Bubba and I pulled up to the shore at 1 PM. The geese were way up in the shallows. It wasn't going to happen. So I slowly pull the binocs right and scan "The Wall". Yee haww! 30 honkers sat right on the shore next to deep water.
We pull down the shore line and prepare to launch at the beginning of the "stumps". We drag the Nellist out of the truck and set it nose first in the water. Bubba asks if we need both bow weights like last time. I said, "let's try it with just one". Little did I know how glad I'd be about that little decision later.
After we got all set up I glass "the wall" one last time. "it doesn't get any better than this", I told my 345lb gunner, "I look for this sneak all season, we'll have them trapped."
We launch, heading behind the island, sitting up until we get there. Then we wrestle our huge bodies into the lay down position, check hats, shells, sponge location and all the tiny details before we skirt Indian Island and make way for the other side of the lake.
As we make our way across open water, there is a breeze out of the north. It is soft and leaves a small ripple on the water. Closer to the wall it is dead calm. I'm left wondering why I studied, for the last two days, all the wind reports. They weren't right. It was supposed to be blowing out of south at this hour. At my house it was coming out of the south, but not here at the lake.
About 300 yards past the island, a group of widgeon sits smack in my way. The lake flock numbering nearly 500 birds had been jumping and flying around in bunches of 30 since we arrived.
I eased into them, slowing, then slower. I was nearly stopped at 40 yards when they finally began to ease off. I waited until the group split and then proceeded straight ahead. It was like watching the gates of heaven open, exposing it's glory inside.
The geese sat, sleeping, all but 4, on the rocky shore about 150 yards. Not a single bird was using it's legs. They were flat on their bellies. New migrants I thought. This was going to be good!
Then it happened. The north wind stopped abruptly. The air was dead for about 5 seconds, then the other side of my face got lit up with wind from the south. I peeked to the left of the boat and saw the tell-tale, high frequency, little one inch waves." Bubba, this is going to get bad."
"The wind is coming out of the south now and it's going to get rough real fast", I explained. I poured on the power to the oar. "140 yards", I called to him.
By 120 yards the rippled water had turned to small waves. At 100 they started to slap the windward side of the boat. I grabbed the oar with both hands and sculled with everything I had. At 80 yards my thinking became audible to Bubba, several variations of of "Oh shit" and "Damn, not now". At 75 yards the waves started white capping and came in sets of three, rolling the boat around like a cork in a washing machine. Bubba asks a question he didn't want to ask and none of us ever want to here from a boat mate, "John, are we in danger?".
A neon sign flashed big and bright in my mind's eye as I heard the question. It read, in big red letters,"Hell yes!". Out of respect for my gunner's fair, thoughtful and concise use of words, I decide to analyze the situation one more time before answering him. My brain went into hyper drive....Let's see- Geese 70 yards, starting to stand up, hundreds of white caps rolling towards our left ears on the windward side of the lake, 700lbs in the boat, sunset in less than two hours.
"Yes, bubba, we are", I surmised, after what turned out to be the perfect dramatic pause.
Bubba stirred from the tight spot and tried to peer over his belly and then to the left to see just how bad it was.
" But wait, stay down, let's see if we can't get these geese. After all, we are headed in the right direction to get ourselves out of this- the closest shoreline", I offered.
Just then, somewhere between 70 and 65 yards the geese had had enough of that boat slapping around. I mean it was ugly, spray splashing several feet over the edge, the boat tracking like a drunken squirrel. I didn't blame them for not holding. The birds vaulted into the sky, heading into the wind, to our left, at a 45 degree angle towards us and the open water. They gain ground, despite the wind, with strong, majestic wing beats. Just as I was sure they would wing away providing us not with shot nor meat, the waterfowling Gods ended their tease upon us and open up a huge gust of wind that bent the flock of thirty right over the top of us.
Bubba ripped out two 3 inch mag shots at the birds 30 yards high and dropped his limit of two!
Both birds hit the water swimming. They headed to shore. We pulled out the kayak paddles and made for the shore ourselves. Once on land we gathered up the geese and began to make plans for the long trip back across the wind torn lake.
Now before you look at this next pic, remember that waves and certainly not wind, ever show their true strength in photos. I don't want you hardcore boys yelping about us being a bunch of woosies. I couldn't take a pic up wind because that's where the sun was. And besides, it wasn't YOU with a 700 pound payload in the float.
Bubba and I had a very serious talk about how to get back across the lake. We discussed all the details. We made 4 plans. If the first one didn't work we would go into the second and so on.. It all had to do with the angle we took to traverse the lake. I was confident that we could just go straight across if we paid attention and rolled the boat with the bigger waves.
We pulled the life jackets out from under the deck. There we were, two giant fat guys, strapping on the classic bright reddish-orange life jackets that kids get stuck wearing. It must have looked hilarious, had someone been watching. With mine on, I helped Bubba with his. As I ran the belt though a loop I whispered in his ear the sage, stinging advice sculler/ Coasty Seth Freeman once shared with us, " You don't wear life jackets for you Bubba, you wear them so you family will find a body to bury".
We successfully crossed the lake in a nearly straight path without further incident. Oh sure, we gathered about 4 inches of water in the bottom of the boat but that was easy enough to bail out back at the truck.
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