Cackleburs
New member
With the season closing on Saturday the 10th, I knew I had to go out. Earlier in the week the weather forecasts had low temps and high winds, clouds and snow. My wife was going to hide the truck keys because of the conditions here in N. Iowa. But I had to go. Weather had stopped me the weekend before, but I had no choice now. My go-to Brit Bobbie will be 11 in March. Her days afield are numbered now and I feel it in my chest. I had one goal. To shoot one more rooster over her, for it could be her last. As it turned out on Fri. the weather gods granted a reprieve and the reports for Sat. dropped the winds and the clouds but kept the temps in the single digits. It was green to go! I had a 70 mile drive so I got up early and put Bob and my young Brit, Maggie in the travel crate and drove to meet up with my life-long buddy Rollie and his big yellow lab Deuce over in western Kossuth County. I threw in my new Christmas present, a pair of aluminum framed snowshoes. I'm in my mid-50's, and I knew this would be a rough day for man and beast, and it was. We started in a large public area that had a lots of ponds and cattails. The birds were there, but left before we got within 200 yrds. Spooky as I have ever seen birds. I took Bob out first and left Mag in the truck, and it was not Brittany friendly. Snow was deep and had a slight buried crust from a late Dec. rain. It was not enough to hold up Bob or a man on snowshoes. Slogging is the best word I can use.
Most of the drifts on the lee side of the cattails were waist deep... even with snowshoes on. Rollie had two good chances the first half hour, but missed both, which is so unlike him, but shooting off of snowshoes is a different ball game when it comes to balance and pivoting. I could see that Bob was fading fast, but her heart was making up for what her legs could not. I cut across a section to another smaller pond with cattails. Bob was on my right moving into a thin strip of cattails and I saw her go into her "cat" walk. That's when she creeps along in a flattened state, just before a point. I knew the birds weren't holding, so I tried to shuffle ahead to a small break in the cover and cut off the escape route, but before I got there a rooster burst out of the cattails behind me. Now under normal conditions it should have been a routine shot. I was in a drift and could only manage a partial turn, and I'm embarrassed to say I got off 3 shots from 1100 20 ga. but I don't think I was ever close. I wasn't upset that I had missed a bird, but I was heartbroken that it may have been my only chance, because we were running out of ground and I was running out of dog. We hunted to the far end of the property and got hen after hen up. I knew I had to get Bob back to the truck soon or I would have to carry her. I told Rollie I was going back the way we came and take Bobbie back along the big pond where we had hunted first, because the snow was thin on the ice. We came to the pond and I had to break a path through the drifted cattails with my snowshoes to get Bob to where the walking would be easy on her. I had about a quarter mile to go on the ice back to the truck. I'm not ashamed to say I was tearing up because it looked like I had failed at my mission. Then Bob turned and headed towards the cattails we had hunted on our first pass. Except now there was a 5' drift between her and the cattails. With all she had left she floundered in the snow and try as she could, she couldn't get through the crest. I snowshoed up to where I could get a hold of her collar and tried to pull her back. She would have none of it. When I would release her she would turn back and was trying vainly to swim through the drift to get to the back side. As last resort I pushed the butt end of my 1100 through the crust so it would stand and grabbed her by scruff of the neck and tail and with both hands and threw her over the crest of the drift towards the cattails. A hen then burst from right where she landed in cloud of snow and cattail debris. I hung my head and thought "Damn... all that effort for nothing." Bob righted herself and gamely continued into the cattails. I grabbed my gun and floundered back to my side with Bob on the other. It was risky, I hadn't turned on her beeper collar this day because of how spooky the birds were, and now I couldn't see her because of the snowdrift between her and me. I could though, hear the soft tinkle of the brass bell I had added in the morning as a back up. Then it stopped. And then with a glorious cackle the most beautiful rooster I know I have ever seen, burst up from behind the drift about 10 yds from me. Framed against the bluest, crispest, infinite January sky. The gun came up in one smooth well practiced move, a report sounded and he neatly folded over and fell twenty yards ahead of us without a sound and out of sight. I quickly shuffled parallel to where it fell, still on the south side of the drift, and yelling "Fetch Dead!". I could not see Bob, but I could hear her bell and see cattail tips vibrating as she plowed her way to the downed bird. Then silence again. I waited and yelled again... but nothing. Then five yards ahead of me a smaller drift parted and a horizontal rooster bird and a Brittany head came crashing through in a cloud of snow. She caught her footing and pranced towards me. I'd like to say she handed the rooster to me, but she dropped it at my feet and collapsed next to me panting. I threw down my gun and dropped to my knees and gathered up my best friend in my arms and hugged her and cried like a 4 yr old with a cut knee. I apologize to you all for the sentimentality of this report, but there are so few times in an outdoors-men's life afield when something is perfect in it's beauty. And that's what it was... perfect. I wish all of you a similar moment when your four footed hunting buddy pushes his or her last cover. I hope the same of me when I case my gun for the last time. Winter well my friends, and give your best friend an extra treat tonight and lett'm lay on the couch if the wife isn't home. CB out
Most of the drifts on the lee side of the cattails were waist deep... even with snowshoes on. Rollie had two good chances the first half hour, but missed both, which is so unlike him, but shooting off of snowshoes is a different ball game when it comes to balance and pivoting. I could see that Bob was fading fast, but her heart was making up for what her legs could not. I cut across a section to another smaller pond with cattails. Bob was on my right moving into a thin strip of cattails and I saw her go into her "cat" walk. That's when she creeps along in a flattened state, just before a point. I knew the birds weren't holding, so I tried to shuffle ahead to a small break in the cover and cut off the escape route, but before I got there a rooster burst out of the cattails behind me. Now under normal conditions it should have been a routine shot. I was in a drift and could only manage a partial turn, and I'm embarrassed to say I got off 3 shots from 1100 20 ga. but I don't think I was ever close. I wasn't upset that I had missed a bird, but I was heartbroken that it may have been my only chance, because we were running out of ground and I was running out of dog. We hunted to the far end of the property and got hen after hen up. I knew I had to get Bob back to the truck soon or I would have to carry her. I told Rollie I was going back the way we came and take Bobbie back along the big pond where we had hunted first, because the snow was thin on the ice. We came to the pond and I had to break a path through the drifted cattails with my snowshoes to get Bob to where the walking would be easy on her. I had about a quarter mile to go on the ice back to the truck. I'm not ashamed to say I was tearing up because it looked like I had failed at my mission. Then Bob turned and headed towards the cattails we had hunted on our first pass. Except now there was a 5' drift between her and the cattails. With all she had left she floundered in the snow and try as she could, she couldn't get through the crest. I snowshoed up to where I could get a hold of her collar and tried to pull her back. She would have none of it. When I would release her she would turn back and was trying vainly to swim through the drift to get to the back side. As last resort I pushed the butt end of my 1100 through the crust so it would stand and grabbed her by scruff of the neck and tail and with both hands and threw her over the crest of the drift towards the cattails. A hen then burst from right where she landed in cloud of snow and cattail debris. I hung my head and thought "Damn... all that effort for nothing." Bob righted herself and gamely continued into the cattails. I grabbed my gun and floundered back to my side with Bob on the other. It was risky, I hadn't turned on her beeper collar this day because of how spooky the birds were, and now I couldn't see her because of the snowdrift between her and me. I could though, hear the soft tinkle of the brass bell I had added in the morning as a back up. Then it stopped. And then with a glorious cackle the most beautiful rooster I know I have ever seen, burst up from behind the drift about 10 yds from me. Framed against the bluest, crispest, infinite January sky. The gun came up in one smooth well practiced move, a report sounded and he neatly folded over and fell twenty yards ahead of us without a sound and out of sight. I quickly shuffled parallel to where it fell, still on the south side of the drift, and yelling "Fetch Dead!". I could not see Bob, but I could hear her bell and see cattail tips vibrating as she plowed her way to the downed bird. Then silence again. I waited and yelled again... but nothing. Then five yards ahead of me a smaller drift parted and a horizontal rooster bird and a Brittany head came crashing through in a cloud of snow. She caught her footing and pranced towards me. I'd like to say she handed the rooster to me, but she dropped it at my feet and collapsed next to me panting. I threw down my gun and dropped to my knees and gathered up my best friend in my arms and hugged her and cried like a 4 yr old with a cut knee. I apologize to you all for the sentimentality of this report, but there are so few times in an outdoors-men's life afield when something is perfect in it's beauty. And that's what it was... perfect. I wish all of you a similar moment when your four footed hunting buddy pushes his or her last cover. I hope the same of me when I case my gun for the last time. Winter well my friends, and give your best friend an extra treat tonight and lett'm lay on the couch if the wife isn't home. CB out
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