Though Canada geese are fewer these days, and the hunt requires a tricky trek on thin ice, friends and success warm the day.
Friday at dawn the sun came up and the temperature went down. Whether the thermometer measured 5 below zero or colder still, we were unsure. The wind wasn’t blowing — we were happy about that. Anyway, we stepped onto the frozen lake in our waders, feeling the ice as we went. We were looking for geese.
My partners in this escapade, Wendell Diller and his wife, Galina, will tell you this hasn’t been a good fall for goose hunting, not in the metro. They’re correct: If you think we have anywhere near the number of Canada geese around the Twin Cities that we once did, either you live on a golf course or own lakeshore property. And even in those honker havens, the numbers are greatly reduced.
Wendell and Galina and I cared about this Friday morning, the goose population, and simultaneously didn’t. We had our facemasks, heavy parkas and hand warmers, and were going hunting either way. Also among our stuff were charcoal briquettes, a small grill and a pan to boil water for cowboy coffee. So if geese didn’t fly, we’d occupy ourselves with these and also with flapjacks Galina would concoct from her signature mix.
“Her pancakes will darn sure adjust your glycemic index,’’ Wendell said.
An inventor and ballistician, Wendell, a longtime friend, isn’t averse to issuing a proclamation or two straight out of left field.
So I said, “You keep your hands off my glycemic index!’’ And left it at that.
In the past, I’ve chronicled similar hunts Wendell and I have taken in December, looking for Christmas geese to roast. Some of these outings occurred before Wendell found Galina in Russia via a matchmaker website featuring hot women from cold places — Ukraine, Galina’s home, being No. 1 in the latter category, with a bullet.
Of course not many of these women feature on their résumés advanced degrees in chemistry, as Galina did, which for Wendell was a real turn-on and explains in part how they came to live happily ever after, one a citizen, the other a resident alien.
“I don’t think we’ll fall through the ice until we get out a little further,’’ Wendell said.
As he spoke, he pulled a sled on which rested an aluminum canoe. In it were two shotguns, a dozen or so Big Foot decoys, portable blinds and the foodstuffs previously mentioned.
When we sensed ice weakening, we would abandon the sled and instead mosey along, the three of us bent over, holding onto the canoe gunnels.
The trick in these circumstances is not to break through the ice in water deeper than the tops of your waders.
Or if you do, to support yourself above that demarcation by holding onto the canoe, then crawling in, the entire operation aided by a makeshift outrigger extending from the craft’s port side.
Fair warning here: With Obamacare still limping along, don’t try this at home.
“The ice feels strong,’’ Galina said. “Maybe we won’t break through, after all.’’
As she spoke, not far upriver, hundreds upon hundreds of swans took flight from the ice. Lumbering, they pedaled like roadrunners before gaining lift beneath their wings.
Once airborne, the big birds, along with broad phalanxes of geese, were greeted by the rising sun, which bruised the horizon in oranges, reds and purples as it crested the hilly shoreline.
|Fla Gulf Coast||60|
|William & Mary||75||FINAL|
|South Dakota St||71|
|Mount St Marys||75|
|(18) Oklahoma St||61||FINAL|
|(7) West Virginia||67|
|(2) Notre Dame||69|