nstric
New member
Hands down, the best overall weather conditions for pheasant hunting this season! Temps in the 30s, little to no wind, some snow on the ground but not so much it's difficult to walk, etc.
Headed out around noon, with plans for a one field hunt in Perry. Ended up making a turn too early and UREKA!, virgin switchgrass before me! It was time for some "knocking-and-talking", which I love to do.
Struck gold . . . bluegrass gold . . . at the first house I stopped. I was welcomed in by the matriarch, soon thereafter confronted by her husband, wearing nothing but his boxer shorts! Odd, but okay. We talk, the grass is his, I share a bit about myself . . . maybe not as much as he was "sharing" given his nakedness . . . but I let him know who I am and what I'm about. Access is mine, but "not today, as someone else is coming to hunt the ground". Things are lined up for a hunt next week. I'm excited, as the ground looks really, really good!
Back in the truck, heading south now, as there's another house on the horizon with buffer strips running for miles. I pull in the drive, positioning the truck so Gunner can stick his head out the passenger side window and make his presence known. People love dogs, and people seem to love Gunner.
I knock. An older gentleman comes to the door. He's dressed . . . but . . . I can't help but notice his fly is down. I'm pretty sure he threw some pants on before welcoming me. Strange day. I smile inside.
Nice gentleman. The ground is his, but his son now runs everything. He doesn't live at the residence, and "normally doesn't let people hunt". "But, I see you've a nice looking dog . . .". Did I tell you or what?
I manage to get his son's phone number, call, but he's not home. No matter. I'll try again another day. I offer my thanks and head back down the road.
I continue to back road travel, coming upon, this time a HUGE big block of FOXTAIL, with some winter cover sprinkled in. I'm talking 200+ acres HUGE.
I see a house on the horizon, make my way there, knock, and a very nice, fully clothed lady welcomes me into the house. We chat for 5 minutes or so, nothing about hunting, but rather her plans for the day, dogs (she sees Gunner), Thanksgiving, and the like.
I figure I better state my intentions, I ask her about the grass, and YES, she owns it! Her son farms the ground and she's confident he wouldn't mind "me and my dog running through it". She does warn me however, that there's likely not any pheasants in it. I remark "well, Gunner and I will at least get some exercise then".
Out the door, back to the truck, and up to the field.
Gun loaded and beeper collar on, we step foot into the foxtail. It's nice, really nice! We're approaching from the south, so the wind is at our back and therefore not ideal, but this ground was massive and I didn't see any other options from an accessibility standpoint.
30 seconds in, Gunner locks up. Up come 3-5 hens, all of which drew my attention. They held tight. My anticipation crept! Another few minutes pass and Gunner begins to stalk like I imagine a coyote would his prey. When the wind is at his back, he tends to do this when locating a scent cone.
I'm right on Gunner as he finally locks up. I step in and up come another 5+ hens in varying waves. I'm swinging my shouldered gun from one to another, to another, to another, but all hens. Until . . . that final flush. A BIG rooster sets sail with the wind, I steady myself, squeeze the trigger, and WHAT?!?!?! I miss. I flat out miss, shooting behind him, only connecting with his tail feathers. I couldn't believe it. Gunner returns from where he SHOULD have retrieved the bird, looking at me in disbelief. I really wish I could have understood his thoughts at the time. He had that look. I imagine you dog owners know what I mean?
We press on, the foxtail now thinning as we work north, still with the wind. A few more hens and a single rooster flush wild. To see nearly 20 pheasants in less than 10 minutes time, in a field supposedly void of life, sure was fun!
Gunner leads me NW now, to one of the field corners, tucked a bit lower than most of the field. He locks up, I join him, and you guessed it . . . more hens! I watch them rise and sail away, but then notice the grass moving right beside me. The movement is opposite of the direction the hens flew, but originated from the same location. Right past me, whatever was running. I run after it, thinking it's probably a rabbit, but "you never know". I'm sprinting and soon catch up . . . and . . . MR. ROOSTER flushes! I slam the brakes on, shoulder my gun, take a deep breath, and . . . manage to bag MISS #2! Arrrrgh! Worse than the first miss, I wound this guy. I took out a wing or two, but not his legs. He was off to the races in the foxtail, with 200+ acres of cover before him, and despite my and Gunners' best efforts, we couldn't find him. Is there anything worse when hunting, accidents aside?
I'm dejected now. I'd missed two roosters in a row, essentially wastefully killing one of them. And to boot, when last out with Kraig (IA at Heart), I'd wounded one then as well. Three bouts of poor shooting. I was shooting something like 14 for 15 until then. Not a good streak I was now on!
Head back up, we trudge on, but the grass was simply too thin to hold the pheasants. They had their track shoes on and we couldn't get close for another shot. The north side just wasn't as thick as that on the south. I decide it's too big of a field for just me and Gunner, and I was not wanting to take a long shot given my recent track record. Back to the truck we go, with plans to stop at the field I'd originally intended to hunt.
Okay . . . back to hunting . . . a field I'm familiar with and have good feel for how the birds will behave. I'm wondering if they'll be in the grass, as loafing time was nearly over and it was too early for them to have returned from their second feeding. Nonetheless, I'm determined to at least scout the field.
We push the far east side, north, as I want to get there and work south into the wind as early as I can. Only a few minutes in, a rooster flushes wild. A good sign some others will at least be in the grass.
As we approach the NE corner, Gunner gets birdie and up come around a dozen pheasants. I make out 2-3 more roosters for sure, and likely missed some. They fly SW, into the wind, and stay in the field.
On the north side now, we turn south, with a little west in our waggle and into the birds we are! Point! Hen! Point! Hen! Wash, repeat.
Gunner tracking a runner, I'm on him, swing a little wide and up comes the first rooster in this field that is in range. Bang! Guess what? Missed. Ah, but don't give up on me yet as this time I squeeze the trigger a second time and bag my booty! Gunner retrieves to hand and I swear he said "FINALLY!". That may have been my imagination. Not sure.
Only one shell in the gun, none in my vest now. I normally don't need to carry too many, but today was shaping up quite differently . . . and not in a good way! I decide to stop at the truck, water Gunner, and get two more shells. That's all I was shooting. Two more. If I connect, great, if not, shame on me!
Locked and loaded, back afield we go. No plan other than to follow Gunner.
We make the north side, no additional birds seen, but then turn into the wind. I'm feeling confident we'll find some success now. Gunner, however, isn't following my lead and swings back north. I stop, stand, wait, and wait.
I call him and he doesn't come. That's VERY odd. "BEEP, BEEP, BEEP". He's on point!
I sprint his way, see he's locked up, but I can't get anything to flush. I release him and he's quartering like crazy. Imagine the flow of water in a toilet as it flushes. That's how Gunner was working, narrowing in on the scent.
He makes the north edge and is now running in the chiseled corn field. At the NW corner he slams on point. I move in, notice there's very little cover/grass, but decide to "trust the dog!"
Good thing I did, as an early hatch rooster came up, nearly out maneuvering us. He flew out over the chiseled corn and I pop him with one shot. Gunner retrieves and I'm feeling my confidence return some.
Back to heading south, this time Gunner agreeing with me, and he's out front. Not one minute later he locks up, hard, and I know there's a bird there. No runner. Nothing but cake. Up off my boot comes another rooster, a late hatch, and another clean shot. Okay, my MOJO is back.
We exit the field, our limit in hand (I'd forgotten to count the one I wounded as I normally do), and Gunner is pointing birds. That's always fun.
I grab my phone from the truck to snap a picture, and the battery is dead. Figures. An odd, odd, day. Yet perseverance paid off.
A shot of my three kids after I'd returned home.
Headed out around noon, with plans for a one field hunt in Perry. Ended up making a turn too early and UREKA!, virgin switchgrass before me! It was time for some "knocking-and-talking", which I love to do.
Struck gold . . . bluegrass gold . . . at the first house I stopped. I was welcomed in by the matriarch, soon thereafter confronted by her husband, wearing nothing but his boxer shorts! Odd, but okay. We talk, the grass is his, I share a bit about myself . . . maybe not as much as he was "sharing" given his nakedness . . . but I let him know who I am and what I'm about. Access is mine, but "not today, as someone else is coming to hunt the ground". Things are lined up for a hunt next week. I'm excited, as the ground looks really, really good!
Back in the truck, heading south now, as there's another house on the horizon with buffer strips running for miles. I pull in the drive, positioning the truck so Gunner can stick his head out the passenger side window and make his presence known. People love dogs, and people seem to love Gunner.
I knock. An older gentleman comes to the door. He's dressed . . . but . . . I can't help but notice his fly is down. I'm pretty sure he threw some pants on before welcoming me. Strange day. I smile inside.
Nice gentleman. The ground is his, but his son now runs everything. He doesn't live at the residence, and "normally doesn't let people hunt". "But, I see you've a nice looking dog . . .". Did I tell you or what?
I manage to get his son's phone number, call, but he's not home. No matter. I'll try again another day. I offer my thanks and head back down the road.
I continue to back road travel, coming upon, this time a HUGE big block of FOXTAIL, with some winter cover sprinkled in. I'm talking 200+ acres HUGE.
I see a house on the horizon, make my way there, knock, and a very nice, fully clothed lady welcomes me into the house. We chat for 5 minutes or so, nothing about hunting, but rather her plans for the day, dogs (she sees Gunner), Thanksgiving, and the like.
I figure I better state my intentions, I ask her about the grass, and YES, she owns it! Her son farms the ground and she's confident he wouldn't mind "me and my dog running through it". She does warn me however, that there's likely not any pheasants in it. I remark "well, Gunner and I will at least get some exercise then".
Out the door, back to the truck, and up to the field.
Gun loaded and beeper collar on, we step foot into the foxtail. It's nice, really nice! We're approaching from the south, so the wind is at our back and therefore not ideal, but this ground was massive and I didn't see any other options from an accessibility standpoint.
30 seconds in, Gunner locks up. Up come 3-5 hens, all of which drew my attention. They held tight. My anticipation crept! Another few minutes pass and Gunner begins to stalk like I imagine a coyote would his prey. When the wind is at his back, he tends to do this when locating a scent cone.
I'm right on Gunner as he finally locks up. I step in and up come another 5+ hens in varying waves. I'm swinging my shouldered gun from one to another, to another, to another, but all hens. Until . . . that final flush. A BIG rooster sets sail with the wind, I steady myself, squeeze the trigger, and WHAT?!?!?! I miss. I flat out miss, shooting behind him, only connecting with his tail feathers. I couldn't believe it. Gunner returns from where he SHOULD have retrieved the bird, looking at me in disbelief. I really wish I could have understood his thoughts at the time. He had that look. I imagine you dog owners know what I mean?
We press on, the foxtail now thinning as we work north, still with the wind. A few more hens and a single rooster flush wild. To see nearly 20 pheasants in less than 10 minutes time, in a field supposedly void of life, sure was fun!
Gunner leads me NW now, to one of the field corners, tucked a bit lower than most of the field. He locks up, I join him, and you guessed it . . . more hens! I watch them rise and sail away, but then notice the grass moving right beside me. The movement is opposite of the direction the hens flew, but originated from the same location. Right past me, whatever was running. I run after it, thinking it's probably a rabbit, but "you never know". I'm sprinting and soon catch up . . . and . . . MR. ROOSTER flushes! I slam the brakes on, shoulder my gun, take a deep breath, and . . . manage to bag MISS #2! Arrrrgh! Worse than the first miss, I wound this guy. I took out a wing or two, but not his legs. He was off to the races in the foxtail, with 200+ acres of cover before him, and despite my and Gunners' best efforts, we couldn't find him. Is there anything worse when hunting, accidents aside?
I'm dejected now. I'd missed two roosters in a row, essentially wastefully killing one of them. And to boot, when last out with Kraig (IA at Heart), I'd wounded one then as well. Three bouts of poor shooting. I was shooting something like 14 for 15 until then. Not a good streak I was now on!
Head back up, we trudge on, but the grass was simply too thin to hold the pheasants. They had their track shoes on and we couldn't get close for another shot. The north side just wasn't as thick as that on the south. I decide it's too big of a field for just me and Gunner, and I was not wanting to take a long shot given my recent track record. Back to the truck we go, with plans to stop at the field I'd originally intended to hunt.
Okay . . . back to hunting . . . a field I'm familiar with and have good feel for how the birds will behave. I'm wondering if they'll be in the grass, as loafing time was nearly over and it was too early for them to have returned from their second feeding. Nonetheless, I'm determined to at least scout the field.
We push the far east side, north, as I want to get there and work south into the wind as early as I can. Only a few minutes in, a rooster flushes wild. A good sign some others will at least be in the grass.
As we approach the NE corner, Gunner gets birdie and up come around a dozen pheasants. I make out 2-3 more roosters for sure, and likely missed some. They fly SW, into the wind, and stay in the field.
On the north side now, we turn south, with a little west in our waggle and into the birds we are! Point! Hen! Point! Hen! Wash, repeat.
Gunner tracking a runner, I'm on him, swing a little wide and up comes the first rooster in this field that is in range. Bang! Guess what? Missed. Ah, but don't give up on me yet as this time I squeeze the trigger a second time and bag my booty! Gunner retrieves to hand and I swear he said "FINALLY!". That may have been my imagination. Not sure.
Only one shell in the gun, none in my vest now. I normally don't need to carry too many, but today was shaping up quite differently . . . and not in a good way! I decide to stop at the truck, water Gunner, and get two more shells. That's all I was shooting. Two more. If I connect, great, if not, shame on me!
Locked and loaded, back afield we go. No plan other than to follow Gunner.
We make the north side, no additional birds seen, but then turn into the wind. I'm feeling confident we'll find some success now. Gunner, however, isn't following my lead and swings back north. I stop, stand, wait, and wait.
I call him and he doesn't come. That's VERY odd. "BEEP, BEEP, BEEP". He's on point!
I sprint his way, see he's locked up, but I can't get anything to flush. I release him and he's quartering like crazy. Imagine the flow of water in a toilet as it flushes. That's how Gunner was working, narrowing in on the scent.
He makes the north edge and is now running in the chiseled corn field. At the NW corner he slams on point. I move in, notice there's very little cover/grass, but decide to "trust the dog!"
Good thing I did, as an early hatch rooster came up, nearly out maneuvering us. He flew out over the chiseled corn and I pop him with one shot. Gunner retrieves and I'm feeling my confidence return some.
Back to heading south, this time Gunner agreeing with me, and he's out front. Not one minute later he locks up, hard, and I know there's a bird there. No runner. Nothing but cake. Up off my boot comes another rooster, a late hatch, and another clean shot. Okay, my MOJO is back.
We exit the field, our limit in hand (I'd forgotten to count the one I wounded as I normally do), and Gunner is pointing birds. That's always fun.
I grab my phone from the truck to snap a picture, and the battery is dead. Figures. An odd, odd, day. Yet perseverance paid off.
A shot of my three kids after I'd returned home.
