The more a man meditates upon good thoughts, the better will be his world and the world at large. - Confucious

By now you should find your mind deeply lost in the planning phase. September 1st has a strange way of forcing you out of the lethargy that August brings. All of a sudden, in a blinding flash of reality, you realize that you can indeed get back in the field and shoot your scatter-gun again.

It kind of feels like coming out of anesthesia after some near-sighted dentist has altered your anatomy by performing a root canal. You slowly regain consciousness, the room is moving about you, you ask for water and wonder if the whole thing was a dream. You wonder if the summer is really over and then your ability to focus is slowly restored. September 1st is on you before you know it.

The next thing you know is that you have some pretty serious things to think about and plan for. First and foremost is where are you going to hunt Geese. Goose season opens Friday one half an hour before daylight. We happen to be blessed with an abundant bunch of Canada's around here and it really is just a matter of finding a good concentration to target.

This leads you to a series of phone calls to friends that either scout geese for fun and profit or who are big time local bass fishermen. These guys can orient you to the big concentrations of geese if you have been too lazy, or too busy, to get out yourself.

Next you find yourself worrying about shells. Steel shot and such. This worry then finds you trying to remember if you have any steel shot actually left from last years inventory, which then takes you to that closet that you have designated as the ammo dump. Before you know it you find yourself at the local ammo store, check book in hand, and you not only have in your possession hundreds of dollars worth of steel and gun powder, but you also find yourself hauling a case of dove loads.

The dove loads are another problem in themselves. Dove season opens at noon this Friday. Then before you know it, you are standing infront of the closet starring at your designer camo collection, trying to determine which apparel is appropriate for Friday. You probably have not put this much consideration into your apparel since your oldest daughter got married back in June, but there you stand, worrying about what hat to wear when you are knee deep in milfoil or in some cut over silage field come Friday.

Before you know it you find yourself drifting in a hazy journey looking for a dove stool. Over the years you have noticed that a good dove stool should be very well padded, and as a minimum, a good stool should have a comfortable back on it. I once hunted doves with an old Marine that sawed the legs off of a perfectly good kitchen bar stool because he liked the way it swiveled. When I got to his house at about 10:00 that first morning he was working on his newly customized dove stool and he was putting the finishing touches on it with a can of green spray paint. As I parked the car I could hear his wife ranting, and raving, and wrecking the inside of his double wide and she was way beyond hot. He said he had taught her to talk like that after he had returned home from Paris Island.

After I warily inquired about the little woman's state of mind, the old Marine acknowledged that she was pretty upset about loosing her oak barstool and he did not really give a damn, at this point, whether she wanted a divorce or not. He was not going to hunt doves in the hot sun without a comfortable seat. I acknowledged his resourceful approach as he admired his inventiveness.

He began to mumble about his last fire fight in a city called Hue and how a good swivel chair would have been handy and all, and how he had made himself a promise that if he lived through that little adventure, and he ever went into the field again he would, by gawd, have him a comfortable swivel seat.

He then told me that he had been dove stool shopping the night before and every dove stool in three counties had been bought up by somebody else. The stores were flat empty. He figured that all the available dove stools had been purchased by Navy veterans, or maybe a bunch of insurance salesmen, or dentists, or some other scum sucking bottom feeder types, so he had to IMPROVISE-ADAPT-OVERCOME. Converting kitchen bar stools made perfectly good sense to me.

We loaded the green barstool quickly as I inquired as to whether his wife owned a handgun. He assured me that he would never have done anything as stupid as let his soon-to-be-ex-wife near a gun. As we backed out of the drive she was standing on the front porch screaming at us like a sailor and I noticed she was brandishing a cast iron skillet and an evil eye.

I never had the heart to tell him that he could have borrowed one of my stools.

Pre-planning for the first of September may have saved a good marriage. Who knows? But come to think of it, no furniture store that I ever heard of has ever seen a run on bar stools. This is sort of fanatical consumerism on commodities is probably just isolated to dove stools, duck stamps, camo T-shirts, and shotgun shells. I figure this sort of thing may be isolated to the week preceding September.

Next we need to worry about the dog. Is the dog in shape? Can he remember his lines? Will he get heat stroke before you do? Do you need to carry water for him? This all adds up.

You have a gun [some guys I hunt with take two], 20 pounds of shells, breakfast and lunch, dog water, human water and a cold drink or two for your buddies that are poor planners, camo blinds, decoys and binoculars. The list goes on and on, and before you know it you are in need of a covered wagon to get all this necessary crap into the field. A gun bearer, or better yet, a string of gun bearers would be nice.

Planning is so important, but it is not nearly as important as the fact that August is soon history and hunting is here to stay for awhile.

Don't forget to schedule some sick leave for Friday. Claim temporary insanity.



Copyright ©2000 The White Oak Mountain Ranger