Geese, Guides,
and Dogs
There’s an
unusual silence at 5 a.m. when you’re sitting in a blind with numb fingers and
toes, a shotgun resting across your lap, eyes locked on the sky while your mind
wanders.
And yet, one thought always cuts through: I could be warm in my bed right now, lost in a dream.
I used to duck
hunt in Texas with a few buddies—mostly my friend Guillermo—and every trip felt
like an expedition. G was meticulous. He’d scout flocks for days, tracking
patterns and predicting where we could get them to land at first light. When he
called and asked, “Want to go hunting tomorrow?” it usually meant a 2 a.m.
alarm, a long drive, and then hiking or kayaking through the dark to be set up
before the birds moved.
I was usually
tired, cold, and hungry.
But I never once regretted it.
When I moved to
Colorado, I heard goose hunting along the Front Range was fire. I wanted in.
But Colorado is different. There’s less water, public land is crowded, and
finding a safe, productive spot can feel daunting. I hung up my shotgun for a
while, waiting for the right opportunity.
So when I was
invited to spend a few days with the crew at Platte Basin Outdoors -to see
their operation and chase some honkers - I was all in.
Colorado has a
serious goose hunting scene—and for good reason. Each year, between 200,000 and
300,000 Canada geese funnel into the state, many lingering until spring. They
raft up on frozen lakes, gravel pits, river bottoms, and harvested fields,
turning the Front Range into one of the most pressured—and rewarding—goose
hunting destinations in the country.
These birds are
built for survival. Canada geese can travel up to 1,500 miles in a day. Their
eyes move independently, picking up astonishing detail. They can live more than
40 years. They’re loud, massive, intelligent—and incredibly wary.
Ironically, as
humans reshape the landscape, we’ve created something of a haven for them.
Industrial parks, housing developments, and expanding cities displace many of
their natural predators—coyotes, foxes, raccoons, skunks, eagles, and crows.
Add in the steady growth of agriculture, and the result is ideal goose habitat.
The North American population has rebounded from near collapse to roughly seven
million birds.
That boom has
fueled an entire industry—guns, gear, dogs, camo—and at the center of it all
are the guides.
Being a goose
guide in Colorado may sound like a dream job—and I’m sure parts of it are—but
it’s exhausting work. These guys aren’t just blowing calls and pulling
triggers. They’re up at 3 a.m. hauling decoys, brushing blinds, and scouting
hundreds of properties. They negotiate with landowners, monitor bird movement
daily, and live entirely on the birds’ schedule.
And when clients show up half-asleep in the dark, guides have to keep things safe, organized, and moving—while everyone waits for that first distant honk.
Because geese
are creatures of habit. They roost on water and feed in the same fields day
after day. But under pressure, they adapt. Push them off one field, and you
hope they slide into another that you have access to.
Michael and I spent hours riding around in his F-350, glassing ponds and fields. Around 4 p.m., we watched thousands of birds lift off a privately owned gravel pond and fly nine miles to a field they’d been feeding in for weeks.
That afternoon,
everything changed.
The landowner
had moved his cattle into the pasture, bumping the birds from their routine.
Just like that,
the pattern broke.
A skein
approached, saw their familiar ground overtaken by bovine, and veered off. They
circled wide, scrambling to adjust—looking for somewhere new to settle before
dark.
The next
morning came early.
I met guides
John and Ginger to load a trailer full of decoys and panel blinds. We headed 45
minutes out to meet Zach (another guide) and a dozen clients on a new
property—one they’d only gained access to because duck season had just ended
and the land owner loves his ducks.
We arrived well
before sunrise and went straight to work. Clearing a ditch. Setting blinds.
Spreading thirty to forty dozen decoys across the field.
Then came the
stillness.
The birds had
been taking flight around 7:00–7:30.
At 7:29, the
first skein glided in.
“Don’t move,” Zach
said quietly, like he’d said it a thousand times before.
The birds
passed just out of range, looking us over with sharp skepticism.
Then, in the
distance, another group appeared—larger this time, skirting the edge of the
field.
The guides
jumped on their calls, honking hard.
The birds
turned.
It was on.
As they
committed, dropping lower, the sequence came quick:
“Get ready.”
“Don’t move.”
“Get ’em!”
Everyone rose
at once, guns up, unloading. Birds folded out of the sky.
Then came
cleanup—and that’s where Luna and Mo took over.
Then the
command comes—and they jump into motion.
They tear
across the field, track the birds, grab them, give a quick shake if needed, and
bring them back to the guides. Some of these birds are about the same size as
the dog. Doesn’t matter.
By the end of
the hunt, we’d picked up a few more passes and finished with eleven
birds—including a white-fronted goose, or “spec,” named for the dark bars
across its chest.
The next
morning, we hunted a different property with John and Matt leading the hunt
nine of us loaded into a custom IRONHIDE blind set along a small pond.
It was luxury
by comparison. Plenty of space, heat, and a roof that folded down when it was
time to shoot. The whole rig sat on wheels so it could be hauled east for their
month-long snow goose run in Nebraska.
The action was
slower. Fewer birds. Fewer shots.
But that’s part
of it.
Sitting there,
talking, waiting, watching the sky—it carries its own weight but any morning in
blind is a good morning in my book.
https://coloradooutdoorsmag.com/
https://www.plattebasinoutdoors.com/
