We set up at a tank on a friend's ranch and waited for the birds, shotguns ready, but would the avian acrobats arrive? Good question. All the right stuff was in place, Mojo decoys whirring away, sunflowers, water, and shooters, but you never can tell.
At first it was slow, no birds apart from a couple of random kestrels and the odd mockingbird heading into the trees around the tank. Maybe it'd be a washout, but we waited, vigilant, fingers off the trigger but ready to go.
And in they swooped like speeding Messerschmidts out of the sun behind us, right into the flak barrage. Brisk action and big fun, though far more birds escaped than went down; still, we got a few for the pot and it looks like jalapeno poppers are in order tomorrow. Great result, and it was good to get back in the field, it's been awhile.
Afterwards we convened on the tailgate to clean birds, drink cold beer and talk, curiously, of Anglican/Orthodox communion and ut unum sint (may they all be one) in the face of secularist neo-pagan aggression. Regards the former, not much chance while wymxn priestesses are running around. The latter? Better band together, people, regardless of denomination. Perhaps that will be forced on us.
Then it was time for home and a clear drive through the country back to the Compound. We will do this again.
Cheers,
LSP
