to the best day of the year.
Life is good
I’ll be out early tomorrow morning to arrive at my spot just as day breaks. I love that moment when the bugs go quiet and give way to the birds, like a change in shift. Off in the distance the geese come alive too, getting organized for their day.
At some time, no one knows when, the chatter turns into a cacophony of honking and a rush of noise signaling the upward launch of hundreds of birds. They come up behind us rising off the lake and struggling for altitude to clear the trees that shield us. As they emerge above we open up with a furious fusillade of shots tearing at the stillness. One, two, a third drop from the sky into the hayfield. Breathless from the excitement and nursing sore shoulders we walk out to claim our prizes. It’s a good morning.
In the afternoon we shift gears and take our 20’s out into the dove field. There’s a shady spot on a hill in the lee of some trees and we set up our chairs and a pile of shells and in seconds the action is on with one’s and twos and threes of bobbing and weaving birds in every direction, a constant swirl of targets that never seems to end. Taking a break to catch our breath we scour the fields for our harvest. A few more rounds and it’s time to go, comfortably tired and satisfied.
That night we dine on goose steaks and jalapeño dove breasts with beer and a smoke and a campfire. And a hearty toast to the best day of the year.
Life is good
