Where were we? Oh yeah. Well the question of why we were the only hunters in the bay is easy: the Canada geese weren't in yet, and everybody in the world but us knew that. Back to the story. We got home, divvied up the game and I went home. One went in the freezer for a mount and I cleaned the others. Next day I popped goosey in the oven and waited while it cooked. Then the smell started. Nasty. Was this a Heron? No, a Brant. A quick call to one of the other hunters confirmed that it wasn't just my goose. Vile smell went out back in the roaster and in the garbage next morning.
What the hell had happened? An ornithologist friend explained it this way: Atlantic flyway Brant eat eel grass and sea lettuce while migrating and this gives them a peculiar odor. Peculiar? His mother suggested soaking the entire goose in milk for 24hrs before cooking to get rid of the aroma. Did that. Didn't help. Another garbaged goose. Now we knew why the locals were laughing. Dumb city boys. I never hunted another waterfowl after that trip. I actually gave up on birds entirely, relying on supermarkets. At least if you get a stinky goose at Publix you can get your money back. But I got a great hatch cover, and nearly 40 years later we still use it for a coffee table. It sits there silently laughing.
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