Anderson: 2 Christmas geese a fine prize for cold day's work

[h2ofwlr]

Article by: DENNIS ANDERSON , Star Tribune
Updated: December 7, 2013 - 5:41 PM

Though Canada geese are fewer these days, and the hunt requires a tricky trek on thin ice, friends and success warm the day.
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Friday at dawn the sun came up and the temperature went down. Whether the thermometer measured 5 below zero or colder still, we were unsure. The wind wasn’t blowing — we were happy about that. Anyway, we stepped onto the frozen lake in our waders, feeling the ice as we went. We were looking for geese.

My partners in this escapade, Wendell Diller and his wife, Galina, will tell you this hasn’t been a good fall for goose hunting, not in the metro. They’re correct: If you think we have anywhere near the number of Canada geese around the Twin Cities that we once did, either you live on a golf course or own lakeshore property. And even in those honker havens, the numbers are greatly reduced.

Wendell and Galina and I cared about this Friday morning, the goose population, and simultaneously didn’t. We had our facemasks, heavy parkas and hand warmers, and were going hunting either way. Also among our stuff were charcoal briquettes, a small grill and a pan to boil water for cowboy coffee. So if geese didn’t fly, we’d occupy ourselves with these and also with flapjacks Galina would concoct from her signature mix.

“Her pancakes will darn sure adjust your glycemic index,’’ Wendell said.

An inventor and ballistician, Wendell, a longtime friend, isn’t averse to issuing a proclamation or two straight out of left field.

So I said, “You keep your hands off my glycemic index!’’ And left it at that.

In the past, I’ve chronicled similar hunts Wendell and I have taken in December, looking for Christmas geese to roast. Some of these outings occurred before Wendell found Galina in Russia via a matchmaker website featuring hot women from cold places — Ukraine, Galina’s home, being No. 1 in the latter category, with a bullet.

Of course not many of these women feature on their résumés advanced degrees in chemistry, as Galina did, which for Wendell was a real turn-on and explains in part how they came to live happily ever after, one a citizen, the other a resident alien.

“I don’t think we’ll fall through the ice until we get out a little further,’’ Wendell said.

As he spoke, he pulled a sled on which rested an aluminum canoe. In it were two shotguns, a dozen or so Big Foot decoys, portable blinds and the foodstuffs previously mentioned.

When we sensed ice weakening, we would abandon the sled and instead mosey along, the three of us bent over, holding onto the canoe gunnels.

The trick in these circumstances is not to break through the ice in water deeper than the tops of your waders.

Or if you do, to support yourself above that demarcation by holding onto the canoe, then crawling in, the entire operation aided by a makeshift outrigger extending from the craft’s port side.

Fair warning here: With Obamacare still limping along, don’t try this at home.

“The ice feels strong,’’ Galina said. “Maybe we won’t break through, after all.’’

As she spoke, not far upriver, hundreds upon hundreds of swans took flight from the ice. Lumbering, they pedaled like roadrunners before gaining lift beneath their wings.

Once airborne, the big birds, along with broad phalanxes of geese, were greeted by the rising sun, which bruised the horizon in oranges, reds and purples as it crested the hilly shoreline.

The birds would return later in the morning.

Or so we hoped.

“So beautiful,’’ Galina said.

And it was.

We picked an island surrounded mostly by ice, with a patch of open water just offshore. The swans had resettled not far away and were again resting. But the geese would feed in nearby picked cornfields for at least a couple of hours.

Galina arranged briquettes in the grill, put a match to them, and we settled in, with coffee brewing. The temperature wasn’t yet above zero, and our breath appeared as vapor as we spoke.

Wendell and I perched ourselves on buckets and watched Galina pour platter-size arrangements of doughy pancake mix into a frying pan, this while still more swans departed the backwaters and flew over us.

Some of the birds were so low we could almost touch them. As theater, it was Broadway and London’s West End all in one.

Earlier this year, Winchester brought to market shotgun shells using special wads Wendell invented. Fitted in target loads, the highly visible wads fly with shot pellets as they leave the muzzle, allowing shooters to see whether they are correctly leading clay pigeons or other targets.

“If they miss, they finally know why,’’ Wendell said. “The wad tells them whether their aim is behind, in front, or right on.’’

Friday morning, we would be shooting only at single geese, or maybe pairs, or at the most, small handfuls. Wendell is a big believer in not lighting up goose roosts with Alamo-like volleys, and I agree. The goal should be to sneak a bird here, sneak one there, and not frighten the flock into the next county. Or state.

It was near midmorning when a single honker came over and Wendell rose to tickle the trigger of his vintage 12 gauge, somersaulting the big bird in a long arch toward the frozen river, and in the process producing a tricky retrieve, falling as the goose did in an area notorious for weak ice over deep water.

“That’s why we brought the canoe,’’ Wendell said.

Another goose soon came within range against the late morning’s bright blue sky, and it also was brought to hand, giving us two Christmas birds, a fair enough dividend for our efforts.

Now midday was quickly nigh and we loaded the canoe for the trip back across the ice.

Awaiting us on shore was still another thrill: Wendell’s 1978 Volare station wagon, its odometer rolling over 432,000 miles.

“The tranny’s the weak link in these babies; I’ve got a couple extra at home,’’ Wendell said as we loaded our gear and squeezed into the front seat, shoulder-to-shoulder, still wearing our waders.

Driving away, we bottomed the old Plymouth’s springs a time or two, while behind us, in the backwaters, ice still formed, crowding out, little by little, the geese and swans that winter will soon push farther south.



Dennis Anderson danderson@startribune.com

[lanyard]

I think the story of Wendell is cute and all, and think it's pretty cool that Anderson went hunting and might have maybe killed something? Wasn't sure if he was shooting.

Anyway, his writing hasn't been strong enough in a general sense to do character development. He is from the post-MacQuarrie age, was born to rail against the system, lobby from his article and start things. I'd be more impressed if he could find a bit of an edge and get a little high horsed.

His series on conservation minded farmers had a shot, but I apparently missed where that went.

Essentially, I guess with that many column inches, I wish he'd say something.

The Ukraine internet bride and the Volare need to be developed into some embodiment of the uniqueness of Diller. Without which, over the last 15 years or so, we know he tinkers with things and shoots metro geese. It has become trite.

[h2ofwlr]

Sometimes the theme should be simple. It is about traditions. And in this case the annual hunting for a Christmas goose.

[lanyard]

Okay, it was about traditions and a Christmas goose.

It might be my prejudice, I'll admit that, but this is what I'm losing with Anderson, same happened with Schara. At some point, there's a crap load of words that all sound the same and I'm sitting in the classroom hearing "Wah, wah, wah, wahhhh......"

Smith's article Sunday was more clear, more expressive, and captured his purpose to a much greater degree.

Maybe that's the challenge of being a writer, writing about traditions, they become traditions because things don't change... and if you write about them long enough, it's the same story over, and over, and over.

Over the years it has seemed that Anderson has attempted to capture the nuance and personality of these traditions. He did the same with Zentner. But nowhere in his writing does he deliver any impactful development of character, not even in the non-Strib stuff of his I've read, which admittedly is limited. I'm not looking for Ruark, MacQuarrie, etc. from him, but man, give me a reason to want to see what happens next year, not think, "this is what happened last year".

[Quack]

Agree.

I don't want to read any more articles about Wendell, Spider Johnson, or Dick "Gryz"alksdnfalsndfanjfajhhfgerfski unless they hurl themselves in front of a bus to save a child, or something equally noteworthy.

However, writing is his job, and when I consider my own job performance, not every day is an award winner.

Being creative day in and day out has got to be a big challenge, and I could see where it would get infinitely tougher as the years pass by. Especially if a person is bound and determined to oppose change, science, and common sense.

However, I would have to say the "Empty Skies" series was good and so was the Duck Rally movement, some of his other conservation pieces . . . but not much recently.

[lanyard]

Agree.

.... or Dick "Gryz"alksdnfalsndfanjfajhhfgerfski...

^^^^Priceless.

And your analysis is spot on. Also, I don't know the paper biz, and am guessing, based on what I see in the magazines and t.v. shows, that the next generation couldn't tell a story if it hit them in the eye like a loosely held rifle and "mooned" them. The guys at the regional papers are brutal (I know, Al C&Ps them!).

So, we're likely getting the best available right now, and I think his head, rightfully, is looking at retirement and spending time with his kids.

Al, tell the STrib to give me a call when they lower standards to "Doesn't have a real job, owns things that could be used to catch or kill things....", then I could show them what it's REALLY about!

[h2ofwlr]

Speaking of lower standards, part of the problem is that they write to the traditional 6 grade level. Years ago it was to the 12th grade level when the printed word were the primary vehicle to give the people information.

Think not? then read the NY Times and then the Strib. There's a huge difference in the words being used. BTW, as I recall even the NY Times had to lower their standards to the 9th or 10th grade level some years back.

My point being is that the lower writing standards is a direct result of the lower reading comprehension of its readers. Blame it on parenting, the schools, society or what ever, but the basic 3 R's is not being taught like 60+ years ago. Even 40 years ago--there is something wrong when they give out a HS diploma and the person can not even balance a check book or write a simple letter to a friend. Years ago I had a friend that taught college at SCSU, she said the 1st 1.5 years there is covering what they should have learned in HS. As she put it -- they come to college wowefully ill prepared.

So blame it on what ever, as it does not change the fact that by and large we have the dumming down of the people as a whole in our society. And that is the sad state of affairs of the world we now live in....

[InTheWind]

Completely agree with the last part Al.

[Trigger]

we have the dumming down of the people.

Did anyone else "lol" when they read this? Because I sure did.