There’s an expression people use — loosey-goosey.
You know… relaxed, calm, unfazed.
Whoever coined that phrase has never met a Canada goose.
Because if Canada geese were people, they’d be the kind who install three alarm systems, two motion lights, a security camera, and still peek through the blinds every six minutes just to make sure the Amazon driver isn’t plotting something.
Now take the day I was at Trustom Pond, approaching from the beach with camera in hand. It was one of those quiet coastal mornings where everything feels calm and civilized. The ocean was behaving itself. The wind was polite. The birds were minding their own business.
Then something caught my eye.
A snow goose.
Not unusual in the grand scheme of birdhood… but unusual when it’s standing in the middle of what looked like the annual convention of Canada geese.
Hundreds of them.
Imagine walking into a biker bar wearing a tuxedo.
That’s roughly the social dynamic the snow goose was dealing with.
Naturally, I wanted a photo.
So I began my approach with what wildlife photographers like to call stealth. Which is really just a dignified way of saying middle-aged guy trying to tiptoe across sand while carrying an 800-millimeter lens the size of a bazooka.
Step.
Pause.
Step.
Pause.
Very subtle.
Very respectful.
Very “I am clearly not a threat unless you are allergic to tripods.”
Now, if you’ve ever studied Canada geese, you know they have two default emotional settings:
- Mild suspicion
- DEFCON 1
And I was about to trigger the second one.
I was just setting up my tripod — final approach — when suddenly one goose lifted his head like a neighborhood watch captain who just spotted a suspicious minivan.
HONK.
Not a polite honk.
Not a conversational honk.
This was the kind of honk that says:
“EVERYONE WAKE UP SOMETHING IS HAPPENING AND I DON’T LIKE IT.”
And if you know geese, you know one thing.
One honk never travels alone.
Another goose joined in.
HONK.
Then another.
HONK HONK.
Within three seconds the place sounded like Times Square traffic during rush hour.
What began as one concerned goose quickly escalated into a full-scale avian emergency meeting.
You could almost hear the dialogue.
“HEY!”
“What?”
“WHAT?”
“WHAT’S GOING ON?”
“THAT GUY HAS A CAMERA!”
Silence.
Then…
PANDEMONIUM.
Wings flapping.
Sand flying.
Geese yelling at each other like a family arguing over Thanksgiving seating arrangements.
One goose clearly shouted:
“RUN—”
Then corrected himself mid-sentence.
“FLY! FLY FOR YOUR LIVES!”
And suddenly three hundred pounds of honking feathers launched into the air like a popcorn machine had exploded.
The sky filled with wings.
The pond erupted.
The peaceful morning instantly transformed into what can only be described as The Goose Apocalypse.
And there I stood.
Tripod planted.
Camera rolling.
Looking like the only calm person at a bird-induced fire drill.
But here’s the beautiful part.
In the middle of all that chaos…
in the swirling hurricane of honks and feathers…
The snow goose stayed right where it was.
Cool.
Composed.
Possibly thinking:
“Amateurs.”
And yes…
I got the shot.
But that’s a story for tomorrow. 🪿📸
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