"Scare them this way, boy-o."
I just about fell out of my boat. I haven't seen or heard another human being for four days, and now the bushes were talking to me. I've gone completely crazy, and did not even have the mental fortitude to notice or enjoy the process. And there, the quickly turning colors of the cottonwood trees and the mixed sage and Russian olive around them were filling the void in verbal communtication for me.
I floated on, oblivious.
The slow water in this side channel would have been a haven for migrating Canada geese, of which I have seen more than ten thousand in two weeks, but all that sat on the water were decoys. As my brain lurched forward one full revolution the hillsides began to move and a shot rang out. A trio of white toothy smiles flecked out at me from the brush, and as movement broke and sharpened the profiles of their heavily camoflagued and face-painted bodies, I smiled at the eminently pleased hunters.
"Couldn't see you at ten yards!" I shouted, now moving away quickly from the militia, er, hunters.
As always, all photos and text Copyright 2009 Alexander B. Martin