Road Runner
New member
Last Call
South Dakota November 2013
We pulled the truck into a game production area at about 4:00 pm. It was a little GPA, not more than a quarter section, not very promising looking, cover was thin and no crops had been planted on the place. It's an out of the way hunting spot, not close to anything else and there was little daylight left, no time to go somewhere else. We would hunt this last spot and then begin the 15 plus hour drive home.
Quietly out of the truck, shotguns loaded, all of the dogs out of the kennel, nobody left behind to rest this time. Brent headed to the south end of the place to hunt alone. Rob Matt and I started to the north. Low expectations of pheasants this was a down year after all, but we were in for a surprise. Two minutes into our walk the dogs flushed the first hen followed by three more, then the rooster off over on Rob's flank, boom barked his shotgun, down came the rooster. A quick retrieve and we were going again. A second rooster on Rob's side, one more shot, down he comes. A limit for Rob on the day, he unloaded and moved his son Matt over to the field edge where all the birds seem to be coming up. Flush after flush hen after hen we moved birds along the entire northern edge of the field.
The dogs were magnificent working together as bird hunting machines, noses down, tails wagging fast enough to propel them without any effort from their legs. Sadie flushed a hen left, Whitney one on the right, Boulder another up the middle. The field exploded, pheasant after pheasant after pheasant launched into the sky from nearly every clump of cover. Surprisingly no roosters were mixed in unless they were young and not very colored-up yet. Brent along the southern edge was doing well. I heard several reports from his gun advertising his success at finding some roosters.
After reaching the eastern edge of the field I decided to pull my two dogs off and hunt in a direction that would allow me some solitude. I wanted to watch my dogs run these birds without any interruption from my companions. I had that satisfied feeling that only comes with being physically tired but mentally recharged. The dogs pulled me over to a low spot in the field, sure they were trailing a bird, I prepared for the shot only to have a glorious whitetail buck flush from cover that would not hide a mouse. As the buck ran towards the west my eyes lifted to a sunset sky so full of color it spoke to my very soul.
Feeling the melancholy that comes with the end of any spectacular hunt, I reminisce about the dogs that I have hunted with in my life. Remembering each of my fallen companions that have blessed my life, I watch from memory flushes and retrieves from these wonderful dogs. Jarring me back to the present my two year old lab, Whitney, flushed a hen to my right. Both of my dogs are hot on scent, the trails diverge each dog going separate directions, I choose to follow the veteran Sadie. The truth be told Sadie is the only one that I can keep up with anyway. Fifty yards into the track, she fools an old long spurred rooster into the air. He is 30 yards out crossing away to my right, a few more yards and he will be safe from me. By instinct the shotgun hits my cheek, then my shoulder, slap the trigger, boom the rooster is falling. Sadie has the retrieve, she delivers to hand the last rooster of the trip. His ruby red chest feathers are ablaze in the last rays of a setting sun on the plains of South Dakota. I bow my head, to the God who created me, and give thanks.
South Dakota November 2013
We pulled the truck into a game production area at about 4:00 pm. It was a little GPA, not more than a quarter section, not very promising looking, cover was thin and no crops had been planted on the place. It's an out of the way hunting spot, not close to anything else and there was little daylight left, no time to go somewhere else. We would hunt this last spot and then begin the 15 plus hour drive home.
Quietly out of the truck, shotguns loaded, all of the dogs out of the kennel, nobody left behind to rest this time. Brent headed to the south end of the place to hunt alone. Rob Matt and I started to the north. Low expectations of pheasants this was a down year after all, but we were in for a surprise. Two minutes into our walk the dogs flushed the first hen followed by three more, then the rooster off over on Rob's flank, boom barked his shotgun, down came the rooster. A quick retrieve and we were going again. A second rooster on Rob's side, one more shot, down he comes. A limit for Rob on the day, he unloaded and moved his son Matt over to the field edge where all the birds seem to be coming up. Flush after flush hen after hen we moved birds along the entire northern edge of the field.
The dogs were magnificent working together as bird hunting machines, noses down, tails wagging fast enough to propel them without any effort from their legs. Sadie flushed a hen left, Whitney one on the right, Boulder another up the middle. The field exploded, pheasant after pheasant after pheasant launched into the sky from nearly every clump of cover. Surprisingly no roosters were mixed in unless they were young and not very colored-up yet. Brent along the southern edge was doing well. I heard several reports from his gun advertising his success at finding some roosters.
After reaching the eastern edge of the field I decided to pull my two dogs off and hunt in a direction that would allow me some solitude. I wanted to watch my dogs run these birds without any interruption from my companions. I had that satisfied feeling that only comes with being physically tired but mentally recharged. The dogs pulled me over to a low spot in the field, sure they were trailing a bird, I prepared for the shot only to have a glorious whitetail buck flush from cover that would not hide a mouse. As the buck ran towards the west my eyes lifted to a sunset sky so full of color it spoke to my very soul.
Feeling the melancholy that comes with the end of any spectacular hunt, I reminisce about the dogs that I have hunted with in my life. Remembering each of my fallen companions that have blessed my life, I watch from memory flushes and retrieves from these wonderful dogs. Jarring me back to the present my two year old lab, Whitney, flushed a hen to my right. Both of my dogs are hot on scent, the trails diverge each dog going separate directions, I choose to follow the veteran Sadie. The truth be told Sadie is the only one that I can keep up with anyway. Fifty yards into the track, she fools an old long spurred rooster into the air. He is 30 yards out crossing away to my right, a few more yards and he will be safe from me. By instinct the shotgun hits my cheek, then my shoulder, slap the trigger, boom the rooster is falling. Sadie has the retrieve, she delivers to hand the last rooster of the trip. His ruby red chest feathers are ablaze in the last rays of a setting sun on the plains of South Dakota. I bow my head, to the God who created me, and give thanks.
