How to Have More Success This Snow Goose Season

As anticipated, the snow geese arose from their midday roost and headed our direction. All five of us were ready. Six hundred decoys lay in front of us, most full bodies. Our layout blinds couldn’t have looked any better. The wind was perfect.

“We’ll let this first little flock land,” shouted a buddy over others who were aggressively calling. “We’ll take that big wad, behind ‘em. I’ll call it.”

There was no shot to call. Each string of birds veered wide at the last second. We could have shot, likely dumping a few birds, but they weren’t finishing like we wanted. As the sun was setting, a small flock of Ross’s geese passed directly overhead. They were high. I shot, mostly out of frustration. A gnarly-nosed, old, banded goose almost hit me. Kona, my pudelpointer, was stoked over the three-step retrieve. The band was so frail it barely hung on.

That Ross’s goose hangs in my office. It’s a daily reminder of one my most frustrating days of snow goose hunting, but how just one shot can change the tune. My buddies didn’t fire a shot that afternoon as the geese simply didn’t want to land in the field we hunted. The evening prior, over 10,000 birds covered the field we were in. That’s snow goose hunting.

A buddy once invited me on a DIY spring snow hunt in Saskatchewan. I couldn’t make it. He fed me reports. They hunted four days, had one great day, only fired a few shots two of the days, and zero shots one day. He invited me again the following season. Remembering his struggles from the previous year, I kindly declined. “Man, you should have come,” he shared after that hunt. “We hit stormy weather and hammered limits every day, it was unreal.”

The adage, hunt smarter, not harder, doesn’t necessarily apply to spring snow geese. More times than not, hard work outshines overanalyzing situations.

Last spring I hunted with four young men. Our first morning found us in the field at 4 a.m., setting 2,000 decoys and layout blinds. We shot a dozen or so white geese. There were birds by the thousands, they just didn’t work. “Tomorrow we’re getting serious,” said one kid. “I’m calling some buddies and we’re moving to the middle of the field and dumping every snow decoy we own.”

The next morning we were up at 2:30 a.m.. Minutes before shooting light we had 4,100 snow decoys in place. There were eight of us. We had every full body, silhouette and sock decoy we owned. We didn’t shoot a single shell. They avoided us like mosquitoes approaching a Thermacell. Tens of thousands of snows skirted us, all setting down in a field behind. “We’re doing it all over again tomorrow, but back there,” the kid pointed as we called it quits.

I had to head home that night. The next morning seven of them shot 20 snows each on that field. Working harder paid off for these young hunters. It took three days, but they did it.

The mindset of some younglings I’ve hunted with in recent years is motivating, and their approach warrants praise. In fact, some of my best spring snow goose hunts have been because of the efforts of young hunters, guys who are my son’s age, I call ‘em kids. These kids live to hunt. Few are on social media, they take off work for weeks, and when they’re not hunting they’re scouting. If they get five hours sleep a night, they’re lucky.

Most morning snow goose hunts wrap up by 10 a.m. From there, these kids are on a mission. They grab a quick bite, together—usually week-old bread in one of their coolers, smeared with peanut butter and jelly—and devise a scouting plan. They whip out their phones, bring up onX and strategically plot the grounds to be scouted. They’re chatting with one another all afternoon, marking roosting and feeding areas, monitoring the wind and predicting where to hunt the following morning.

“For every good hunt, three aren’t so good,” one kid told me matter of factly. Aren’t so good. That hit me. He could have said, terrible, or bad. But not so good simply meant they didn’t kill many birds, if any. The group was hunting together and working hard to figure it out. That’s what mattered most to them, outwitting birds as a team. “Figuring out where geese want to be isn’t rocket science, it’s about working your butt off and just hoping they’ll cooperate,” he smiled.

“These birds have been pressured since September, starting in Canada, and all winter long down here,” a young man in Eastern Oregon once shared. “They’re smart and sometimes won’t decoy no matter how much work you put into it. But hit it right–be where they want to be, or catch a storm–and when it happens, it’s magical. It makes all those slow days worth it, just for one incredible day.” He got me thinking.

The mindset of many hunters is to shoot limits (or stack up big piles since there are no limits in most state in the spring) every time out. I’m often guilty of this. Limits equate to success and validate good shooting. Spring snow goose hunters—experienced ones—know better. They know success is the culmination of hard work and preparation meeting opportunity. They accept the fact that opportunities don’t come every day. And they’re aware it just takes a simple change in windspeed or direction to transform a slow day into a memorable one.

On a recent snow goose hunt, five youngsters and I were set up well before shooting light. The first several flocks that approached the decoys from the roost pond stopped short or flared from our spread. We had over 2,500 decoys set out. They made little adjustments here and there, but none worked. Then the wind made a drastic change, and held strong. That’s when the youngsters started to talk. Hopping up from their blinds like there was a fire drill, they began picking up decoys. Soon, they had every decoy picked up and relocated. They even reset the blinds. I was of little help. We didn’t shoot limits, but we shot over 60 birds, more than we would have had we stayed put. I admired their energy, something me and my aging hunting partners lack, these days.

Their enthusiasm was contagious. The young hunters didn’t bicker about all the birds that passed by, or that we didn’t shoot limits. They were proud of the changes they made, the effort that went into it, and that they achieved partial success. They outsmarted wise birds and got to see multiple flocks cup into the decoys. That’s all they wanted. They earned it.

Spring snow goose hunting can be the worst of times, but also the best. If you’re an aging hunter, like me, seek out some of these young hunters. You’ll find that they have a genuine respect for us and will want to hear some of our stories from days gone by.

But the greatest reward is what you’ll learn from them. Their passion, drive and knowledge will invigorate you. They run calls better than I ever could, and they thoroughly study bird movement and decoy spreads. Today, I’m hunting more and shooting more birds, thanks to the help and hard work of young hunters. 

 

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