West Texas Mornings: Sandhill Cranes, Lesser's, and Three Days in Lubbock
- AussieJohn
- 1 hour ago
- 4 min read
There’s something about West Texas in winter that gets into your bones. Maybe it’s the cold — the kind that cuts through gloves and finds every gap in your camo — or maybe it’s the endless sweep of cotton fields around Lubbock, where the flat country meets an equally flat sky. Either way, the Panhandle has a way of reminding you that you’re alive.
For three days we hunted those fields on the outskirts of town, rolling out of bed at 4 a.m., layering up against the frost, and heading into the dark.
By 5:30 a.m. we’d meet our guide Andre, shake hands through gloved fingers, and unload gear by headlamp.
Our hunting crew was a solid line-up — Doyle, Todd, Jessie, Wayne, Bruce, and myself.
All Texans except for me, the lone Aussie in the group. Between us we carried a small armoury of pump-actions, semi-autos, and over-and-unders, all stoked with 3-inch No. 3 steel shot. It felt like the kind of mixed, easy-going crew Texas always seems to produce.
We helped Andre lay out a spread of 80-100-plus decoys — silhouettes, full-bodies, and flag decoys scattered across flat cotton fields that scraped the edge of town.
Then we’d slide into flat-bed goose beds, pull camo blankets over ourselves, and settle in as the morning sky began to wake.
Most mornings broke clear with a perfect West Texas sunrise — that long, slow burn of gold on the horizon. The frost held tight at about 20°F. Days 1 and 2 were bright and still. Day 3 came with clouds, sleet, and a wind that carried the full weight of the Panhandle.
Birds on the Wing
The action usually started just after 7 a.m. and carried through until 10 a.m.
One minute the world was quiet, the next it was full of wings and chatter.
You hear lesser's before you see them — that rolling Texas murmur drifting across the cold air.
Andre worked the call like a craftsman. Flocks circled once, twice, then committed, wings locked and feet down. We folded three or four birds a volley, feathers drifting across the dirt like thin snow.
There were some brilliant doubles, a few long bombs, and the usual “you should have seen that!” moments echoing from the blinds.
Misfires, Mix-Ups, and Memories
A hunt isn’t a hunt without a bit of chaos.
A couple of guns jammed — likely from not driving the stock hard enough into the shoulder to keep the action cycling.
A few birds took more than one shooter, and we won’t talk about the ones that sailed on with six of us claiming, “I thought someone else had it.”
But the best moment came when Andre called out something that sounded like:
“NO!”
So six grown men stopped shooting instantly.
He wasn’t yelling no. He was yelling “LOW!” — the birds were low.
And a perfect flock drifted straight through untouched.
Not funny at the time. Absolutely hilarious now.
A Short Crack at Sandhill Cranes
We came to West Texas dreaming of Sandhill cranes — the legendary “ribeye of the sky.”
But cranes made us work.
On Day 1 we only managed four birds, and by the next morning we’d all agreed the better action was with the geese. It proved the right call.
The Scoreboard
Across three mornings, the tally was:
4 Sandhill Cranes (Tuesday)
20 Lesser Canada Geese (Wednesday)
30 Lesser Canada Geese (Thursday)
That last morning was as good as goose hunting gets — steady flocks, steady shooting, and the kind of calling from Antwon that made everything look easy.
Evenings in Lubbock
Good hunting earns good meals.
Monday: P.F. Chang’s — hot, quick, and perfect after a long day.
Tuesday: La Brisa Steakhouse — outstanding steaks, ribeye on the bone the clear winner.
Wednesday: A local Mexican restaurant — fresh salsa, warm plates, easy conversation.
We packed up and hit the road Thursday afternoon, rolling home around 6 p.m., tired, cold, and content.
Final Thoughts
West Texas is big country — big skies, big flocks, big mornings that stick with you. For three days we chased lesser's and cranes across the frosty edges of Lubbock, with a Texan crew that made the hunt as good as the shooting.
Every hunt writes its own chapter.
This one felt like a classic — honest work, honest birds, and laughter that will echo for a long time yet.
When the wind is right and the geese start working, there’s nowhere else on earth you’d rather be.
Foot Note: We all thank Doyle for the great accommodation in Lubbock its was first rate air B&B.
