A pleasant change

by Leon Wright
Australian Shooter November 2002

Gunning for geese in New Zealand. The sudden cold blast of wind was definitely off Antarctica and I quickly ducked down in the blind to escape it. With the gusts of wind came the faint gaggling of geese. Our guide heard it as well and quickly started calling to the big birds. We were in New Zealand for the ducks but the arrival of geese would be very welcome indeed.

And they were coming in our direction; the high gusts of winds were keeping them low, well within gun range. Gary, our guide, whispered to us to let the geese fly straight up the barrel, as they are very big birds and notoriously hard to kill. They came in like big bombers and, much to our chagrin, landed on the gravel bar about 40 metres to our left. Between the three of us, we had one under and over and two Remington self-loaders, which are still available to the average shooter over in New Zealand. We all were using Falcon No. 3’s, so we decided to have a crack at them.

As they lifted, our shots resulted in two dead geese on the water. I had been concentrating on the right-hand side of the mob and fired at one goose. While most of the mob flew off away to our left, one disorientated goose came straight over our blind. Paul was the first to reload but he passed up the shot because the bird was too far away.

I was quite excited with the sudden flurry of action with the snow geese and told Gary that if the opportunity to hunt them presented itself again while I was there I would jump at the chance. Gary sent Clay, his black labrador, out to retrieve the geese and when he returned with the first goose I was really surprised at just how big these birds were.

It wasn’t until the following day that I had the chance to hunt the geese again - and then it was only a fleeting one at that. I was hiding behind some bushes situated in the middle of a gravel bar on the Waimate River waiting for some mallards to pitch into my block of decoys when I first heard them. Quite a vocal bird, geese usually give you ample warning of their approach.

Obviously disturbed by other hunters moving about, the geese came flying directly over me. As they were slightly out of range, all I could do was watch as they pitched in on an isolated gravel bar further down the river.

These geese were certainly no pushovers and were always onto us no matter how quiet our approach had been. At the slightest hint of danger, all heads go up, the gaggling starts and they take to flight. There is ample cover along the river for the big birds and they make full use of it and can be quite difficult to find at times.

The following morning, another hunter and I were dropped off on a big sandbar near the river’s mouth to try for some mallards, which proved to be very scarce. However, we did spot a big mob of geese camped down in some thick scrub on another sandbar some 400 metres away. Leaving Phil in the blind, I headed off along the mud flat intent on reaching some heavy cover on the other side of the creek running parallel to us. The worst thing about hunting in New Zealand is that every bush seems to be full of spikes, so as I inched my way gingerly through the cover I was glad I had thick clothing on.

After 30 minutes of working my way closer to the geese, I came to the edge of the thick cover only to find my approach thwarted by yet another creek crossing. However, this one was too deep and swift to cross, so I admitted defeat and dejectedly headed back empty-handed. I wanted to target the geese a bit more seriously so it was into the jet boat to head further upstream.

The river was quite low and crossing the shallow water between the gravel bars was beginning to get a bit hairy, especially since we were fully loaded with three hunters, the driver and all of our gear. At one stage we were really motoring along, trying to draw as little water as possible and as we rounded a bend on the river we put up a hell of a lot of birds that were camped on a nearby sandbar. The flock consisted of about 50 Canada geese and at least the same number of mallards. There was also a good mob of snow geese among them as well. All up, they certainly presented us with a grand picture as they all took to the air and headed off further along the river. Bevan dropped us off on the sandbar and, while we set the decoys out and got ready, he headed off after the geese hoping to push them back our way.

They looked as though they had really settled in on the sandbar before we had rudely put them to flight. I could hear the other geese honking nearby and seeing that we were setting ourselves up on somewhat of an island, I thought there was a good chance that the geese were secreted away in scrub that was bordering the other side of our hunting posse.

Leaving the others to their mobile phones, I fully loaded the Remington self-loader, which I had to borrow from my guide because the airline misplaced my gun, and cautiously eased my way through the infestation of thorns. The geese were becoming more vocal now, so obviously they knew that something was amiss. Mercifully, I finally broke out of the tangle of thorns and I stumbled onto the geese and they immediately rose as one. The mob had been lying hard up against the bank, well out of harm’s way, and were taken aback by my sudden appearance only 30 metres from them.

Due to good shooting, my first shot dropped a big white gander that plopped dead on the water. The next one to go down was a Canada white cross that was caught in the centre of the pattern and it too landed back on the water. By the time the Remington was empty, two more geese joined those already on the water. Unfortunately, the swift current carried two away and there was nothing I could do about it until the jet boat turned up. I hoped that with a bit of luck they would get caught up in some of the downed trees and bushes that protruded out into the river so we could retrieve them later on.

It would be a fairly dumb move to strip off and go swimming for them as we sometimes do back in Australia. Bevan told me that he had lost a good dog after it got caught in the current and lodged under tree roots while pursuing a duck. A short time later, the roar of a jet boat announced that Bevan was back and I quickly enlisted him to retrieve the geese. We had to go around the long way because the river was slowly dropping and Bevan was concerned that we were going to get caught on one of the many gravel banks that had only inches of water covering them.

As we drew nearer to retrieving the other geese, more heads shot up and there looked to be quite a few all up in a mob. “Do you want to have a go at them?” Bevan asked me. “Of course I do,” I replied. With my answer, Bevan backed off the throttle and we motored around the bend and out of sight. Finding a spot to beach the boat was difficult but nowhere near as hard as gingerly picking my way through the wall of thorns.

I had roughly marked where the birds were camped but I was having difficulty finding my way through to them. They were camped down in scrub very similar to lignum and once again I virtually tripped over them. I don’t know which of us got the biggest shock; the geese certainly weren’t expecting me and I thought they were further away. There were a good 20 in the mob and being quite large they presented a very impressive sight as they rose as one.

Regaining my composure, I quickly brought the fully loaded Remington to bear on the rising mob. It was all over in seconds and as the birds noisily decamped, they left five of their number behind. Staggering back to the jet boat, I was glad to shed my heavy load of geese. We headed around to collect the others. The river had dropped even more, so it was definitely time to head for home.

If you are ever bird hunting in the South Island of New Zealand, allow a day to hunt the big white geese of the Waimate - you will be pleasantly surprised.