Until you’ve experienced it, nothing can prepare you for the whirling, spinning, mind-blowing cacophony of hundreds or thousands of snow geese over your spread. It’s intense. You might get pooped on. You’ll get amped when the first handful lights in the spread, but don’t shoot just yet. More are coming. Just hang on a little bit longer.
“Wait … wait … let ’em land … wait,” urged Keaton Kelso, hoarsely giving us instructions. He was quiet enough to not spook the geese on the ground but emphatic in expressing that trigger time was nigh. “They’re still coming. Wait … some more of them will come down and bring in the rest.”
Finally, thankfully, we and Keaton’s quivering Labrador retriever were given relief. At the command of “Take ’em!” we unloaded our guns. After hunting waterfowl for 40 years it’s crazy to think about an unplugged magazine that holds 10 rounds. A couple of us emptied the guns, just because we could, to see what it was like. All of us hit geese, their white-and-black bodies shuddering at the impact of the 3- and 3 1/2-inch Kent steel ammo. They thudded to the warm soil, falling amid the socks and rags and hardshell decoys. The flock turned and lifted higher, their dissonance disappearing as we flung a long shot here and
