A long time ago, back in the seventies, there was a place we could go to in the spring, a place that was special, a place where you changed in a rite called “your first goose.” This was usually accomplished with a single shot .410 on a lone goose that landed in the pond, with everyone waiting to see if you had the “eye” for a clean kill, the gumption to go get the gander if you just wounded it, the stamina and patience to end the goose’s existence with care enough not to damage the meat. Of course, you had to maintain your cool while your heart was pumping adrenaline like no tomorrow and pretend that it was something you did every day.
Later, while googum and mom are proudly cleaning your fowl, your story grows in leaps and bounds. Somehow the single shot small gauge shotgun becomes a revered object, teaching you how to shoot within range, reminding you only had one chance to get your supper, making you patient enough to ensure your stomach has food in it.
The gun made you a respected hunter. But values and traditions passed on by gomshums and fathers made damn sure that the respect for your firearm extended to your environment, from killing to cleaning, from cooking to sharing. From generation to generation, the gun became part of our lifestyle, nearly indispensable but not always necessary.
Stories of past hunters leaving with their entire family for the winter with a handful of shells and small bore ammunition, and returning at Christmas with an amazing number of pelts and still fat from eating the kill of a good hunter were not uncommon. The harvesting of the land was life then, before jobs and wages. Most times it was living, but it was hard living. Character and fitness made you stronger and made you capable of incredible physical feats that amaze the modern day man.
In the decade following the seventies, this changed. Today, tradition is still maintained, but a much more modern pace. Let me explain. The legs we used to use to get around have become useless appendages that can only move a lever attached to a vehicle. The vehicle which was propelled by your arms up creeks, lakes and rivers has now been replaced by thousands of dollars of motors that drink gasoline like no tomorrow and manufactured somewhere down south. The goose decoy, which was made from the immediate materials at had and attracted flocks like flies to fish guts are now realistically replicated, totally confusing the geese and making them so wary and paranoid of these decoys that they tend not to come down at all, recognizing instantly the reflection of sunshine off of slick plastic imitations.
If technology replaces our traditions and we become dependent on newfangled toys and tools to get by, would we go the way of the spring goose? Will we ever be able to hunt without a plastic goose call wrapped around our necks? Will Blistex and Chapstick reign over earwax? Will we ever make a cedar wood decoy again?
These are serious questions folks. Because that is what made us who we are today, with hunting in our blood. Or are we changing into high tech hunters? Whatever the case, it sure isn’t the same anymore. Could anyone come out with the goose-calling-training mp
3 please? Like now?