BritChaser
Well-known member
Tell us about your most satisfying shot. Here's mine:
Gus the Brittany and I are alone again and on a long hill, a ridge, that runs north-south for a half mile through a beautiful CRP field. All the ambers, umbers, tans, and beiges of fall decorate the flora and the sky is deep and so blue. We’ve been here before and have expectations of flushing pheasants. We’ve started at the north end so as to be heading into the slight southern breeze. Nature has provided us a gorgeous early winter day on the high plains of western Kansas.
We are about a fourth of the way along the long ridge just strolling along, no hurry and . . . point! I hasten forward. When I am about 40 feet from Gus, he breaks point and begins scurrying madly back and forth and ahead searching for the scent. This dog loves the hunt. (I don’t train my dogs to hold point until released. I leave that decision to them.) Point! I hustle to catch up hoping to make the flush. Point broken again and Gus is quartering and racing ahead to find the bird. I am speed walking with my gun held out front as I lean into the effort. Point! Point broken! Gus dashes on and quarters about. I’m breathing harder now. I stay leaning forward for speed, gun held away from me ready to snap to my shoulder. But I am not keeping up with Gus. I try to quicken my pace, give it more gas. But I don’t seem to have much more gas. Now I am catching up. I’m getting within range. Point! Point broken! Gus is quartering, on the run again. I am panting and sweating and feeling the strain in my not young legs. Point! Point broken! Point! Point broken! Gus is out of range again. But now I am catching up again somehow. Gus is now just 20 yards ahead. Point! I drive my legs and pant for air to close the distance for the flush. Point broken! But . . . Flush! The bird tears away in terror to the southwest. I shoulder and snap off a shot, hoping that I led him correctly. Knock down! I can’t believe it. I have no more in me and stand motionless and panting while Gus goes down the west slope for the retrieve. I feel the sweat dripping down my back and my neck as I finally catch my breath. I look around to get reoriented. We have chased the running bird to a point two-thirds of the way south along the half-mile long hill top. Gus trots up with the bird. Now all is not merely well, but wonderful. I just made the most satisfying shot in my years of hunting due entirely to the brilliant work of a minimally managed bird dog.
Gus the Brittany and I are alone again and on a long hill, a ridge, that runs north-south for a half mile through a beautiful CRP field. All the ambers, umbers, tans, and beiges of fall decorate the flora and the sky is deep and so blue. We’ve been here before and have expectations of flushing pheasants. We’ve started at the north end so as to be heading into the slight southern breeze. Nature has provided us a gorgeous early winter day on the high plains of western Kansas.
We are about a fourth of the way along the long ridge just strolling along, no hurry and . . . point! I hasten forward. When I am about 40 feet from Gus, he breaks point and begins scurrying madly back and forth and ahead searching for the scent. This dog loves the hunt. (I don’t train my dogs to hold point until released. I leave that decision to them.) Point! I hustle to catch up hoping to make the flush. Point broken again and Gus is quartering and racing ahead to find the bird. I am speed walking with my gun held out front as I lean into the effort. Point! Point broken! Gus dashes on and quarters about. I’m breathing harder now. I stay leaning forward for speed, gun held away from me ready to snap to my shoulder. But I am not keeping up with Gus. I try to quicken my pace, give it more gas. But I don’t seem to have much more gas. Now I am catching up. I’m getting within range. Point! Point broken! Gus is quartering, on the run again. I am panting and sweating and feeling the strain in my not young legs. Point! Point broken! Point! Point broken! Gus is out of range again. But now I am catching up again somehow. Gus is now just 20 yards ahead. Point! I drive my legs and pant for air to close the distance for the flush. Point broken! But . . . Flush! The bird tears away in terror to the southwest. I shoulder and snap off a shot, hoping that I led him correctly. Knock down! I can’t believe it. I have no more in me and stand motionless and panting while Gus goes down the west slope for the retrieve. I feel the sweat dripping down my back and my neck as I finally catch my breath. I look around to get reoriented. We have chased the running bird to a point two-thirds of the way south along the half-mile long hill top. Gus trots up with the bird. Now all is not merely well, but wonderful. I just made the most satisfying shot in my years of hunting due entirely to the brilliant work of a minimally managed bird dog.
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