A good season, not without its struggles

This last trip I was skunked on 2 bluebird days on public.limited out on a cold windy day.got 2 on a cold windy day.Hunted the heavy cover,lost 5 in cattails to Davy Jones.Scouted a big flock of snows, and thought about hunting them.Dumped mud in the parking area.Passed on several snipe and doves.Rubbed out a merganzer.
 
Chaser said:
Friday I got on a grouse and I just watched it go. There are so few around here in Pa that
shooting one seems wrong somehow. My Brittany Zoe didn't care. She knows there are pheasants around
and if I hold up my end she will get a mouthful of feathers. When l have a bad day shooting she sniffs my coat as if to say
'Where are the birds?" This is deep play that keeps a man ennervated.
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I passed on a few grouse last trip.Just didn't want to shoot them.
 
Bob Peters said:
"To my best recollection my first time ever pheasant hunting was December 2017 on the Vermillion Highlands WMA special late season." This is from the first page of my pheasant journal. In 2018 I hunted 3 days in Iowa but never got a bird. Didn't know what I was doing. Back to the journal, " 2019 This was my 1st year of getting after it all season." End of year notes "shot at 7, hit 0." Anyways, I finally figured it out a little bit, and got a rooster in 2020. You can definitely say it was hard won. This year has been good. Skye is almost 9. She hunts great, no formal training, but she can outfox a lot of roosters. She's always been a better birddog than I could handle. She holds up her end of the bargain more than I hold up mine. I hunted MN opener, a SD trip, and last week a 4 day trip to Iowa. Let me be honest, any time I can go Pheasant hunting, there's zero question, I GO. This usually is weekends, long weekends, or sometimes longer trips. I don't live in pheasant country, but God how I wish I did. I can't imagine getting off work, heading home, loading up the dog, and off we go to pheasant hunt. That is heaven, and I'm so glad for those that can. I would not turn that down one time in one thousand. I could go on in length on any state I've hunted. Minnesota, Iowa, South Dakota, there's so many special places I've seen. Any wild piece of prairie, grass as far as the eye can see, wetlands, shelterbelts, these places are more precious than gold. North Dakota I've only duck hunted, hopefully someday I'll get to chase roosters there. The Hi Line in Montana. One thing's for sure, and I'm happy about it, a blue collar guy like me will never get to walk or hunt every piece of bird cover in this country. There's always something great and new around every corner.

All that being said, it's been a good year, but a tough year too. I've had too many times parking the truck in the wrong spot. Too many times the dog put a rooster up in range of the gun and I've fanned in terrific manner. A leg drop rooster in SD I'll never forget, clearly hit hard, flying over a rise at sunset, not able to mark his landing, knowing he took a good dose of pellets. My stomach still turns at that one.

Filming hunts, watching tape where after all these years, I still make the mistake of not trusting the dog, or following quick enough, only to see roosters flush just out of range, due to my own fault. If I let myself down I can live with it, but when I let the dog down, well, it's tough to live with. My shooting was pretty good last year for me. This year I've seen my share of birds flush close only to fly away unscathed. Most guys go to SD and bang out a limit everyday. Me, a limit is never a given. Last Friday in Iowa I shot two but missed the limit bird 3 times. Three. Easy. Times. I know Skye already forgave me, but I'm not sure I could ever forgive myself. I know as long as Skye and Roxy ever want to go hunting I will take them and consider myself lucky to do so. Once they're gone I'm not sure I'll go again.

I know for sure pheasant hunting has changed my life. Bird dogs have changed my life. How can you walk a field, and see a good bird dog work, and think that your perception of the world has not been changed forever? I'll never forget Skye, as she figured it out, or rather as her instincts were awoke, running full steam through any cover in front of her, trying to catch that rooster. Her burst of energy in Iowa, sprinting full tilt through the crp, in SD, weaving through a shelter belt, in MN at uncle Jim's, emerging from the cattail slough with a bloody nose victorious, a rooster my buddy had scratched down with his third shell.

I am not near the hunter that most on here are. I'm a pretender. I give it my all but that usually isn't enough. Mostly I'm glad the dogs put up with me. I think they just love to run and hunt, so even if I only knock down a rooster a day, they're happy with that. Usually he is still blinking when they bring him back. Sometimes I wonder why I continue with it.

I do want to say that this site is a resource of knowledge. Lots of great members on here, lots of good advice. I can get opinionated, but I appreciate all the members, even those I've had differences of opinions with. I wish everyone a good rest of your season. Hopefully lots of birds in the bag, and more importantly happy dogs. I love all the fine guns, meals, beautiful scenery, but to me there's nothing better than a best buddy and happy dog at the end of the day.

All these thoughts crossed my mind recently at the end of a pheasant hunting trip where I found myself lacking in the area of birds bagged. I was looking for a place to hunt the golden hour, and possibly redeem myself. Instead I decided to stop at a lake to let the dogs out for dinner and a swim. Leave it to South Dakota, I don't think there'd of been a prettier place than one of the glacial lakes. Skye and Roxy agreed. They thoroughly enjoyed Lake Poinsett.
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Bob, you have hit on the two things that make hunting upland so addicting. It's not the birds that you kill, at least not for me. If that is what someone really is after they should just buy a bunch of chickens.

As you and others have said, its about watching a puppy develop into a great hunting dog and a companion. Additionally, for me it's about the friends you share hunting with and those who you introduce to hunting birds and watching them develop as hunters and stewards of the resource.

Lastly, for me it's a challenge both physically and mentally and although my body hates me....at times, hunting upland birds keeps my body and mind active and youngish.

I Love it!
 
Let a small covey of quail go today. My dog was confused. Then we flushed 2 roosters, knocked 1 and I went back to work.
 
The struggle continued, hunted all day. Skye's in great shape now, and runs well in the cold. First spots only hens. Third, a buck jumped from the prairie and ran away. Skye went wild, thought maybe she was smelling him. Into thick grass she sped like a strike ball from a scratch bowler. Faster than a lightning bolt two roosters ejected from the cover, a perfect 7-10 split. I was ready, the R to L bird caught my eye first, strange to have a very close bird crossing low at 90 degrees. You see, he was pinched against a hillside and a sea of dirt. I gave him both barrels and never cut a feather.

Next I called in my private land card, first time this season. Walking a piece of blue stem, two hens flushed at 80 yards. Shaped like a pizza 🍕 slice, as I got to the tip, Skye paused staring at the field edge, glanced at me, then back at the edge. No way a rooster held tight while the hens flew long ago. Yup. As earlier, pinched on a field edge, he crossed hard, L to R this time. A sight to see, resplendent plumage in late afternoon sun, I can still see it all in my memory. I ditched the stack barrel in favor of a repeater, magazine chock full of high velocity shells. No matter, 2 shots taken and off he flew to his cattail haven.

Other pheasants were seen, none presented shot opportunities.

Watching the dog laying near on the couch, I think, and remember her most of all. Paws played out from pounding prairie all day. Bloody mouth and muzzle at one point from a cattail puncture on her tongue tip. Feeling her feet flail against me and seeing her muzzle twitch. She's got to be reliving the hunt and dreaming of birds. We might be cut from the same cloth, her and I. Passing my hand along her flank I tell her she's a good dog and I'm lucky to hunt with her. She doesn't speak English but hope she understands. Seasons of birds, dogs and life pass swiftly. If my only remembrance is by Skye, looking back on our time hunting together, then I'll call it a life well lived.


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Bob Peters said:
The struggle continued, hunted all day. Skye's in great shape now, and runs well in the cold. First spots only hens. Third, a buck jumped from the prairie and ran away. Skye went wild, thought maybe she was smelling him. Into thick grass she sped like a strike ball from a scratch bowler. Faster than a lightning bolt two roosters ejected from the cover, a perfect 7-10 split. I was ready, the R to L bird caught my eye first, strange to have a very close bird crossing low at 90 degrees. You see, he was pinched against a hillside and a sea of dirt. I gave him both barrels and never cut a feather.

Next I called in my private land card, first time this season. Walking a piece of blue stem, two hens flushed at 80 yards. Shaped like a pizza 🍕 slice, as I got to the tip, Skye paused staring at the field edge, glanced at me, then back at the edge. No way a rooster held tight while the hens flew long ago. Yup. As earlier, pinched on a field edge, he crossed hard, L to R this time. A sight to see, resplendent plumage in late afternoon sun, I can still see it all in my memory. I ditched the stack barrel in favor of a repeater, magazine chock full of high velocity shells. No matter, 2 shots taken and off he flew to his cattail haven.

Other pheasants were seen, none presented shot opportunities.

Watching the dog laying near on the couch, I think, and remember her most of all. Paws played out from pounding prairie all day. Bloody mouth and muzzle at one point from a cattail puncture on her tongue tip. Feeling her feet flail against me and seeing her muzzle twitch. She's got to be reliving the hunt and dreaming of birds. We might be cut from the same cloth, her and I. Passing my hand along her flank I tell her she's a good dog and I'm lucky to hunt with her. She doesn't speak English but hope she understands. Seasons of birds, dogs and life pass swiftly. If my only remembrance is by Skye, looking back on our time hunting together, then I'll call it a life well lived.


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I've had some bad misses,and I've made some good shots recently as well,but my dogs are the ones to be rewarded.My 11 year old is still retrieving well.
 
I decided I better try a quick spot on the way home this morning before work. It's a late season hidey-hole that is overlooked. A couple roosters flushed and I got one. Nice way to cap off my tough weekend of hunting. Probably the biggest bird I've got this year. The dog was very happy. 20241202_110206.jpg
 
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