LODGE CORNER -- An Arkansas goose hunt is long spells of boredom punctuated by short spells of bedlam.
I rediscovered this axiom on Dec. 22 while hunting with Judge Joe Volpe of Little Rock in Arkansas County. Volpe, an ardent goose hunter, employed the services of Nick Posusta, owner of Eaglehead Outdoors. A Minnesota native, Posusta spends winter in Arkansas leading guided goose hunts in southeast Arkansas with Andrew Priester. The group included Volpe's sons John and Matthew Volpe, Shawn Tobin, Joseph Thornton, Tom Gunderman and Jared Gunderman.
Matthew Volpe is a senior at the United States Military Academy at West Point, N.Y., and Jared Gunderman is a senior and future SEAL at the United States Naval Academy in Annapolis, Md. Thornton is a U.S. marshal. Tom Gunderman is an executive with Red Baron Pizza, and the multi-faceted Tobin is an investigator with the federal prosecutor's office and a founder of Stone's Throw Brewery.
At 6 a.m., we assembled a short distance south of Lodge Corner, between Stuttgart and DeWitt, where Posusta leases a field. Posusta was antsy because the large concentrations of light geese that normally converge on southeast Arkansas this time of year have not arrived yet, and those that are present are scattered.
Light geese include snow, blue and Ross' geese, and white-fronted geese, which are popularly known as "specklebellies." Goose epicures call specklebellies the "ribeye of the sky" because they have the best flavor of the lot.
To attract them, Posusta placed a large spread of lifelike decoys in a field in front of a levee. Abutting the north side of the levee was a large reservoir bounded by another large field. In the orange blaze of a fiery sunrise, we heard geese cackling to the north near the edge of a field and a slough.
Arrayed side by side on the levee were layout blinds for each hunter. A layout blind, or coffin blind, is a metal or carbon fiber frame with a skin of camouflage fabric. A hunter lies inside on his back with his shotgun at his side. The gun barrel pokes out the end and to the side. Two camo fabric panels on hinges fold over the top to cover the hunter inside.
"Do not have the muzzle inside the blind," Posusta instructed. "It's unsafe, and it can snag and prevent you from shooting."
I've hunted many times a few miles to the east of that spot. Tens of thousands of geese usually roost between that place and Posusta's field. When the first rays of daylight drench the roost areas, the geese rise en masse and fly to neighboring fields for breakfast.
Posusta ordered us to close our coffin lids and await the order to "take 'em." With that, we were to lurch upright, throw open the lids and shoot.
It took the geese awhile to wake up, but eventually a small group came over low to inspect the decoys. After a couple of passes, they cupped for their final descent.
"Take 'em!" Posusta shouted.
Lids flew open, and we blazed away. The roar of the shotguns sparked a deafening tumult to the south as hundreds of geese flapped skyward.
"That got 'em up!" Posusta said. "Quick! Get back down!"
Through the crack between the flaps I watched them fly over. Some were so low that it seemed like we could have reached up and swatted them with our gun barrels. Posusta called expertly and turned a big bunch of geese. They blotted out my little window on the sky, and then Posusta called for the shot.
I pride myself on being handy with a shotgun, but this style of shooting will humble even a grand champion trap shooter. Imagine popping from a supine position to a sitting position. You rise with your abdominal muscles, and thank the good lord mine are still up to the task. With shotgun in hand, you throw open the roof panels and then try to pick out a goose that is rapidly rising and accelerating.
Since I was, by my own request, on the far right end, most of my birds departed to my right. They were usually beyond my range of rotation, which limited my range of rotation while still keeping my gun shouldered.
Suffice it to say that I fired many rounds with scant little to show for it.
By late December geese are wise to this game. They know how far they need to be from those noisy jack-in-the-box thingies to be safe. One big group settled in the field to the south about 300 yards out of range, and another group settled behind us about 300 yards out of range. We stood up to stretch occasionally without alarming them in the least.
Periodically, a small group on either side got the itch to join the other group. A few always peeled off to look at the decoys, and Posusta called them down for a close look. In this way we were able to pick off two and three at a time.
Between those flurries was a lot of down time, and on a warm morning like that one, a coffin blind is amazingly comfortable when you woke at 4 a.m., even with a hard camera case as a pillow. I woke numerous times to the sound of the other guys snickering at my snoring.
Afterwards, I invited them to join me for lunch at the Bullpen in DeWitt, home of my favorite chicken salad. I called Jess "The Undertaker" Essex of DeWitt to join us.
"I can't," Essex lamented. "I'm undertakin' today. A man's got to work sometime!"
"I hate to hear that," I said. "I've got a bunch of people with me that about shoved each other to the ground to be first in line to meet The Undertaker."
"What the heck," he conceded. "I can take a few minutes for a cup of coffee."
He lived up to his billing and regaled us with stories through at least one full pot of coffee.
The chicken salad, as always, was as good as the company.
Sports on 12/30/2018