Photo by Gerald Pabst.

One morning last January, when I walked out my garage door and got slapped in the face by a stiff predawn wind, I regretted ever getting out of bed. But goose season was almost over. So I zipped my jacket all the way up to my chin, jumped in the truck and headed out to meet my buddies.

Four of us scurried around a frozen field with lights strapped to our heads, planting decoys in an enticing array. That activity warmed me up a bit. But as soon as we stopped working, the cold came storming back.

I hunkered down in my coffin blind and shoved my hands into my pockets, where I'd stuffed several chemical hand warmers.

As the sun peeked over the horizon, the wind picked up. It was howling now, and I was miserable.

I tried to sink lower into my blind, but I was already tucked down as far as I could go.

About the time I thought I couldn't stand the cold any more, the racing wind carried a honk to my ears. Instantly, my physical comfort didn't matter. I poked my nose out of my blind and scanned the sky for the source of the honk.

Far off to the west, a line of geese snaked above the treetops, heading directly into the wind. My buddies and I started hammering out greeting calls and feed-chuckles as the birds dipped low to the ground, making a beeline for our setup. These birds had to be part of the flock we'd seen feeding in this same field the previous evening. There was no doubt about where they were headed.

With the wind pushing hard against their wings and breasts, the 18 geese seemed to move in ultra-slow motion as they glided in to join our dekes.

"Now!" one of my buddies yelled out.

I sat up from a prone position, flipped the safety off on my 12-gauge over-under and took aim at a goose hovering five feet off the ground, barely 15 yards in front of me.

The shotgun barked once, and the bird crumpled. Three others fell to my buddies' guns. After that first synchronized volley, there was a shooting free-for-all at the rest of the geese still in the air.

By the time the wind carried off the echo from the last blast, nine Canadas were lying on the ground. And I might have been sweating a little!

The good old days of goose hunting are right now in the Keystone State.

According to Pennsylvania Game Commission harvest estimates, hunters bagged 180,900 Canadas during the 2005-06 season. That was tops among all the eastern states in the Atlantic Flyway.