Yoda

Friends

Well, just back from the last goose hunt of the year. All in all, an excellent late season was had by all. Ernie and company proved to be terrific hosts as always, and we broke in a new B.C. Hunt Club member as the Path Walker put in an appearance on Friday at the Dozer Pile.

Nine of us that day slew fifteen geese, and then I think I can say I speak for all grousers that we were honored to be present when Ernie called us together to celebrate the life of Big Jim. I also don't think I was alone in fighting back tears as Ernie spread Jim's ashes on the pile (along with some toe warmers).

Anyway. My thanks to Ernie and Mike for making it all possible. In Dozer Pile We Trust.

Friends do things together
La, La, La, La

Paintings by Melissa Mance

Please join us to welcome the art opening of "Scions of Air" an exhibition of paintings and illustrations by Rochester based artist Melissa Mance. The artist will be on hand to discuss her works with visitors, refreshments will be served, on Friday February 13, 5:00 - 7:00 pm.

Where: Cornell Lab of Ornithology
159 Sapsucker Woods Road
Ithaca, New York

When: February 13 - April 30, 2009, With opening reception Friday February 13, 5:00 - 7:00 pm

For those bloggers that have enjoyed hunting with Big Jim at Beer Camp, or even his Island for that matter, Melissa is his daughter and she is the artist on display here. Melissa is also an Art professor at Rochester Institute of Technology so she has a lot in common with you professor types. Hope to see you guys at the opening!

More Undaunted Courage

Well, clearly I seemed to have touched a nerve with the Kuneytown Wonder Boys . . . will wonders never cease. Undaunted, I'll forge ahead with a brief account of Sunday's hunt.


After drinking more beer than has been yet consumed around a beer camp fire ring in 2009, our small party broke up amidst the falling snow at about 8pm Saturday night. (All except for Tidball and Hathaway, who rousted me from my slumbers in the camper at about 10 pm. Undaunted, I joined them for a brief nightcap before they roared off into the night for continued revelries at the Kuneytown Sportsmen's Club.)

Sunday dawned cold and snowy: 10 deg F and a stiff NW wind. Undaunted, and after breakfast of toast and coffee in the Ernst household, I joined Ernie and Mike in assembling another decoy spread that couldn't be beat. One or two flocks flew right in as we were setting the dekes, which we took to be a good omen for the day's prospects.

a good sign: the geese seem to like OUR cornfield

Of course those were the last geese we saw for quite a while. So to fill the time, a phone call to Eric was placed, at which time we learned that the Illegal Riegel was out plowing snow, apparently tired of the dull routine of getting copious numbers of birds and sick of hunting and getting full bag limits of mallards every day. We actually felt sorry for him. Get better soon, Eric.

Sunday's hunt proceeded much the same as Saturday's: a bird here, a couple of birds there. Narrative drama was provided not by the absence of Keith and Eric on Sunday, but by our own collective mishaps and screwups. After three birds were harvested, Mike made the unfortunate statement that, "It's easy. All we have to do now is get two birds each."

So naturally the best flock of the day came in next, with ten or eleven low birds swinging in close to the ground along the inner edge of the decoys, and, with grandiose visions of us each shooting doubles to finish off the season in grand style in our minds . . . no birds were killed. A total abomination in the eyes of the red gods. One gun--I believe it was a Benelli--failed to go "bang" when it was discovered not to have chambered a round. A second gun--also a Benelli--failed to fire a third shell after its operator forgot to reload. A third gun simply failed to find its mark.

Undaunted, we continued on.

Another moment of drama occurred when a goose was downed, only to coast to a landing in the northeast corner of the field. "Head straight for the treeline," advised Yoda Ernie, "and cut him off from the hedgerows." I did as instructed, circling around and cautiously approaching the bird from the north. It took flight away from me back across the field but thankfully, away from the trees. After missing two shots of my own, it was a glorious spectacle to watch the mortally wounded bird fly directly towards the dozer pile, where it was shot twice more on the wing first at approximately thirty yards and then again at ten paces, after which it crashed through the cornstalks that screen the dozer pile where it landed with a thud in the snow exactly 1.5 feet from my bucket in the blind.

By noon there were six geese in the bag. "Now it's easy. All we have to do is each kill one more bird."

Yeah right. Again, three geese beautifully worked the dekes and flew in directly in front of us from the east. Left to right, they offered perfectly distinct targets to each hunter. What a perfect way to end the season! Baboom baboom babboom boom baboom.

We managed to land two out of the three. Walking in with the two birds, Mike offered that we could always end the hunt now, with eight birds in possession. But settling back into the blind, we realized the unspoken agreement among us: we'd stick it out and get one more.

Besides, I'm sure it probably crossed some of our minds that it's always nice to wipe Keith's eye by bringing home a second bag limit of nine savvy, late-season dozer pile geese.

(By the way, where was Keith on Sunday? enquiring minds need to know. Many theories were offered, the most prevalent having to do with nursing a hangover. Do tell, Tidball.)

Anyway, only one more bird was needed to finish the season.

A lone goose came in. Eyeing the sky nervously, I asked the dozer pile veterans, "who shoots this one?" To which Mike replied, "It's all yours baby."

You probably know how THAT one turned out. Yep. Bang bang bang from the Benelli. And we all watched the bird fly away completely unscathed.

"What the hell did I do there!!" lamented I, crestfallen at my failure to finish the waterfowl finale with the fore-ordained, fatal fait accompli. "What the hell just happened there?" I raged, to which wise, old Yoda Ernie deadpanned:

"You missed."

Truer words have never been spoken. Ahh, the arrogance of youth, the nervousness of stagefright, the fickleness of Benellis . . . who knows, but it was not meant to be.

Minutes later, Mike performed a mercy killing on another single goose who flew in, was mortally shot, and who flew off to die in a neighboring field. It seemed only fitting to help Mike retrieve the season's last bird some five hundred yards away, both of us trudging through a foot of snow and across the hedgerow to find it DOA among the goldenrod.

And there was again much rejoicing.

the dozer pile:
where savvy, call-wary, late-season geese go to die
at the hands of equally savvy, call-wise, late-season dozer pile goose hunters
(click to enlarge)

Sense and Sensibility

I made the mistake of telling Ernie this weekend that goose hunts couldn't be blogged, because they lack the narrative drama of a good grouse hunt. (And note to Keith and Eric: a "good" grouse hunt doesn't necessarily result in a limit of grouse and teal in a morning's effort. heh heh)

Oh, there will likely be a fair amount of ball busting of Keith in this writeup. That was pretty much the dominant topic of conversation this weekend when things were slow. Not that things were ever slow. As Ernie said to Eric on the phone, "They're just stacking up like cordwood here!" You know, Eric will probably get some abuse in this post too, now that I think about it. heh heh.

Anyway, because Ernie challenged me to come up with a suitable narrative thread for this past weekend's activities, here I sit typing up my first-ever goose writeup. And while the massive consumption of cold beer on Saturday night provides a tempting possible focus (or lack of focus? which is certainly how some of us felt later on Saturday evening), I'm sure we all can agree that abusing Cabin Boy has a lot more potential for laughs and gaiety.

Okay. So Ernie invites me up for the last weekend of goose hunting, and says to be there "between 7 or 8 am." So I show up at 7:30 am Saturday morning, just in time to see Mike and Ernie put the finishing touches on a decoy spread that can't be beat. The location of course was the famed "dozer pile." Temp was 2 degrees F, no wind to speak of, and the three of us were clothed in snow camo.

Keith and Eric, meanwhile, were (how did Cagey put it in another post?) (ah yes, here, I have it): "taking the sensible route" and hunting in Eric's little honey hole, the Morehouse Ponds, aka, "Nancy's back yard." Perhaps Eric and Keith will blog about THAT sensible hunt sometime. heh heh.

but I digress.

good versus evil: the Canoga Killing Fields
(click to enlarge)

We settled into the dozer pile, sweaty from our exertions (well, Ernie and Mike were sweaty, I was pretty comfortable), and settled in for the wait. After a half hour or hour or so, Mike opined that the dozer pile might just strike out for us on the final weekend, but the wise-old Ernie just said "patience grasshopper, patience."

Of course, it is always possible that maybe the beer on Saturday night clouds my memory. But at least that's what I think Ernie said to Mike at that point.

About 9:00 am a lone goose landed in the decoys. When Ernie said take 'em, I did my best imitation of a 250 yard rifle shot at a woodchuck, and missed. Harumph. Watching the goose fly away, Mike was heard to mutter something under his breath that included the terms "skunk" or "skunked." Again, Ernie smiled and, sensibly, said, "patience, patience. In dozer pile we trust."

Another single flew into the spread an hour or so later. This time death came to the dozer pile, and our heroes were "on the scoreboard" as they say. And O'Connor was heard to say, "well, at least we won't be skunked today."

By this time, it was 10 or 10:30 am, and the Tidball truck was seen to be skulking (or was that "skunking"?) away from the Ponds. "A sensible move," thought we in the dozer pile. "They must already have their limits," another of us ventured.

Ernie on the phone with Eric confirmed the limits theory: Keith and Eric had reached the limits of their patience at the ponds, and so they sensibly had packed it in for the day, no doubt removing to the Kuneytown Sportsmen's Club for breakfast and beer.

what the Kuneytown Wonder Boys didn't see much of this weekend

Meanwhile, the hard work of goose hunting continued. No quitters us. At 11 am or so, a flock finally worked the dekes but flared before committing. "Something's not right with the dekes" all agreed, and with tenacity and grit Ernie and Mike supervised the rearrangement of the spread--tightening some up over here, spreading them out a bit further there--and voila! the mystery was solved.

Twenty minutes later, a flock came in again to the dekes, slowly slowly circling, working them warily, until the moment of truth arrived and O'Connor barked, "take em." And with that three guns went off, and three birds fell from the sky.

And there was much rejoicing.

No more talk of being skunked or packing it in early. No more lack of faith in the dozer pile. Now, only a gritty determination to show those beer-chugging Kuneytown quitters how it's done.

The hunt wore on. Flock after flock of geese worked the dekes, some coming in close, others not so close. A thousand ducks got up from the ponds but no shooting (hmmmm, I wonder where the Wonder Boys are? sensibly warm somewhere else no doubt).

Another flock came in and two more geese were downed--one falling to Tantillo's gun to the north bearing jewelry, although that fact went unnoticed until the very end of the day. Ernie, however, in observing the condition of the bird when retrieved, took notice of the bloodied condition of the bird's upper left breast, which provided the key identification factor at day's end for giving credit where credit is due. No sirree, none of this "geese Cagey claims to have shot." Ernie is the most honest goose hunter that ever lived. (and he told me to make sure to get that into the blog post somehow.)

heh heh.

still life with jewelry

What are we up to now, seven geese? Around 1:30 pm Ernie left for a while to go sign some gas drilling paperwork in the house, and in his absence, we had some high drama on two more downed geese. A flock came in, worked the dekes, and shots were fired. I had a bird down inside the dekes, while Mike had one sail away far across the field only to crash land DOA before the treeline. The two of us took off to retrieve our downed birds. Only one of us returned with bird in hand.

My hands tremble as I type this, but I in a fit of newbie nitwitlessness, allowed my bird to first walk away, head up, as I debated finishing him off with a head shot, and then, as my bird took flight and flew away, failed to pull the trigger to bring him back down to earth.

Insensible with grief, I returned to the blind empty-handed.

the one that got away

We fought on for perhaps another hour, but that was it. We decided to pack it in. As Ernie left to get the four-wheeler and the trailer for the dekes, another lone goose flew in low from the north over the hedgerow. Mike and I saw it just as Ernie started yelling "bird, another bird!" With Mike's gun cased and Ernie still walking towards camp, the suicidal goose met its demise with a final load of BBBs from the Spinelli, and it crumpled to the ground with a convincing thud. Redemption from the one that got away.

Thus, charging the ninth one that got away to our bag limit of three each, we pulled the dekes and packed up eight geese at 3pm, built a campfire at beer camp, and proceeded to empty Ernie's cooler of the various malt beverages it contained.

And there was much rejoicing.

happy beer campers with birds

Opening Day at Beer Camp!

Story posted at bchuntclub.blogspot.com for your reading pleasure!

Beer Camp Bass!

No better place to fish...beer camp! Nice pond bass, caught on a floating Rapala at dusk. Thanks Ernie!

Openig Day 2007

Opening day found myself, my son Kevin and my buddy Big Jim hunting the home farm of BC Hunt Club. The night before, as we prepared for the mornings hunt, we laid out our plan for where each of us was to hunt. Jim was to go to the prestigious high in the sky stand that has been known to bag a minimum of at least one deer a year since it was first erected. Kevin was to go to the tree stand, that was midway down the East hedgerow, that I bagged a buck out of last year and Brent bagged a beautiful, but not yet mature, red oak tree. I was to go to the ladder stand about 100 yards to the west of Jim where there was a "deer road" blazed through the woods. I can see both Jim and Kevin from my perch on what has to be the shakiest of all ladder stands made to date. I probably paid way to much for it, $20.00 used from a "friend", but it was at least positioned against a nice shady aspen tree that provided adequate cover. At about 7:30, while wrestling with my balance, I looked over and noticed Jim raising his gun to the point. Seconds later I heard his first shot ring out, to be followed by a second, then a third. There was a calm for a few seconds and then a forth shot rang out. I paused for a couple of minutes and then with great delight found my way to the ground from that rickety stand. All of us have our "talkie walkies", as Jim calls them, so by the time I set foot on stable ground I hear Jim whispering into his "I got a big buck down here". Jim thinks he has his talkie walkie on but in all the excitement he didn't get it properly powered up. I am close enough though that I can still hear every work he uttered. Again I hear him say " Hernie I got a big buck down over here, come here" and again I hear him though the morning air rather than on my radio. Now I am already on the way to my buddies aid when I hear a blood-curdling scream call out, "Hernie I got one!!" So much for the early morning silence. Jim stayed in his stand and directed to where his prize had fallen in the golden rod and sure enough there laid a fair sized 8 point buck. The deer was about 1 1/2 years old so it will be excellent table fare. We went back to the hunt and about 1/2 hour later another single shot rang out. Seconds later a voice came over the Talkie Walkie that simply said "Buck down." Kevin had bagged his four pointer with a single shot to the lower neck area. Again I was summoned to track the creature while he directed me to the kill and I again marked the spot where the fallen deer lay. This deer is another 1 1/2 year old buck that looked to be a brother to the first; both will make excellent eating. Back to the hunt we went for another hour or so with me walking the hedge rows and corn field to try to spook new game out. I for one was proud to be the host to their hunting episode and will enjoy sharing a plate full of young tender venison with them on Friday when we carve up the carcass and fire up the grill. The story has several other features that can only be described in accurate detail by Big Jim so if you want to hear the details of this, as well as the afternoon hunt, feel free to drop by Beer Camp over the Thanksgiving weekend and Jim will be glad to share all of the details with you. Needless to say Saturday, Sunday and even Monday were all days that both he and I will never forget! See ya around the campfire!

Out with the old and in with the new!

Well it was a tough start to the second season with very little to brag about around the campfire. This picture is of a portion of the gang that hunted the dozer pile on the last day of the old year. Despite the high numbers of hunters that day, 9 in all, we did manage to scratch out one lonely bird. If you look closely on the left side of the picture you can notice a young hunter perfectly camouflaged. He was the only one to bag a bird on this day. He did this while both Mike O. And Ernie were out in the decoys trying to change the spread. Some big movement in the spread.

By contrast this next picture is a shot of the happy hunters after their hunt on the first day of the new year. The dozer pile was abandoned for the hedge row on the Thompson farm. The birds once again told us how to hunt this field in spite of our insistence as to where we thought they should land. It was a muddy day with warm temperatures again. We wanted the birds to come to the corn field but they wanted the wheat field. Once we decided that they were right and we were wrong we finale started to bag birds. Big Jim started off the killing, which soon caused Mike O to join him and Ernie in the hedge row. Mike lead the charge to the field to bring more decoys to the wheat and was soon followed by Ernie in the move. Keith and Eric were insistent that the corn would work out. Brent soon gave up the corn to take part in the ground pounding from the hedge. Once it started raining birds the entire group headed for the hedge.

Snow in the forecast?

Once again this is what all of the well traveled goose hunters will be using to get to the birds this season. Load em up and head out no matter how much snow is on the ground. We just may upgrade to a green machine this year for ease of hiding in the hedgrow. As you can see Keith is once again pointing the way to the happy hunting grounds while JT is listening intently. BC Hunt club is a bit concerned about our Mr. JT though. Some fear that when he comes that he will be humming songs and reciting poetry now that he is the Director of Operations at the soon to be infamous Ithaca Theater of the Performing Arts. I suppose he will be showing up late as well due to having to hang around after the evenings performance with the muckey mucks sipping fine wine and making up new 20 letter words that only the wealthiest of socialites would understand. As for me I will be at Beer Camp early in the morning with my good buddy Big Jim uttering some of the simpler 4 letter words and awaiting the arrival of my hunting buddies. The call is for snow but I doubt we'll be needing the Limo this weekend to get to the field. Enjoy the opening of another goose season this weekend and as always be safe out there!

He's Alive!

Well we have finaly officialy heard from Joshua verifying his earlier post as mr. "anonymous" and claiming ownership of the "neuron- based database" that lead to the posting of information pertaining to true identification of his puppy. Now that we have settled that it is time to award the secret prize package that was offered earlier. Are you ready for this Josh?

You have won a non transferable gift for two, or more (two legged or four) to a weekend getaway evening a location known to all as "Beer Camp" near Canoga NY. This evening is to be shared with any and all active members of the BC Hunt Club and also includes an honorary membership to the club. This weekend getaway prize can be claimed by contacting either Cabin Boy or myself, to announce when you will be graceing us with your presence. There is no time limit to collecting this prize but I think that I speak for all in that we look forward to BS'ing with you around the campfire ASAP. Congradulations on winning and hope to see you and your cute, cuddly, loveable, little ball of fur soon.
There Keith, I said it for you, so you don't have to and hopefully JT is now cringing on the floor from sugar overdose!