More Than a Limit

Winter mornings in California's Sacramento Valley have a way of making a hunter appreciate silence. A north wind swept across harvested rice fields, carrying the scent of wet soil, rice stubble, and distant marsh water. Low gray clouds hung overhead, flattening the light into a steel-colored sky that looked made for geese. The seven of us, six old college buddies and me, gathered around the trailers before daylight, nursing cups of coffee and catching up. It had been years since we'd all hunted together. Careers, families, and busy schedules had scattered us in different directions, making weekends like this hard to come by."You boys still remember how to put out decoys?" someone joked. "Or are we going to be here until lunch?"The laughs came as easily as they had in college. We tucked our layout blinds into the rice stubble and built a mixed spread of specklebelly, snow goose, and Canada goose decoys. We left open landing pockets into the north wind, knowing geese prefer to finish with the breeze in their faces. It took time to get everything right, but experience has taught us that details matter. The first flock announced itself with distant calls before appearing beneath the overcast. A group of specklebellies circled once, then committed."Take 'em!"Seven shotguns echoed across the valley. Feathers drifted in the wind as birds folded into the field. We gathered them quickly and settled back into the blinds. The second wave arrived less than twenty minutes later. Mostly snow geese with a few dark birds mixed in, they circled several times before finally dropping into the decoys. Once again, good calling, patience, and a realistic spread did the job. By then, the morning had turned into one of those hunts you'll remember for years. The third wave was unforgettable. Long strings of geese appeared from every direction, their calls filling the gray sky. Some birds circled high while others locked their wings and finished perfectly over the spread. When the shooting stopped, every one of us had filled our limit of both dark and light geese. Someone looked around the field and laughed."It took longer to set out the decoys than it did to shoot our limits."He wasn't wrong. It also took much longer to pick them all up. By the time the last decoy was loaded, we still had a mountain of birds to clean. Most of the afternoon disappeared around the cleaning table, sharpening knives, plucking feathers, and reliving every volley while turning birds into meals for our families. Driving home that evening, I realized the limits weren't what I'd remember most. Those geese will eventually be eaten, and the decoys will be packed away until next winter. What will stay with me is sharing a cold Sacramento Valley morning with the same friends who once shared college classrooms and late-night dreams. The birds made the day successful. Seeing old friends again made it unforgettable.