Golden Hour
Well-known member
It’s Friday!! Tomorrow, it will be Saturday. Not just any Saturday, but the one I’ve had on the calendar since last February. The one that pops up in my Google search bar when I type “days until October 9th”. In truth, once I type in “da…”, the rest completes itself. What was once a couple hundred days is now down to 25 hours.
I don’t know where Sage and I will go to hunt. I don’t know what we’ll find. Will there be pheasants? Will there be other hunters? In truth, that doesn’t matter one single bit. Because I will be out there.
I am a lifelong South Dakota boy. I’ve shot enough pheasants to last a lifetime. I’ve seen a thousand sunsets but hope to see a thousand more. I can easily recall the autumn grasses brushing my hand as I follow Sage through the untamed. And I look forward to that feeling again. I know that the warm October days will turn into frigid January ones before I know it. And I will enjoy each of the days in that transition. I will shoot some young roosters and remark on the hatch. Time will progress and every rooster I shoot will be in full color, some with long spurs and longer tail feathers.
I remember the pre-season excitement of those days leading up to my first hunting season. Reading the handbook cover to cover. Knowing that I would be carrying a shotgun and following a dog in pursuit of the Chinese Ringneck Pheasant. At age 41, that excitement might even be greater today than it was for a young boy who had yet to shoot his first rooster.
I replay the remarkable retrieves and heart pounding flushes, the great shots and epic misses from years gone by in my mind. But they don’t occupy as much space in the grey matter as what the coming season will bring, what the coming hunts will reveal. I’ve watched my dog become more and more restless as doves, ducks and geese have gotten her amped up, but nothing will compare to that moment we step into the field chasing roosters. She knows what she’s looking for. No refresher course is needed. Everything she needs has been imprinted on her psyche and ingrained in her DNA. She’s ready to go. So am I. And it’s a feeling that never gets old.
I don’t know where Sage and I will go to hunt. I don’t know what we’ll find. Will there be pheasants? Will there be other hunters? In truth, that doesn’t matter one single bit. Because I will be out there.
I am a lifelong South Dakota boy. I’ve shot enough pheasants to last a lifetime. I’ve seen a thousand sunsets but hope to see a thousand more. I can easily recall the autumn grasses brushing my hand as I follow Sage through the untamed. And I look forward to that feeling again. I know that the warm October days will turn into frigid January ones before I know it. And I will enjoy each of the days in that transition. I will shoot some young roosters and remark on the hatch. Time will progress and every rooster I shoot will be in full color, some with long spurs and longer tail feathers.
I remember the pre-season excitement of those days leading up to my first hunting season. Reading the handbook cover to cover. Knowing that I would be carrying a shotgun and following a dog in pursuit of the Chinese Ringneck Pheasant. At age 41, that excitement might even be greater today than it was for a young boy who had yet to shoot his first rooster.
I replay the remarkable retrieves and heart pounding flushes, the great shots and epic misses from years gone by in my mind. But they don’t occupy as much space in the grey matter as what the coming season will bring, what the coming hunts will reveal. I’ve watched my dog become more and more restless as doves, ducks and geese have gotten her amped up, but nothing will compare to that moment we step into the field chasing roosters. She knows what she’s looking for. No refresher course is needed. Everything she needs has been imprinted on her psyche and ingrained in her DNA. She’s ready to go. So am I. And it’s a feeling that never gets old.
