Dispatch from Fort Gusty, New York

 An element from the Pennsylvania detachment linked up with "Team Terminator" Canoga, NY for a joint field exercise which included an aquatic search and destroy of  Aythya Americana, Aythya marila, and Bucephala clangula americana (divers), as well as suppression of Branta canadensis (BC).  21 divers and accomplices including puddlers and a snow goose were destroyed.  22 BC were terminated over a 72 hour period at Fort Gusty. A complete report will follow, contributed by members of the Pennsylvania detachment.

Fort Gusty Defensive Position

Fort Gusty battlefield photo at the end of day one.

Successful search and destroy mission for divers.

Goose dip - Late season Canadas in the Finger Lakes

Bobby, my neighbor, and I made my annual hajj from central Pennsylvania to Mecca for the late goose season that the New York grousers know so well. I had wanted to introduce Bobby to this unique form of hunting, something he had never experienced in over three decades of Pennsylvania hunts. Despite sub-par weather conditions (perfect for spreading manure… but more on that later), Bobby came out of the experience, in his words, “hooked.”

Keith, Mo and the kids served up incredible hospitality, smoked appetizers and, manicures. Yes, Victoria’s Paradise Spa is open for service, with rates so low it was impossible to leave without a few French nails and a painful eyebrow wax. Service was the theme of our visit, enough to make a visitor ashamed of the inadequate preparations he had made for Keith’s Pennsylvania deer visit earlier in the season.

Keith and Eric had scouted hard prior to our arrival. Canada Geese were relatively scarce – warm weather scrambling migration patterns - and the birds that were around had not been flying much. A brief cold spell brought a partial dusting of snow, just enough to preclude the use of the layout blinds but not enough to allow for snow camouflage. Compared with past years, things weren’t looking good, at least by our guides’ standards.

Our first day of hunting offered some of the best conditions of this year’s late season. We camped in an island of brush, visitors positioned in the best shooting cover, guides huddled under an obtrusive tree. The guides conferred over the best configuration for the decoy spread. All contributed to setting the many dozens of decoys: nodding full bodies, flocked shells, the occasional blue goose pair. Bobby marveled at the innovation and the investment.

The Canadas were late to fly. The first few flocks to visit our field were suspicious of something. Hypotheses were rendered. Decoys were reconfigured.

At long last a pair descended into easy range. The Pennsylvanian’s unloaded blunderbusts. I recall shooting at one bird, watching it fly a few beats, then surprised as it dropped, stone cold dead. Only then did I take note of the shot that had followed mine. Even trapped under a tree Keith wasn’t going to take any bird for granted.

For the remainder of the day, birds arrived at regular intervals. Large flocks would not be decoyed close enough to pinch. Smaller groups succumbed to our shots, more often than not. At one point a lone bird flew around the brush island. It was high, more than 50 yards above ground. “Take him,” whispered one guide to the other. An audible click, 10 gauge safety switched off, followed by a roar. I looked to the heavens and the bird actually dropped into my field of view. The fate of Icarus. It was a singularly impressive and memorable moment. Smoke wafted from Eric’s gun. Pride emanated from the gun’s owner.

We racked up the birds. Ten in the bag. Everyone was able to lay claim to at least two. Easy cleaning at Kuneytown on Eric’s tailgate.

Kuneytown cleaning fest

Scouting at day’s end didn’t come as easy as did the bird cleaning. The guides worked their phones and drove down roads following hunches. No good alternatives to that day’s field could be found. So it was that we decided to return to the site of that day's success.

Day two brought Rich, force of nature. Day two also brought an unwelcomed odor (no relation to Rich but also a force of nature). We had been watching manure spreaders zipping from barn to fields at the end of the previous day’s hunt. Even with a hard freeze it was clear that the ground had changed from yesterday's condition: 8,000 gallons of frozen porcine waste now plastering its surface. With wind from the south and a late start, we had little choice but to set the "spread" on the brown frost.

There are times when we use the term “blue bird day” euphemistically. This day - clear skies and very light southerly breeze - brought bluebirds to our feces glazed field. No Canada Geese. We watched flock upon flock of snow geese travel by. We made wonderful conversation. We lamented Rich’s absence the day before the manure had been applied. The day BEFORE, when the Canada Geese actually FLEW from their lake roosts to the grain fields. One Canada Goose did eventually investigate the stench, but it changed its mind when a hail of steel frustration shooed it away.

With the sun came the thaw. Not a welcome thaw. A dangerous thaw. Trips through the decoys became hazardous, slick slurry blanketing the once frictional surface. Olfactory senses overwhelmed all others as the atmosphere became more and more pungent. In the miasma hunters became light headed.

We weighed options. Rich developed ever more concern over work he had abandoned at the office. We worked ever harder to focus on the wonderful camaraderie we shared.

Rich, searching for an escape back to the office

By the time we decided to cut our losses, the flock of decoys - once proud replicas of migrating avian magnificence - had taken on the rime of a swine lagoon. Decoy collection involved strategies seldom considered when waterfowl hunting. How to optimize travel between decoys? How to stack the decoys so that only a few, sacrificial shells contacted the fetid earth? When Eric returned with four wheeler and trailer his tires issued rooster tails of rancid muck.

Decoy trailer sporting porcine racing stripes

We walked back to the vehicles, marveling at the misery of this warm, sunny day. New Yorkers weighed the costs and benefits of cleaning older decoys. Pennsylvanians considered excuses for abandoning the gear they had worn that morning, if only to improve the car cabin air during the four hour trip home.

For the New York grousers, these two days of goose hunting may very well be ones they would soon forget, or would wish that they could forget. For the Pennsylvania grousers, the indelible memories of these hunts left no doubt that they would return in a year’s time. Regardless of the manure spreading conditions.

Experiencing the sublime

concealed in demarcation

quarrels over birds

in the goose fields

Originally filmed on Ernie's couch...

Geico changed the image of the person on the couch to protect Jim's fragile emotions... Thank goodness for the loving support Jim get's from the dozer pile boys!

Opening Day Waterfowl (2nd Half) 2010

24 geese

40 ducks

8 hunters

Strangely Jim wasn't there to claim geese. Perhaps he was comfortable in a sauna talking alot about hunting. ;)

Ducks and geese by the numbers... 3rd installment

After a few days off to catch up on work, Eric and I spent some time scouting and rounded up the Team Terminator Goose Rig. The last two days of the season needed to be special, and with the iced up lakes and very cold temps, no hunt was going to be a "gimme." We settled on one of the Lott fields that had a mix of beans and corn in strips. This field was quite large, and had piles of tree trunks in it here and there where hedge rows had recently been torn out (see photo to left). We used these and the 6-8 inches of snow to our advantage as we set the ambush. As usual, we limited the number of hunters to minimize concealment problems and maximize joy. George and Dave were with us both days, and Bob joined the last day.

On Saturday, we had four hunters and four limits, 12 Canada geese for the smoker. On Sunday, the final day, which was clearer and less windy, we managed 5 geese in the bag, capitalizing on every opportunity, though few and far between. All in all, the second half was an exceptionally good season for geese and ducks, considering the frozen lake. If you were willing to scout, be mobile, and work at it, the rewards were there to be earned. Better than gold medals or bronze stars, we earned mercury traces, which we will wear proudly, boldly, inevitably. Thanks to Dave for taking pictures.

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

Wendy's Honkin' Good Jerky

I know Josh will appreciate this post, because Josh knows jerky.

I recently inherited a considerable amount of goose flesh, some of which I had a direct hand in collecting, the rest of which I influenced indirectly.

Anyway, I've spent the better part of the past couple of days trimming, bagging, marinating, and drying. Several batches of goose jerky later, I can confidently say the following recipe is a winner. The folks at CrossFit Ithaca dubbed this "Wendy's Honkin' Good Jerky":

Take a box 'o goose flesh
Pull out 1 to 5 pounds of flesh from the box
Trim the flesh of fat and sinew

Place flesh in freezer for 30 minutes to aid with slicing
Remove partially frozen flesh from freezer, slice cross-grain into 1/8" to 1/4" pre-jerky strips

Pre-soak pre-jerky strips in a brine of Morton's Tender Quick for 1 - 2 hours if desired

Mix the following for marinade:
1 cup teriyaki sauce
1/4 cup hoisin sauce (THIS IS THE SECRET INGREDIENT)
2 tsp Chinese five-spice powder

That's the base recipe and will make "honkin' good jerky" as is; the next batch I make is going to get more in the way of hot pepper spices; the batch currently drying has wasabi and fresh ginger added.

Rinse brined meat with cold fresh water, add meat to the marinade in plastic bag, and marinate as long as your patience can stand it: 6 to 24 hours.

Put your pre-jerky strips in a dehydrator and have at it. Six to eight hours later you'll have "Honkin' Good Jerky."

Alternatively, one could fire up their Bradley Smoker and cook it that way. Not really necessary, but could be good.

Ducks and geese by the numbers... 2nd installment

In this second installment of ducks and geese by the numbers, I again report on 2 hunts; a minimalist field hunt in Hoster's field with the Vicar and a spectacular New Year's Eve waterfowl hunting outing with Dr. Dirt, the Vicar, Eric and myself.

The field hunt at Hoster's was intended to be a highly mobile, minimalist effort. We placed a half dozen field geese decoys and a half dozen field mallard decoys, complimented by two mojos, one on a pole and one on the ground, at the North end of an island of woods. The wind was strong out of the west. Shortly after first light, we shot our first pair of mallards, on of which had a band. The birds flew relatively well, and despite my bad gun karma, we ended up with 5 ducks.

The New Year's Eve Hunt was a bit more exceptional. Eric and I had scouted hard the day before and prepared the Goose Rig in anticipation of a high-expectation reunion of Grousers [footnote, Chief Grouser Tantillo was in the neighborhood but with the Dozer Death Boys (Beer Camp) hunting party]. Because there are stories to be told about this hunt from the perspectives of the hunters (which I hope will be forthcoming) I will simply report that we shot 15 Canada geese and 2 mallards. More mercury for all. A picture and short film taken by Pete can serve as a trailer for the other reporters. Thanks for the camera work Pete!

Ducks and geese by the numbers... 1st installment

All risk-averse chatter aside, we have now put 20 ducks and 3 geese into the collective larder, as of the end of day 2. Yesterday's field hunt on Kuneytown land was a duck hunter's dream, where Rich blooded his new SXS shotgun and I happily pounded out long and lethal shots with my SXS 10 gauge. Today's hunt on the Moorehouse ponds was slower but Eric, making up for lackluster shooting yesterday, made every opportunity count and came away with a limit of mallards and geese. I had to console myself in the knowledge that I contributed with some effective, memorable and satisfying calling, and Brant made some really nice retrieves.

Having taken into consideration the Tantillo theorem, the Canoga Christmas included a brand new Bradley smoker... so soon, as was so convincingly argued and advocated for by the good Doctor,we will be sharing mercury poisoning with gleeful abandon across the land. Stay tuned for more updates.

I want one of these for snow geese . . .

4 Shot Massacre- Snow Geese on Cayuga

It was a day of reckoning for the tundra destroying Snow Geese. Eric and I invested a few hours in patriotism and civic duty to rid the world (management or sport? Discuss.) of excess Anser caerulescens caerulescens . The first hour or two of the hunt looked doubtful, but the beautiful weather made it down right enjoyable to be back in the blind. Our patience was rewarded as we observed the borg-like "mind " of a group of thousands of snow geese "decide" to move south into our cove. The collective consciousness of the snow goose borg soon enveloped the intrepid hunters and it was all we could do to fend off the invading horde. Alas, after two shots each, a fair number were mowed down and the main body retreated.

Nick had his work cut out for him retrieving the near-shore birds, while I, in typically imbecile fashion, rowed around the middle of the frigid lake sans life jacket or other safety equipment, practicing naval maneuvers on crippled and escaping snows. I managed to get most of them.

It was an epic excursion, and memorable in many ways. Check out this link for photos of the cove full of snows the day before. It was the same this day, once they finally moved in. What a deafening cacophony, and a sight to behold.

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

Cayuga Lake Waterfowl Report- Riegel/Tidball Team

Thought a little levity might be in order. The first four days of the second half waterfowl season have yielded some interesting results. For Yeoman's benefit, we have learned that the new Hevi-shot load for vintage guns is VERY effective stuff. Also, it seems that Federal Blackcloud BBs pattern beautifully through a modified choke, at least through my mod/mod double sxs. Haven't had the chance to try the new bismuth offering but hope to soon.

The lake in front of Double Black was frozen the first few days, so Eric and I hunted the ponds. Despite some sense of nostalgia indicating that it might be nice to hunt with Ernie and Mike ( a hangover from the nice nostalgia laden recent Ernie post I guess) in a field, just for old times sake, I am glad I took the sensible route. The Ernst field (Thompson's field) was way too full of hunters and way too empty of birds, from what I gather.

On day 1, the rain was falling by the bucket-load at 5 am, and didn't stop until well after 8:30 am, at which time Eric and I, and Eric' s cousin Dave were limited out on ducks. Day 2 was much like day one, with the addition of a handful of geese. Day 3, the warming trend, rain, and wind had opened up the north end of the lake sufficiently, and reports were streaming in of large numbers of divers. Mike O, Eric and I set up in Double Black...we came away with only one bird, but had a few chances at divers screaming through the outer edge of the spread. Unfortunately for us, the masses of divers brought masses of diver hunters and layout boats, effectively cutting us out of the action. Eric commented that we were witnessing more boat traffic in front of the marsh than many summer days on the lake. Day 4 (today) proved tough as well, with steady wind at plus 35 mph and gusts up to 50 mph. Still, we managed to scratch down 6 ducks and 2 geese.

I spent some time with the camera to try to brighten spirits and tempt Tantillo to come and engage in some R&R. You will notice I edited out the shooting... that way the Back Up Benelli can imagine his role better. Feel better Jim. Enjoy.

Opening Day at Beer Camp!

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

Waterfowl update

The DEC waterfowl hunting website
(http://www.dec.ny.gov/outdoor/28503.html) has been
updated to include:

1) a link to a pdf copy of the regulations brochure
2) a link to the HIP registration website (www.ny-hip.com)
3) lots more about Waterfowl Seasons and Information,
including:
 - Rationale for Waterfowl Hunting Seasons
(http://www.dec.ny.gov/outdoor/28503.html) and
 - Road Boundary Descriptions for Goose Hunting Areas
(http://www.dec.ny.gov/outdoor/28510.html)

Of note... NO CANVASBACKS!  3 instead of two wood ducks.
ONLY 1 SCAUP (except during 20-day periods specified
for each zone in the season date table above, when
 2 scaup may be taken daily).

Early geese 9/1/2008

opener tune-up
short-sleeved waterfowl hunting
choke recollections

Ignorance is no excuse

Over the years, there have been some interesting interpretations of game laws, most pertaining to waterfowl, that have presented themselves in field or blind (or at Beer Camp, or Kuneytown). I have just perused for fun and kicks the Federal Migratory Bird Hunting regs...which may not be as strict, but are at least as strict, as state laws. This may be useful as openers are fast approaching.

Some interesting excerpts:

§ 20.34 Opening day of a season.
No person on the opening day of the season shall possess any freshly killed migratory game birds in excess of the daily bag limit, or aggregate daily bag limit, whichever applies.

Ok, you know who you are on that one.

Migratory birds on which open seasons are prescribed in this part may be taken by any method except those prohibited in this section. No persons shall take migratory game birds:
(h) By means or aid of any motordriven land, water, or air conveyance, or any sailboat used for the purpose of or resulting in the concentrating, driving, rallying, or stirring up of any migratory bird;

In other words, no booting the geese off of neighboring fields by driving a 4 wheeler in hopes that they will fly up and come to your perfect spread where your buddies are honking and flagging their hearts out to freaked out birds. Its a no-no. Myself and others- guilty but reformed.

§ 20.24 Daily limit.
No person shall take in any 1 calendar day, more than the daily bag limit or aggregate daily bag limit, whichever applies

Ok, so for the guys who keep telling me its ok to shoot a limit in the morning, "reduce them to possession" at lunch (in other words, breasts in freezer bags sans heads & feathers) and then go shoot more birds "because my daily bag limit has been re-set," I say, knock off the bullshit. Once again, you know who you are.

Finally,

§ 20.33 Possession limit.
No person shall possess more migratory game birds taken in the United States than the possession limit or the aggregate possession limit, whichever applies.

Note that it does not say "...unless the birds are in your freezer."

...feelin' Cagey today...

Back to your regularly scheduled programming. Over and out.

South African Mixed Bag

Been meaning to post a few pics from my South African bird hunt. Don't have any great stories, nor the story telling abilities of CB. Al Stewart, Michigan's Upland Game Bird Biologist, and I hunted for 2 days in the Durbanville area of the Western Cape. All told we harvested 7 different species: Helmeted Guineafowl, Cape Francolin, Rock Dove, Cape Turtle-Dove, Egyptian Geese, Spur-wing Geese, and Hottentot Teal.

Will try and post some more information later this evening.

SJ