Home for the Hunt
I arrived early for the spring Goose Break, leaving a balmy Montreal April 28 expecting to get to Mistissini just in time for the arrival of the big flocks of geese. Sadly, the ice was just beginning to retreat. In over 20 years hunting at MacLeod’s Point I’ve never seen less open water. As a result the geese were not as plentiful as I had hoped.
I needed at least one for my son Declan’s walking-out ceremony. He was born at the end of January this year and like any father, it was important to get a goose for the ceremony even though my brother had said he had one if I needed it. Don has already put aside moose, bear and caribou for that day. I have always loved and respected his generous spirit that he extends to so many around him.
There were others who needed to hunt for a new addition to their family. My cousin Louise MacLeod had a child this year and she was at the blind doing what had to be done. Though most hunters are male this has never been an ironclad rule, even in the past. Her father Don Macleod, who has bagged the season’s first goose in Mistissini many times, taught her how to shoot.
That’s Don holding the pink shotgun. Sure, it’s Louise’s weapon, but they say pink is the new black.
Don MacLeod, along with my other uncles, always made me welcome in the blind, where memories are shared, often with a chuckle. One such tale he likes to tell is about me, making me suffer through it with a smile… year after year. When I was a teen, I joined my uncles for Goose Break. Being young I was armed with a single shot .410, the least powerful of the shotguns.
Like most impatient adolescents I was bored when the geese weren’t flying. So I said I was going into the bush to hunt partridges. As I walked to the bush a flock of geese flew over. Foolishly thinking they were in range I took aim and fired – too early – and only succeeded in scaring them off as none landed at the blinds.
A few people were upset at my stupidity. In retrospect, it’s easier to understand the pride of a youth hoping for a goose was very costly compared to the need to feed our families. But what is special is they still laugh at the memory to this day. It reminds me to look at what I do and what will be the result of my decisions.
I thank you, Uncle Don, for that lesson and your tales of that time. We all need to be reminded that each action we take has a meaning, but also that family forgives. A little fun is always had with a young impressionable hunter.
Goose Break is like that in we are there to learn and to teach. Every day there were young cousins hoping for their first goose or if older to hone their skills. The older hunters shared their knowledge, experience, tips and stories to ensure the next generations would carry on the traditions. I am proud of the way we teach our youth to respect the land and our life. I am grateful for what was passed on to me. It was done in a way that serious lessons at times were taught with a gentle humour, a tradition that continues to this day.
And then sometimes there are pranks, though not the nasty type. For example, one year Errol Mianscum brought down a one-man, store-brought blind. Since almost every blind is handmade some had a bit of fun with him over his fancy version. We suggested using it as a porta-potty, while some wit suggested it was a shaking tent. It was all in good fun and I expect we’ll be seeing more blinds like this in the future.
Speaking of futuristic goose blinds, someone asked me about the “invisible blind.” Yes, there is one and it’s called the “GhostBlind” and there is one for specifically hunting waterfowl.
This spring’s Goose Break is over for me and while there are still many wonderful meals to be shared, the memories are what will last the longest.
