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If you love goose hunting then western Canada is Mecca. Last fall my hunting partner Mark and I planned a trip to western Canada to the province of Alberta. Our connection up there works and lives in the fast growing region and city of Grand Prairie.

Located a bunch of miles north of Edmonton in the center of the oil and gas fields as well as a heavy agriculture area, Grand Prairie has acres and acres of great goose hunting area. The farmers raise peas on these wide open fields and the geese flock to them morning and evening.

Since we live in the Pacific Northwest we have a couple of routes we can take to get there. This trip we decided to follow the route that would take us through several national forests both in the US and Canada past the ice caps and following some of the most beautiful rivers on earth. In preparing to go to Canada with your firearms it is necessary to get the proper paperwork for leaving the US with guns and entering Canada with guns. Visiting our local border patrol office we obtained the necessary paperwork for both directions and instructions for crossing the border.

If you should plan to make a similar trip be sure to get the paperwork at least a couple of weeks in advance in case you need something confirmed. As with all government processes make sure to give yourself a window of time to make the process go as smoothly as possible.

Also check the current regulations as to the amount of ammunition you can take across the border and now a passport is a requirement. When we made our trip we were allowed two shotguns each and 500 shells. Rules like this have been known to change so look it up to be sure.

Permits in hand, gear packed to the ceiling in the back of the Yukon XL along with Mark’s great hunting Lab, Puck, in his kennel. We headed east to Montana to the border crossing that would take us through the Kootenay National Forest into the Yoho National Forest to the edge of Banff National Forest and finally into Jasper and the last forest, Jasper National Forest.

There is perhaps a faster route but none as beautiful. The town of Jasper is a magnificent, small town very popular for skiing and is a pretty high end vacation spot. We only stopped for some refreshment and pushed on to Hinton where you take a left and find route 40 into Grand Prairie. Most hunters head to Saskatchewan for goose hunting and it is always good there as well but we were better connected in Grand Prairie for good fields and we would not have to waste any time scouting for bird activity.

Goose hunting in Alberta.

Upon arrival at our destination we checked in with our friend, Greg D. as to what time and where we would meet. The plan was 4:30 am at his office and head to the fields from there. Clearly the weather in October in Grand Prairie is a big difference from Spokane in October.

The thermometer read about 26 F and with the wind it was less. Greg assured me it would warm up a lot when the sun came up, assuming it did. We drove what seemed like hours and finally turned into an open field. Greg drove slowly looking for goose droppings that would indicate the area that the geese liked in this huge field.

Finally Greg stopped, turned out the lights and opened the trailer. Inside was a huge supply of decoys and canvas blinds with willow branches attached by elastic straps we would put into place. The way the decoys are spread for goose hunting is a major issue. Ideally you want to be able to call the geese into the spread and provide almost a runway for them to land which should also be your shooting zone. Greg chose to spread the decoys in a V pattern with the blinds facing the point of the V with the goal of having the geese land into the wind in an open area between the decoy spreads.

We also have layout blinds for use as well and with the wind changing directions on us we decided layout blinds would be best this first morning. Once we had the blinds and decoys in place Greg and Mark took the trucks to park them more than a half mile away in as much a hidden spot as possible. Geese really spook easy and when they circle they will not come in unless all looks normal and comfortable.

We settled into our blinds just as the sun started to rise. Off in the distance was a body of water and we could hear what seemed to be thousands of ducks. By the sound they were making we could tell they were about to lift off and go to feed.

Since we had duck stamps as well, we had high hopes they would come our way. Incidentally, to hunt ducks in Canada you do need a US federal duck stamp to get your license in Canada.

Puck at the ready.

Next to me in his own personal blind, Puck was in work mode with his eyes glued to the skies. Not being particular what he retrieves he would be just as happy with ducks or geese but in any case he is all business in the blind. In about 30 minutes the ducks lift off and we can see them against the pink sunrise sky. There are so many they almost block out the sun. The ducks continue to fly around the water and then head in a direction away from us. I can hear Mark muttering something in his blind and I am sure it is not repeatable.

Shortly after the ducks are gone Mark spots a small flight of geese coming our way. Both Mark and Greg start calling and I slide down into my blind so as not to be seen from the air. Sure enough a flight of about six are coming straight and starting to make the turn around us and over the decoys.

Geese always have to take a look before they will come in. Now Mark and Greg are both good callers and as I peek out of my blind I see two birds feet down and wings out coming in for a landing. I wait for Mark’s “take `em” command and when I do shoot the first one comes down almost in my blind. Being steady to shot, Puck wants to go but is waiting for Mark to send him. If memory serves out of the six we shot, we brought down five and Puck was fast to retrieve them all.

We were all shooting 12 gauge and the ammo was Kent Impact 2 ¾ #4’s. Some would say you can’t take geese without 3-inch shells and that’s not really true as long as you call them in close and make good shots. We stayed in this spot until about 10 am and packed up the decoys and blinds for the morning. We would use the same procedure for the late afternoon hunt only in a different spot.

Much of the fun for me is watching a great dog like Puck work. His passion for work is amazing and his strength in retrieving bird after bird had everyone in awe. This trip Puck would make well over 80 retrieves, many on water, as a couple of the days we set up on the shore of watering holes loved by the geese.

All in all we spent five days hunting in great goose country with tremendous success. Of course the down side to getting so many birds is the cleaning duties. Geese are best breasted out as wild geese are pretty tough everywhere else. Do not plan to take meat home with you as they frown on that at the border. I am not sure if you could ship it or not but before you do check the law. I personally am not a fan of goose meat. Our host usually makes sausage from it so we gladly gave him all of the meat we harvested.

The daily limit in Canada is eight geese per gun and we filled our limit each day. One afternoon Greg took Mark and me along with Puck to a waterway for an afternoon of duck hunting. Standing on a blind stand made from a pallet and supported by weak 2x4s was a bit risky and I fully expected to be in the water every time I shot, moved or turned.

The size was barely large enough for Mark, me and Puck. It was there in the middle of this sluice that I saw Puck make what I consider the greatest blind retrieve I have ever seen, but that’s another story for another time.

The ducks came along nicely and were following the channel so we had mostly passing shots. We had only a few decoys out and there was not much of a landing area anyway for this blind. We still managed to take seven nice ducks between us, mostly greenheads. It was a good day.

The worst part of a hunting trip is always the day it is over. The time we spent in Canada was a great trip and all we could have wanted. Our host was more than gracious and knowledgeable and was a lot of fun as well.

We took the shorter route back or at least Mark did. He dropped me at the Edmonton airport as I had to be back in the office before him. I don’t recall thanking him for driving the rest of the way alone but I must have. He asked me to go again this year. Wish I could but I will be doing some bird hunting in Italy in October.

Al Hague is an avid outdoorsman and published author as well as outdoor photographer. Al resides and hunts mostly in the western half of the US and Canada. His photos can also be seen on http://www.shutterpoint.com and http://www.theartshop.com.

Please email your comments to letters@shotgunlife.com.

You are supposed to title your article when you’re finished with it, so I am already doing this backwards since I just wrote the title. But what you see in outdoor television programming, and what is involved in making it happen, are about as backward as it gets. As a viewer, you see the great dog work, the great shots, the great panorama shots of sky, mountains, birds and the successful hunter. What you don’t see is the WORK, on the part of everyone involved, that goes into making that wonderful entertainment we call Outdoor Television.

Recently, last week in fact, I spent 7 work days (yes, I emphasize work) with two wonderful television personalities, Tom Knapp and Colorado Buck; their cameramen; my partner here in Argentina, Eduardo Martinez; and a host of bird boys, guides, dogs, and locals, creating the base materials for three 22-minute television shows.

Cameraman, Tom Knapp and Colorado Buck.

People, let me tell you, all those smiles and laughs, great shooting, great dog work, and great views of the woods, waters, marshes and fields are real – but they are also the culminating product of many days afield, not always in the best of conditions, and hours and hours of camera time, editing, voiceovers, cut-ins and many other things too numerous to mention here. Let me elaborate.

The story – Tom Knapp, famous exhibition shooter and host and star of Benelli’s American Bird Hunter; Colorado Buck, famous big game hunter and star and host of Where in the World is Colorado Buck?; Jason Steussy, videographer extraordinaire and one of Tom’s right hand men; and Jake Nay, world traveling big-game videographer and one of Colorado’s right hand men; and me, the American partner in SYC Sporting Adventures, met at the airport in Santiago, Chile, on July 2^nd for the last leg of our flight over the Andes and into Cordoba, an adventure that had begun at our various home airports on July 1^st.

We left Santiago at 11:00 am and landed in Cordoba about two hours later with guns, clothes, carry-on luggage, everything – except the cameras. Hmmmmm! New game plan. While we had planned to transfer to the pigeon hunting area that afternoon for the first of two days of pigeon filming, we now transferred to a wonderful restaurant in downtown Cordoba, Rancho Grande, with which Eduardo is very familiar. While we waited for LAN Chile to locate the cameras and give us an ETA on their arrival, we enjoyed the first of many stunning meals in Argentina.

ETA update from LAN on Eduardo’s cell phone – cameras will arrive 4:30 pm on the next flight from Santiago.

Hmmmmmm! New game plan. Wait for the luggage, then go to our five-star lodge, El Cortijo, only 50 minutes East of the airport, to shower, relax, have another great meal, some wine, a good night’s sleep and head for the mountains and the pigeons on July 3^rd. With half a day of pigeon hunting and filming lost we will have to do our best. And we do.

On July 3^rd we arrive at the hunting area in the Comicheng Mountains about 3½ hours west of Cordoba at 11:00 am in time for a short hunt before lunch.

Scenario: The hunting area is excellent, lots and lots of wild Spotted Wing and Picazurro pigeons - sharp eyed, fast flying, acrobatic pigeons who now notice the small, short brushy area over which they are used to flying is now occupied by two hunters, two bird boys, two cameramen, the guides, Eduardo and myself. As Tom says, “I go hunting with a 15 piece marching band including a brass tuba and a set of drums.” So the pigeons all fly about 50 yards off to the right and left.

Hmmmmmm! New game plan. Pick up everything and move to heavier cover. Hide everyone except the cameramen and the hunters. Wait, the sun is wrong for filming and the wind is going to keep the birds from decoying.

Hmmmmmm! Okay, let’s break for lunch and talk this over.

For those of you who have never experienced a wonderful Argentine asado, prepared over hardwood coals, knocked from a hot fire and shoveled under the incredible Argentine beef and sausages, you are missing a culinary experience that rivals any in the world.

An asado and a glass of wine have a calming, relaxing, thought provoking effect on the participant. It allows you to look at things and nature with a better understanding of time and space. Then it dawns on me – “This isn’t hunting, this is making television.” Suddenly, the way to set up and film for the afternoon becomes apparent and easy, and we set up everything in yet another area, with the sun and the wind as our allies and the cameras strategically located to capture the sights, sounds, and beauty of pigeon hunting in the mountains of Cordoba.

It isn’t about the shooting, which can be incredible at times with as many as 100 pigeons in the air; it is about the total experience. Okay, I get it. We wrap up a good afternoon hunt with a review of the day and a game plan for the next day as to where, when and how it all should be arranged. Off to the lodge area in the mountains for showers, snacks, wine, decompression, another large, late supper (I’m beginning to think we are eating too much) and a good night’s sleep.

I have learned several things already on this trip, not the least of which are 1) Tom is not only a very good shot, but a very good teacher; and 2) Colorado Buck is, as Tom so eloquently put it, “the real deal.” He is a true cowboy, from Colorado, a rancher, an outfitter, a big game hunter, a television star, and most importantly, a down to earth, saved by Grace, genuine and enjoyable human being. ‘Nuff said.

Come July 4^th we celebrate with lots of gunfire from a well-concealed blind on the edge of an expansive, harvested, peanut field. In front of the blind are 20 or so plastic pigeon decoys, imported from England, some Mojo spinning wing decoys and a carousel of two pigeons going round and round to attract the pigeons much like you would ducks over decoys. And, much like ducks, many of the pigeons see the motion, bank and fly toward the decoys, offering a world class shooter like Tom and his shotgun protégé, Colorado Buck, ample opportunities to take a limit of pigeons under the clear, blue skies and warm Argentina winter sun. A single swings in over the decoys, sees something amiss, and banks sharply right, and then left. Tom misses a tough shot and an expletive not acceptable for television is caught by the microphone. The video footage was great though.

Great work if you can get it.

Hmmmmmm! Note to editor – Make that “How did that ‘little’ pigeon get out of here?”

Eduardo and I retire to an area where we can watch but be hidden, and the cameramen and their cameras, completely camouflaged, film and move, film and move, in a seemingly choreographed dance to film as much as they can of the best pigeon shooting to be had in Argentina.

Another great in the field asado for lunch (I am pretty sure we are eating too much now), another well orchestrated set up, we film, they shoot, and the magic which is hunting television begins to take shape. We wrap up early, do some openings and closings for TV (staged entries and exits) and head back to the lodge for some well-earned rest, a debrief on what we have done, a plan for stage two with the raw pigeon footing ‘in the can,’ and supper (now I know we are eating too much).

On July 5^th we’re up early and off to El Cortijo. We take another beautiful drive through the mountains and stop at La Condor restaurant and a wayside viewing area for coffee and a bathroom break. Jason and Jake grab their cameras to film some local color – a waitress with a parakeet on her shoulder, and soon Tom is in the mix with the parakeet on his finger and a look on his face that says, “What am I supposed to do if this thing bites me?” The waitress saves Tom, and we all laugh. This, too, is also part of hunting, and we sip our coffees as the boys film the grand views from the terrace and watch for a condor, and we appreciate who we are, and where we are, and how fortunate we are.

Okay, more van time. We have television to make.

We arrive at El Cortijo in time for another wonderful lunch – (didI tell you we eat way too much here, and weight loss is probably animpossible task? Except for the cameramen who are busy walking, trotting, and running everywhere with 50 pounds of cameras, tripods, and miscellaneous equipment on their shoulders). We head to a roost area about 3:00 pm, set up on the edge of what should be a great shooting area if it wasn’t for our 15 piece marching band. Birds stream right and left just out of good shotgun and film range.

Hmmmmmm! New game plan. We separate into two groups and film for a while, then plan on putting the hunters together as we figure this thing out. Within 15 minutes all is in order and we get at least 2 ½ hours of good footage, but not what we had in mind. As the sun goes down we collect at the van, open some beers and discuss the next hunt, albeit three days from now, with Lalo, head guide, scout, and paloma (dove) man especialle (special).

Here’s what we need next time – the sun at our backs, good cover for the cameras, hopefully a favorable wind, etc. Lalo’s response – “No problema!” My man!

A late supper, (it’s so good, you can’t not eat), an after-dinner drink and bedtime. Boy, are we tired.

On July 6^th the doves have to wait. We load up in the van for a 5 ½ hour ride to Santa Fe for a day and half of duck hunting.

Hmmmmmm! Why does my butt look like a van seat imprint?

Lali, our professional driver takes over the chauffeur duties, giving Eduardo some much needed rest, and we all take turns sleeping and talking in the van for the next three hours. We arrive at the halfway stop, a GasOil station that also has a restaurant and convenience store all together – not unlike the US, and pile out for coffee, la banjo (bathroom), and a snack.

When we come out of the store, a young man asks Eduardo in Spanish, “Who is the big man with us?” Eduardo tells him it is Tom Knapp. He then says to Eduardo, “No, who is it really?” Eduardo says again that it is Tom Knapp. The young man’s eyes get wide, and he says that it has been his dream to meet Tom Knapp, the famous shooter, and would Eduardo take a picture of him and Tom Knapp with his cell phone. What comes together at a gas station in the middle of nowhere in a very large country has to be a genuine highlight for Tom, for the young man, and for all of us. With tears in his eyes, he thanks Tom and waves goodbye to us. A smile, a handshake, a picture, a moment in time – its value – priceless.

By the time we reach Santa Fe, Tom has two emails from his new friend, complete with pictures of his own dogs, one of his own hunts, and an open invitation to take Tom hunting anytime the opportunity arises.

We arrive at the duck lodge in Santa Fe province, have lunch (another 5 course meal – did I mention we are eating too much?), pull on our boots and head out for an afternoon duck hunt. Our rooms are only 50-yards from the water, but it has been a dry year and the river is down. We should be hunting in a dry blind over a pothole, part of the 50-mile expanse of the Parana River. The band – guides, dog, hunters, cameramen, and outfitters – get in the boat, cruise for 10 minutes pull up into a relatively large, back-water slough as thousands of ducks leave in waves. The guide stops the boat in about a foot to a foot and a half of water, and he and the other guides, and bird boys, and dog, get out and start building a blind. Okay, not the dog.

Hmmmmmm! None of us are in hip boots or waders. New game plan. Build the blind on shore about 50 yards from where we are. No, that isn’t really where the birds want to go. Yes, it is very muddy. No, the blind is only big enough for the hunters and the guide. Yes, the cameramen, and the rest of the marching band stand out like sore thumbs.

Building the blind.

Hmm! No, this isn’t hunting, this is making television. We do the best we can. Tom and Colorado manage to scratch down a limit of ducks. Jason manages to fill one boot full of water. I manage to get muddy from my feet to my waist, (No, I don’t know how), but we make some good television. The setting sun is spectacular and Colorado Buck makes some fantastic shots on Rosy Bill drakes that will be incredible – if we got them on film.

Hmmmmm! Okay, pull everything, get back in the boat. Here is what we need for tomorrow – sun behind us, and a good blind higher in the back to conceal the cameramen; the best wind you can find to help decoying ducks; lots of ducks, and can you have all that figured out by 6:00 am tomorrow?

Response, “No problema!” My man!

Back to the lodge for supper (Did I mention we eat too much?), a debrief of what was good about today, what we hope will happen tomorrow, an after dinner toddy, and off to bed.

“Okay, one more toddy, but that’s it.”

“What time is it anyway?”

“Where is my room?”

“What country are we in?”

“What was your name again?”

“What is the meaning of life?”

You get the picture.

Sunset in Cordoba.

On July 7^th we awake early, have breakfast (did I mention we eat too much?), get waders for everyone, load the band – guides, dog, hunters, cameramen, Eduardo and me – in the boat and away we go. We land about 10 minutes later and take off walking through the marsh to a good sized pot hole some distance from the river.

The morning sun, a crimson red, is just beginning to come up behind us, (Hey, that’s good), and the full moon is setting in front of us (Man, that’s beautiful). The guide puts out 25 or 30 decoys, and before it is light enough to film, ducks start buzzing the decoys. Two ducks appear from my left and head directly toward the blind.

“Ducks left, Tom!”

“I was going to wait until it’s light enough to film.”

“The limit is 25 each, you can warm up!”

Bang, bang! The dog heads out to retrieve two ducks.

Hmmmmm!! Amazing what a little encouragement can do.

Ducks come and go, and stay. The cameras roll. The cameramen move behind the blind, in front of the blind (okay, no shooting ducks over the cameraman), next to the blind, in the blind, across the pond from the blind. Ducks fly. Blackie, the Lab, makes some great retrieves. It is Heaven. And we are pretty sure it is good TV.

A half dozen working gauchos (Argentina cowboys) herd cattle about 100 yards behind the blind and they shout, “Buen tiro!” (Good shot), when they see a duck fall. One gaucho comes by later and Colorado and he exchange greetings with Eduardo interpreting. The camera rolls as Colorado asks about horses, saddles, quirts, work and all the things cowboys from different countries would want to know about one another. The gaucho asks for two ducks for lunch. We offer him more. “No”, he says in Spanish, “only two. Gracias.” A simple and beautiful person, in a simple and beautiful moment.

The folks you don’t see on Outdoor TV.

By 9:30 am we have 50 ducks, lots of good film, more opening and closings, interviews with the guides with Eduardo translating, filming of the new duck lodge, Irupe, more footage of the gauchos, all done. All the raw footage for the duck hunt is “in the can”.

Whew! Two down, one more dove shoot to go.

We head back to the lodge for lunch, a nap, a drink, and some serious decompression. Three American hunters from Kentucky arrive late in the day and they, too, are big Tom Knapp fans. Let the party begin.

Hmmmmmm! I turn in early. As Colorado would say, “This ain’t my first rodeo.”

On July 8^th we’re up early and off to El Cortijo for an afternoon dove shoot and our last filming session in the field. Five-and-a-half hours on the road. God bless Lali, the driver. These are not American roads and these are not American drivers. Why is my butt flat like a van seat?

We arrive in time for lunch (did I tell you we eat too much?), get all our gear together and head out for an afternoon shoot. The weather is picture perfect, about 65 degrees, sunny, and not much wind. Lalo has us in the right spot with the right sun, but we still have the marching band to contend with.

Hmmmmm! We move; we move again; and we move a third time. (Sometimes making a TV show is like wipin` your hind end on a wagon wheel, soon as ya get past some of it.... Here comes some more ! – Colorado Buck), and then - Bingo! Tom and Colorado have the right cover.

Jason, Jake and the rest of us band members have the right cover and the filming gets underway in earnest. By 6:00 pm we have all we need to complete the dove show. Tom and Colorado do some closings by simply talking about their experiences and the bird numbers, and the food, and the wines, and the people. As the American partner in this outfit, SYC Sporting Adventures, it is gratifying to hear their complimentary remarks as we have all worked hard to make this happen.

Back to the lodge for supper (did I mention we eat too much?) we then make a plan for tomorrow, our last day together.

“Jason, Jake, what do we need to complete this event?”

“Interviews.”

“How many interviews?”

“Interviews with everyone. Jake and I need to interview John and Eduardo separately. Tom, you need to interview Colorado. Colorado, you need to interview Tom. We need to interview Jake.”

Hmmmmm!

“How long will that take?”

“Probably two or three hours.”

“We have to leave at 1:30 for the airport.”

“Okay, we’ll do the best we can.”

On July 9^th we’re at 9:00 and off to breakfast (did I mention we eat too much?) and today it is, for the first time this trip, “muy frio”, very cold! I mean like 32 degrees cold, and we need to do interviews – outside, in the cold. I do one with Jake outside in my heaviest coat, and a wool sweater, and a scarf, and long underwear, while Eduardo does one inside with Colorado, who is struggling to get the lighting right indoors.

Hmmmmmm! I have a funny feeling about all this. Wait, the sun’s not right, the angle isn’t right, the lighting’s not right, the microphone’s not right; my butt’s not right, I can’t feel it or my legs anymore. Okay, one interview down, and its 11:00. (Did I mention we need to leave by 1:30 for international flight check in? I did. Okay.) Eduardo and I swap. More lighting changes, new microphone set up, (what did I do with the one I just had?) okay, two down – it’s almost 12:00 and we have to do lunch (did I mention we eat too much?)

We eat and look at our watches simultaneously. Everyone packs their luggage and brings them to the van; well, not everyone – the cameramen, who have the most to pack and load, are still working. Jason is sprinting across the yard to set up for Tom’s interview. Jake and Colorado are getting the right lighting so Colorado can interview Jake. It’s 1:15.

Hmmmmmm! Jason’s bag is the biggest. It needs to go on first. Wait, the rest of the bags are loaded. Okay, unload and reload. What time is it? 1:28.

Get in. Close the door. Where is my hat? Is that your tripod in the yard? Why does my butt fit perfectly in this van seat?

We wave goodbye. Outdoor television here we come!

John Wiles is the American Partner of SYC Sporting Adventures, which provides wingshooting and fishing packages in Argentina. For more information about SYC Sporting, please visit their web site at http://www.sycsporting.com. Send your comments to letters@shotgunlife.com.

A couple of years ago I received a call from a business acquaintance at Benelli USA, the good people who build a great shotgun. The call was an invitation to be a guest on an episode of Benelli’s Dream Hunts program airing weekly on The Outdoor Life Network now called Versus. Not being one to turn down any chance to hunt I quickly accepted without knowing any of the details at the time.

I was a very unlikely prospect, but Gary Jackson knew better.

The past President of Blackwater Worldwide and ex-Navy SEAL took one look at me and saw my inner commando. It speaks highly of his perceptive powers, because at the time my legs were ready to completely give out from under me, which is how we met in the first place.

Turn back the clock to January 17, 2009. It was the third day of the sprawling four-day SHOT Show, the industry confab for everything firearms. The event was held at Orlando's Orange County Convention Center. Some 1,800 exhibitors occupied a dizzying maze of 715,000 square feet.

We had designated the SHOT Show as the official launch of Shotgun Life. I had crisscrossed the halls dozens of times to meet with advertisers and industry luminaries.

Although I kept pushing myself, I had a devil of a time soldiering on across all 715,000 square feet of the convention hall.

Before flying down to Orlando, my doctor had insisted I undergo surgery to relieve a painful throb in my right big toe. Instead I postponed the procedure until after the SHOT Show. It was now day three, at about 4:00 PM. I was lugging tacky plastic shopping bags crammed with brochures. I felt like that big toe of mine was eating me alive. Finally, I just stopped dead in my tracks. I was exhausted, thirsty and in pain.

From my peripheral vision, I saw video images. If I was going to spend the next few minutes in one spot, at least I could be entertained. I soon realized it was a recruitment video for Blackwater Worldwide.

Unless you lived under a rock, you’ve heard of Blackwater. The company made headlines over a controversy in Iraq, congressional hearings and a Big Media smear campaign replete with invectives of mercenaries, soldiers of fortune and private army.

What I didn’t know about Blackwater, however, was that it had an entire new branding campaign ready to go.

While the weeks following the SHOT Show would bring a name change from Blackwater to Xe (pronounced zee), there stood the original Blackwater in all its glory. I looked up at the famous logo of the black bear paw. Despite my exhaustion, being that close to Blackwater was like a psychic boost of electrolytes.

The headquarters of Blackwater, now called Xe.

As I stood there watching the video, this gentleman approached me from the Blackwater booth. Dressed neatly in a jacket and tie, I surmised he was in his late 40s. Trim and confident, he wore eyeglasses and sported a modest moustache. When you wear a media badge at a major trade show, PR and marketing people single you out. They materialize from the crowd and try to entice you into their booths for a quick show-and-tell.

He asked me about Shotgun Life, and I explained that we covered wing and clays shooting and fine shotguns. I had glanced at his show badge, caught the name but not his title. We chatted a bit and I could tell immediately he was no ordinary PR guy. He seemed comfortable with his sense of authority, giving our conversation a genuine level of comfort that you often find with successful business leaders.

The way we were situated, I caught snippets of the recruitment video over his shoulder. Soon, Gary was inviting me to shoot at Blackwater. He explained that they offer tactical shotgun training, and it would make a great story for Shotgun Life. I reiterated that we don’t cover tactical shooting, and I simply couldn’t use the story.

Once again, Gary understood something about me that I wasn’t ready to admit: how much I would enjoy pumping out 750 rounds of bird shot, buckshot and slugs over 72 hours with my Mossberg Maverick 6-shot Model 88.

I’d bought the Mossberg about eight years ago for home defense after we had moved into an 18-room Victorian in a historic district of Baltimore (the house is gone, but the Model 88 is still with us). All black with a pistol grip and 18½-inch barrels, it was a nasty looking piece of work capable of spitting out six rounds with a vengeance. No Bulino engraving, no exhibition-grade Turkish walnut, no interchangeable chokes. It was the kind of shotgun that you used to call “freeze” instead of “pull.”

The Mossberg Maverick 88.

Unfortunately, I never found the opportunity to fire off all six rounds of 12-gauge devastation as in bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam. The Model 88 barrel was too short for our gun club and I couldn’t bring it into an indoor range.

Gary and I talked for a while, my eyes occasionally darting over his shoulders to the recruitment video. And while I knew that 750 rounds in 72 hours would make you a slacker in Argentina, it really did sound like a lot of fun if you did it commando-style. I accepted his offer.

By the end of January, I was slotted for the Blackwater course “Basic Shotgun.”

The course introduction read: “The shotgun has long been recognized as a simple yet effective solution for both personal home defense and professional tactical needs. Shotguns are inexpensive, easy to use and safe. Learn to operate and fire a shotgun properly – the Blackwater way.”

Topics covered included:

• Shotgun safety and handling
• Characteristics and accessories
• Carrying techniques
• Patterning
• Slug sight-in
• Ready positions
• Malfunctions
• Shooting positions
• Transition to shooting positions
• Multiple shoots/multiple targets
• Tactical reload
• Speed reload
• Ammunition change over
• Shooting on the move
• Shooting moving targets
• Barricades

I would be heading down to Blackwater’s main facility – 7,000 acres in Moyock, North Carolina, just south of the Virginia state line. My Basic Shotgun course was scheduled for February 25-27.

I called a few friends to share the news. I have to say, they were extremely impressed with the idea of shooting at Blackwater. That’s when I realized, saying that you were going to shoot at Blackwater was the ultimate in one-upmanship. Even after the company changed its name to Xe, in the hearts and minds of everyone I shared the experience with, they knew I shot at Blackwater – and they envied the heck out of me.

Meanwhile, a few things needed to be completed before I bombed down to Moyock in my M Coupe.

First, I had to swap out the pistol grip on the Model 88 to the full-length stock that came with the Mossberg. Shooting 750 rounds of 12-gauge shells, especially buckshot and slugs, with a pistol grip was a sure-fire way to permanently damage your wrist from the recoil.

Second, some documentation was in order as part of my course application: driver’s license, birth certificate or unexpired passport, evidence of no felony history (or you can supply a concealed-carry permit) and a letter of good character from an employer or community leader.

Since I don’t have a concealed-carry permit, I went to the local Department of Public Safety and Correctional Services for a background check. The visit took about 20 minutes. A week later the results arrived that showed a clean record.

I faxed all the documents to Blackwater and received confirmation that I was good to go.

The drive was only about five hours, but I couldn’t get there fast enough.

Even though the company had officially changed its name to Xe shortly before I arrived, the entrance sign at Moyock still read Blackwater.

Two enormous guys in jeans and camo jackets came lumbering out of the guard house, Glocks in low-slung holsters strapped to their massive thighs. They were all business, checking my credentials. Surprisingly, the parking pass they gave read U.S. Training Center, the new name of the organization that conducted my shotgun course.

The approach road to the Black Bear Inn must have been close to two miles. Helicopters continually circled. Banged-up cars with safari ramming bumpers rumbled past in the opposite direction. On my right were hangars and an airstrip. To my left were the evasive driving course and maritime training facility. I also saw my first of the ubiquitous white van transporters with Virginia license plates that were packed with uniformed and non-uniformed personnel. The road ended at the parking lot of the Black Bear Inn.

A stone façade supported double wood doors. Signs read “No Loaded Weapons Allowed in Building,” “Do Not Leave Weapons Unattended,” and “No Weapon Munitions.” Clearly, I was not checking into a Fairfield Inn.

The famous bear in the lobby of the Black Bear Inn.

The lobby conveyed a rustic feel, a stuffed black bear in attack stance the inn’s mascot. The women at the desk were friendly and accommodating.

The Black Bear Inn houses the luxury accommodations at Blackwater, compared with the bunk-bed barracks. As I walked down the hall to my room, I expected fluffy pillows, down comforter and Jacuzzi tub. Ha!

There was a jolt of culture shock as the room door slowly opened. The cramped space was just wide enough for a single bed in a 2 x 4 frame sans headboard. The tiny desk was accompanied by a folding chair. A small window had the curtains drawn. The coat rack on the wall hung right next to the bed. There was a TV. The bathroom was barely large enough to dry yourself after a shower. That’s when I realized they should’ve also changed the name of the lodging facilities to the Testosterone Inn.

The first morning brought frost. I scraped the windshield before driving to the chow hall, the roads lined with joggers. More of those white vans occupied the parking lot. As I pulled into a parking space, something out of Mad Max thundered toward me. It was a Ford Crown Victoria with safari ram bumper, front tires askew, headlights bashed out, grill smashed, directionals dangling by their wires and all the windows pulled. It was damn horrifying to watch this monster come straight at me. The driver cranked the steering wheel at the last minute, pulling into the next spot. Maybe they were having fun at my expense as I sat in my spotless little M Coupe. A couple of guys jumped out of the car and I followed them into the chow hall.

The monster Crown Vics at rest.

Inside, the expansive space was filled with soldiers in fatigues. To the right, long steam tables held scrambled eggs, breakfast meats, potatoes, chicken cutlets and biscuits. A separate steam table was reserved for soldiers from another country.

To the left, symmetrically lined picnic tables occupied the entire hangar-like area enclosed on two sides by floor-to-ceiling windows. A large American flag hung over the juke box blaring AC/DC’s “Dynamite.”

I got in the food line. The middle-age woman cashier called the soldiers “sweetheart” but she simply smiled at me when I gave her my voucher.

After scraping my tray clean into a garbage can, I went outside to the parking lot. Directly in front of the chow hall entrance was a combo chin-up/dip bar. Soldiers were waiting 2-3 deep to give it a whirl. Some of these guys did more chin-ups in two minutes than I’ve done in the past five years – and that was on a bellyful of breakfast.

Day one of Basic Shotguns started in a classroom. My instructor, D.H, was a former police officer who had served with Blackwater in Iraq. D.H. had a Southern drawl and a cheek-full of chaw. He wore a Blackwater Instructor t-shirt and tactical pants. He had been with Blackwater since the beginning, in 2000.

Two other students were in the class.

One of them, a guy in his early twenties, was a criminal justice intern with a job in Blackwater’s headquarters. The other was a U.S. Marine sniper. I pegged his age as late twenties. He wore a black hoodie with skull and crossbones in a Goth flourish. It turned out, that his demeanor would scarcely change from that first morning: taciturn, unsmiling, distant. One time, by instigating some small talk, he told me that he paid for the class himself to fill some idle time before returning to his fourth tour of duty in Iraq. Blackwater was about a 200-mile drive from Camp Lejeune, where he was stationed.

D.H. wrapped up his classroom introduction by saying “I’ll push you as hard as I can. If you’re not stressing yourself, you’re not learning.”

First lesson: tear down the shotgun and reassemble it. We broke for lunch afterwards and would reconvene on Range T5 at 12:30.

T5 was a 50-yard range covered with gravel. Behind us were fields of winter wheat from a neighboring farm. Berms on three sides partially muffled the sounds of gun fire coming from everywhere. At the rear of the range, a pavilion with a long table and a few chairs gave us room to work and take breaks. The front of the range held steel-plate targets. Door-size wood barricades were randomly placed along the perimeter. We would use them later.

Range T5.

D.H. wanted to see how our shotguns patterned. He set up silhouette targets. He focused on our stance. It was in many ways similar to the standard clays position – the big difference being that you face the target square rather than keeping your feet in a neutral position common in clays. By virtue of this variation, you transform from a target shooter to a predator.

We started with #8 shot, progressing to 00 buckshot and then slugs as we moved back to the 50-yard line. The purpose of the exercise was to see how the gun performed as your ammo requirements changed. The further back from the target, the bigger the ammo, culminating with tactical slugs.

I was impressed by how the Mossberg performed, until about 25 yards out; then it drifted to the right. After using the wind sock on the range to compensate for windage, I started to nail a few good shots at 30 yards and more.

Like other weapons, safety is the first rule of tactical shotguns. But the second rule served as a cornerstone of the Basic Shotgun course: never let your shotgun run empty.

I had to constantly top off the Mossberg. Invariably, I would short-shuck the forend from fatigue. Unless you’ve experienced it first-hand, you have no idea how exhausting it can be to shuck that gun non-stop while reloading it. Your fingers, shoulders and back are put through the wringer as you mentally try to coordinate your movements and manage the recoil of shooting box after box of slugs.

If you consider yourself a sporting clays hotshot, Blackwater’s Basic Shotgun course will humble you real fast. Yes, all the basics about stance, sight picture and mount still apply, but the concentration and physical demands required for this kind of volume shooting push you to entirely new heights.

The quick-loading techniques that D.H. showed us relied heavily on the right wrist and forearm, giving me the opportunity to toughen up muscle groups gone soft from suburban sloth. Basically, you manipulate the shotgun by holding it at the pistol grip. The area between the pistol grip and the receiver is called the “workstation” because that’s what you focus on to keep the gun constantly topped off. You should always have the safety on when topping off, turning it to the red position only when you’re ready to fire.

If you’re speed loading through the ejection port, you hold the shotgun with your right hand at the pistol grip, ejection port up, muzzle angled down about 30 degrees. With your left hand you grab a shell with the primer-end against your thumb, and then use your other four fingers to sort of palm the shell into the ejection port from over the top of the receiver.

If you happen to grab the shell with the crimp against your thumb, you load it through the ejection port from under the receiver.

To load directly into the magazine, you hold the gun muzzle-down at about a 60-degree angle with the trigger guard facing up. Manipulating the shotgun by the pistol grip, you speed load the magazine with your left hand.

Since I often use a pouch for clays shooting, this speed loading required that I shift the pouch from my right side to the left.

Everybody will drop shells during these speed loading techniques. The way you pick up your shells is by kneeling, eyes forward, spotting the shells with your peripheral vision. Before you stand, look around to make sure no one behind you is shooting. You resume the shooting stance, take off the safety, then start shooting at the target. By the way, you have to perform this maneuver as fast and safe as possible.

We quickly graduated to a loading drill where we shot three, loaded three, while the shotgun is still mounted to our shoulder. For example, we would speed load while shooting at steel-plate targets 1, 3, 5 then at targets 2, 4, 6. Ideally, you wanted to top off the gun in .33 seconds.

While we did not have the pleasure of AC/DC’s “Dynamite,” there was an explosive sound track of sorts on range T5.

D.H. wore a walkie-talkie on his belt and through the speaker we kept hearing a woman’s voice shouting “ram him, ram him, keep the line, spin it.” It turned out that the evasive driving school had a female instructor who was bleeding over onto D.H.’s frequency. At the same time, gun fire was all around us as helicopters circled. My adrenaline just kept pumping.

The day flew in a shooting and loading frenzy. At around 4:30, we wrapped it up. D.H. said that so far we had been shooting from a standing position, and for tactical shotguns “standing is a luxury.” Over the next two days we would learn to shoot from what he described as “more exotic” positions.

We picked up our hulls, D.H. whitewashed the steel-plate targets and we would meet back at T5 the next morning.

That night, back in my room, as I watched mixed martial arts on Spike TV, I began to absorb the full impact of the day’s lessons. Coming from a world of wing and clays shooting, I felt truly humbled by the sheer physical exertion imposed by a tactical regimen.

It was my first inkling that my relationship with shotguns would never again be the same – as though I’d been driving a Buick all my life until one day someone handed me the keys to a Ferrari, showed me how to drive it, then cut me loose. All the boundaries are pushed further out. You comprehend the enormity of your own potential across every shotgun sport.

The next morning, the cashier still did not call me “sweetheart.” The chow hall was packed with soldiers in fatigues from another country. One of them selected a song from the juke box that had a lead singer who sounded like Celine Dion receiving a colonoscopy without the courtesy of an anesthetic. I could see some of the soldiers giving the juke box a nasty look. Finally, one of them went over to it and yanked the plug, giving rise to a round of applause.

The juke box in the cafeteria.

Day two would put us on the move. We would learn how to shoot from the kneeling, prone and side positions, and then apply them to barricade situations.

We would also learn how to quickly empty the shotgun and replace the ammo with different loads. As I mentioned, the type of ammo in your gun is dictated by your distance from the target. If you’re breaching a room, you want to use 00 buckshot. If you’re firing from let’s say 15 yards, you may want to switch to slugs. Of course, not only must you change ammo on the fly, but you need to keep your shells segregated to avoid confusion. And then you have to do it all on the move.

Firing a tactical shotgun while walking forward requires that you roll on the balls of your feet, eyes forward, square to the target, hunched slightly forward.

D.H. would have us advancing while ordering us to shoot targets in a random order. He could yell “3, 5, 7” and we would have to knock down those round steel plates. He also set up square steel targets on posts that fit into ground. He would then have us shoot at the round steel targets, the square targets – any combination as we moved toward them and topped off the guns.

You also must remember that during these exercises you’re relentlessly shucking the forend, spitting out hulls. Your arms and legs are always moving – shucking, loading, shooting – advancing on the target like a tank.

Then D.H. would give the command to change ammo. You would have to unload, find the alternative ammo and speed load into the gun. Drop to your knees, retrieve the ammo, on guard for enemy and friendly fire, looking around again then stand to recommence your advance, safety off and shoot.

We performed the same drills walking backwards. Of course the difference is that you occasionally have to look behind you. Imagine this: walking in reverse, speed loading, eyes on target, change ammo on command – you get the picture. By now, your thigh and calve muscles are aching in the best possible way.

Next, we learned to shoot from a kneeling position. D.H. was considerate enough to have thick rubber mats delivered to T5, because the gravel was large and surely would have hurt our knees. When it comes to kneeling, the most important lesson is to make sure you look around before you stand up with your safety on. Again, you double check that you’re not in the line of fire.

After kneeling, we learned how to shoot from the prone position, both on our stomach and on our side. You don’t have time to first get on your knees and then down on your stomach. You kneel, support yourself with your left hand, then kick out your legs directly behind you. All the while, you must be aware of your gun position, to prevent it from scraping on the ground.

Shotgun Life Publisher, Irwin Greenstein,
gets tactical from the kneeling position.

D.H. then brought out those barricades that had been stored on the side of the range. All the new positions were performed from behind them, or approaching them – vigilant not to protrude too far around the barricade so that we inadvertently became targets. The rule of thumb was to never let the muzzle of your gun extend beyond the barricade and you only moved your face far enough out to see the target.

When we wrapped up the second day, the Mossberg had fired about 600 rounds, getting scraped along the ground, fed ammo recovered from the dusty gravel (no time to wipe it off) in a marathon of speed loading and shooting. My biggest problem with the gun was operator error: after a while I simply got exhausted of shucking the forend, causing some ammo to hang up. Otherwise, the Model 88 ran without a hitch, which was pretty darn impressive.

As we cleaned up the field, someone had mentioned that the Southland Restaurant, about five miles away in Moyock, had great fried chicken. That was all I needed to hear.

The Southland Restaurant was a friendly neighborhood restaurant with a souvenir shop that sold cheap cigarettes. Elderly patrons circulated among the tables that included several generations. The waitress asked me whether I wanted the buffet or wished to order from the menu. Once I found out the buffet included all-you-could-eat fried chicken, the decision was easy.

It took a couple of Coronas and platefuls of crispy fried chicken before I was able to calm down and reflect on day two of the Basic Shotgun course.

While you could argue that wing and clays shooters occupy different, but overlapping cultures of the shotgun life, tactical shooting pushed the envelope to extremes.

Take, for instance, toe rests. When we shoot skeet, we rest the open shotgun on our toe. Tactical shooters would frown on that as unsafe. While wing and clays shooters baby their shotguns, tactical shooters use them as a tool in the same way that a carpenter would use a rotary saw. Even duck and goose hunters who could roll around in the muck with their shotguns can’t stand up to the sheer brutality that tactical shotguns endure.

I have a tremendous appreciation for beautiful and expensive shotguns, but working the hell out of my Mossberg over the past 48 hours revealed an aspect of shotgun ownership that verged on primal. Yes, we’ve all seen the advertisements of the grizzled hunters in severe weather aiming at their quarry with that black semi-automatic. We tend to think of that as macho. By contrast, I can say that when it comes to the shotgun life very few pursuits are as grueling as Blackwater’s Basic Shotgun course.

The thrashing that the gun endures, the sheer volume of heavy loads, the stakes at risk in the real world – are so thoroughly empowering that it completely transforms you as a shotgun owner. Your walk assumes a prouder gait, your handling of the shotgun becomes more precise, and your self-discipline as a shotgun shooter takes on a tactical edge.

While it’s great to shoot 400 x 400 at skeet, nothing rivals the self-confidence gained from shooting at Blackwater.

The morning of day three began with sharpshooting slugs on T5. We helped D.H set up a course of fire, which involved every barricade, moving target and ammo change we had been taught up to the point.

The barricades were interspersed with pole-mounted, steel-plate targets, with the knock-down plate targets further back and a square-steel plate target behind them that moved from side to side.

D.H. would brief us on the sequence of targets, positions and ammo changes. We would start by approaching a door-size barricade, shoot at a steel plate, advance to another barricade where we go prone, shoot at a few targets, move to another barricade where we made a kneeling shot – topping off the gun and changing ammo all the way through. In short, this was urban warfare training.

When we broke for lunch, my clothing and gun were coated with gravel dust. I drove to the chow hall and piled on the food. In the checkout line, the cashier called me “sweetheart.” And I have to say, she almost brought tears to my eyes.

After wolfing down lunch and several cups of coffee I met up with D.H. and my other classmates at a range that fully simulated breaching a room. Inside these “rooms” steel targets presented perpetrators and hostages. The pop-up heads on the body-shaped targets were managed by D.H. from a control panel behind us. Our mission was to go from door to window in every room and shoot the heads of the perpetrators in the shortest amount of time.

A “hostage” room.

D.H. gave us a demonstration. Of the three students, I was the last one. By the time it was my turn, the “sidewalk” in front of each room was strewn with hulls.

D.H. gave me the go signal. I was rocking through the course – shooting, shucking, nailing those targets with lethal precision. Then I got to the last room, and I simply shot a door out of sequence – disqualifying my time, which otherwise would’ve beaten D.H.

What a charge!

We returned to our classroom where we completed our evaluations and I received my Basic Shotgun certificate from the U.S. Training Center. When I returned home, I hung the certificate over the long table that I use for gun cleaning. When I occasionally glance up at it though, I know in my heart that I didn’t shoot at the U.S. Training Center, I shot at Blackwater. And I have the hat to prove it.

Irwin Greenstein is Publisher of Shotgun Life. You can reach him at contact@shotgunlife.com.

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