by Kyle Wintersteen - Tuesday, February 19, 2013
It was an oddly warm January day on the Eastern Shore—in fact there were gnats in the air—but after a long, mid-day lull, the geese were back on the move. My buddy Tyler Shoberg of Delta Waterfowl and I each killed a bird, and prospects were looking really strong as the final, golden 30 minutes of shooting time approached.
Then something odd caught Tyler's eye.
"What the heck is that guy doing?" he asked.
A blue van with several occupants had pulled up and parked on the country road off the northern edge of our spread. My first thought was that a group of anti-hunters planned to run interference. But this was the Eastern Shore—there's a goose pit in every field. I imagine an anti-hunting extremist would either spend much of the day offended or move somewhere else.
Then the driver got out. This guy's actually going to confront us, I thought.
However, he did something much worse: He spent the entire remainder of our hunt changing a flat tire.
Ducks flared. Geese flared. Hunters laughed—what else could we do? As the sun set we picked up the few birds we'd shot earlier and headed home. Hey, at least we got a memory out of it. Some days you shoot a limit of birds. Some days you watch a guy change a tire in his tennis shoes.
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