A Banded Goose Helped Save Christmas

I started hunting Fulton County, Illinois when I was five. My father, who passed away from a heart attack when he was only 34, introduced me to hunting. After his death, I hunted squirrels and rabbits with my uncle, but didn’t go duck hunting again until my 20s. When I returned, it was near the same place I grew up hunting.

Canton, the closest town to the fields and strip-mine lakes we hunt, was once known for its giant Canada geese. There was a power plant that used an old coal mine as a discharge lake, keeping water open all season. Tens of thousands of honkers would roost there and face the hunters waiting in cut corn and beans each morning and afternoon.

It’s not like that anymore. The power plant shut down and the geese have shifted west, shortening their migration. However, if you choose the right weather days to hunt, you can still kill ducks and geese. That’s what my brother and I planned. We looked at the forecasts and set our dates for late December, just after Christmas.

COVID’s Attempt to Cancel Christmas

Last year, I wrote about the challenges of parenting during the COVID-19 era and how hunting provided an escape from the constant pandemic-related stress. Like many others, I expected 2021 to be better for everyone. And in some ways, it was. I had the chance to reconnect with my extended family and see friends I hadn’t seen in over a year. I even took my 8-year-old son to a Chicago Cubs game and went on a family vacation. Life seemed to return to normal.

But then the pandemic resurged, and 2021 started to feel like a repeat of 2020 with the emergence of new COVID variants. The increase in cases over the past two months made me feel even more anxious. While I’m not as concerned about the pandemic itself anymore, as it has become less deadly, the associated restrictions, mandates, and political debates take a toll on my mental well-being. On top of that, I had to deal with life’s usual stressors, including my wife and son’s surgeries. Taking care of my family meant less time for hunting, which affected my mental health. I needed more time in the woods with my squirrel dog or in a duck blind to feel like myself.

This holiday season hasn’t been the joyful gathering I hoped for. My wife’s family Christmas was canceled due to several relatives testing positive or awaiting results while being sick at home. A few days later, we found out that our son had COVID.

He had been looking forward to having a friend over for weeks, but now it couldn’t happen because he was sick. He cried for a long time, repeating, “I just want to wake up from this bad dream.” It’s tough to comfort your child when there’s nothing to look forward to except another week indoors, isolated from everyone except his parents. It’s even harder when you don’t feel hopeful yourself.

When that feeling sets in, I know I need to disconnect before being overwhelmed. And for me, that means going hunting. Fortunately, my brother and I decided to spend the last few days of duck season together. We were still able to hunt the day after Christmas and one final day before I found out about my son’s positive test.

A Familiar Waterfowl Encounter

The author’s banded goose. Carl Genzel

On that first afternoon near Canton, my brother Carl and I observed specklebellies and flocks of Canada geese flying between two roosts. They would take off from the water, soar high in the sky, and then descend into another pool. Smart birds. In this region, if a goose crosses over a blind or pit, it’s likely to be shot at. Hunters come here to shoot, even if the shot isn’t always perfect.

We knew that the last 30 minutes of shooting light would provide the best opportunity to bag a bird. We just needed the right flock to fly in our direction. A group of honkers flew in a few hundred yards ahead of us. They were large. We call them Canton geese because they’re locals that never migrate, programmed to stay where they know they’ll be safe. However, this flock made a mistake.

They were flying fast but not high enough, and when they veered close to our small wetland, I stood up, pulled the trigger twice, and the lead bird crashed into a thicket of Russian olive trees.

I hurried uphill to search for the bird while my brother remained below on the levee. He spotted it first, and I made my way toward his voice to find the goose.

Carl immediately recognized what it meant. “You shot a banded goose? Nice!”

We both knew it was a local bird, and later discovered that the goose had been banded just two miles from where I shot it. It was massive, weighing over 14 pounds. When I cut out the breasts at home on the tailgate of my truck, they were the size of two Easter hams.

It had been years since I shot a Canton band, and it brought back memories of my dad and the fun times we had here. While he prepared goose blinds in the summer, I played in the standing corn. During the season, I built sandcastles on the banks of the Illinois River in the early mornings. Later, we would sit together in small-town taverns, enjoying foot-long hot dogs and frozen Snickers bars. I needed that band more than I realized.

Two days later, Carl and I spent our final afternoon in a Canton duck blind. We were hunting flooded corn, the spot where mallards would come at shooting light during another Illinois season. A few ducks flew into the decoys before time ran out. We shot four hens: three mallards and one wigeon—an unconventional but quintessential group of central Illinois ducks. We take what we can get here.

We gathered the decoys and watched the mallards plunge into the cornstalks like they were descending an elevator shaft. I love how ducks glide backward over the tops of cornstalks, extending their necks just before diving into the water. One moment, they are graceful in flight, their wings cupped; the next, they resemble a hefty child leaping off the diving board into the pool. I wanted to capture the moment on my phone to relive until the next season, but my hands were occupied with cased shotguns and Mojo poles. No matter—I will cherish that memory in my mind for years to come.