My Best Hunting Story

S

sdduckguy

New member
As a new member I thought I'd start a thread during this slow time of year about writing hunting stories. I'm not much of a writer at all but a few of years ago I wrote an email to send to a couple of my buddys about a days hunt. When I reread it I was kind of impressed with what I had crafted. If anyone else has something you've written in the past on your HDD why don't you post it.

Here's mine:

I hunted yesterday and I did pretty good I think, I got one wily rooster bird! And had a marvelous time!
I had a birthday party for my brother-in-law today and left the party at about 2 PM, by 4 Pm I was at Mitchell, the Pheasant capital of the world (or, one of them....I understand there's quite a few Pheasant Capitals...almost as many as there are Walleye Capitals). One of the things I love about SD, in 1 hour at 75 mph I was in Mitchell. First I went to a 60 acre area and as I finished loading my double barrel muzzleloading shotgun a truck with 3 guys and a dog got out and asked if I wanted to hunt with them. We made a wide sweep thru the place, it was all grass of various types. The dog couldn't find anything. When we got 3/4 of the way around I decided to hold back and let them finish without me. I sat in the grass and enjoyed the sun till they left then I leisurely walked through a small grove of trees and put up first a hen then a wily rooster bird... I missed clean with both barrels at 25 yards. Oh well.
Then I went to a larger area a few miles away. It is a state waterfowl production area with a really nice slough...no ducks today but a bunch of Cormorants... I walked the grass for awhile and bumped a couple of hens, then I got to the border of the state land and the adjoining landowner had his ground in corn. Boy oh boy I thought this'll be good here on the edge. I walked it quite aways and nothing. There was about an hour of day left and the sun was low. I started back towards the car and behind me, out of the corner of my eye, I saw 10-15 birds leaving the corn back to the thicker cattail cover by the swamp. I followed and flushed two hens and then a rooster from at my feet...he cackled like crazy. I again shot both barrels and didn't raise a feather...Rooster Fever, drat! bummer!
Then as I walked back to the car I redeemed myself... a fat and sassy rooster flushed and I folded it with the first barrel in a cloud of feathers...just like it's supposed to work. Yipppeee! As an anticlimax when I got back to the car I flushed 5-6 birds within 30 yards of the car but it was too dark to shoot...
All in all a great outing... brings back why I love this stuff so much. The feel of the sun on my face, watching the guys dog work, the smell of the swamp when I got close to the water and stepped in the mud. The adrenaline rush of the flushes, even when I missed. Also the anticipation when you start walking a piece or when you get to some cover that looks particularly promising. Enjoying a cup of coffee from my thermos at the car at the end and watching twilight turn into night..hearing the cormorants with their weird calls from their roosting tree. But someone help me out here...why did my boots that weighed 20 oz at the start of the day end up feeling like 10 pounds each at the end?
But all things considered I did good. Three hours of actual hunting time by a fat guy armed with a gun circa 1870's (further handicapped with steel shot, in inefficient wads, for my black powder shotgun) And to top it all off, if I could have shot straight like I did at one time I should have had my 3 bird limit. Not bad at all! I think I need to figure out a way to get some trap or skeet in. Although that's hard with a muzzleloader because it takes so long to load between shots.
That's all folks from a happy and tired Bill
 
Great story Bill!

I really enjoy reading personal anecdotes of days in the field. Anyone can say "Had a great day... Got my limit", but if you love to stalk Ringnecks, you know it only takes one bird to make your day. The details, not the bird count, tell the story and that's what I enjoyed about your story.

JMB :)
 
A rare "do-over" - thank-you.

Thanks for the great story Bill - I enjoyed it. Got me thinking so I dug through my old posts on a local (Nova Scotian) hunting site after Ruby and I got our first pheasant last fall.

I had a rare second chance today - something that doesn't come along often in life. Yesterday I took my nearly 2 year old lab out for only her third pheasant hunt. She flushed a hen right away and got pretty excited - I could see that she was getting that "selective hearing" that labs get when there's something going on that's even MORE appealing that the cookies in Daddy's pocket. I brought her in and calmed her down a bit, but right away she got on another fresh scent and was GONE down the ditch. No amount of whistling or calling her could turn her, and she flushed a big cock pheasant at about 60 yards. I dropped to the ground in the hopes that it might fly my way (not exactly the graceful sportsman, but I WANT one so bad!), but no luck. Anyhow, she was off like a shot after him, and this time came back to the whistle. I was focussed on getting my temper under control (no point scolding her now - she most recently did what I commanded) and digging out a cookie to reward her for the "good come" when she flushed another cock from the field on her way back. This one again out of range, and not really anyone's fault. I calmed her a bit and we got back under way, working hard on keeping her in range. On the way back we had the wind behind us, which was kind of good since she tended to pass scent and then work it back towards me, so when she flushed another nice cock it was within range. I was hunting with a new shotgun, with a safety for right-handed shooters. SInce I shoot left I have to reach around to push the safety off. Anyhow, I fumbled with that for only a second, but that's all it took for the bird to get under way, and he didn't flinch at my frustrated shots. Anyhow, the first thing I did when I got home was to order the left-hand trigger assembly for my new gun. The second thing I did was piss the afternoon away shopping for training collars. In the end, I calmed down enough and put the VISA away - no shock collar ordered. In the evening I worked with some grouse wings, letting her get on the scent and the steadying her as we worked towards them, keeping her in range. A few times and she was working very well, but I was skeptical how she'd do on a hot pheasant scent.

This morning, I didn't really have time to go hunting, but I'd been thinking about it all night, so I went again for a few hours, same spot. We started along through the frosty grass, not a breath of wind. At the same spot as the day before, the tail started going again. This time she steadied for me until I could catch up, and then we went forward together. I was thrilled to see her check back periodically to see where I was, and to stop on my whistle with a bit of verbal encouragment. I saw the grasses going as the bird ran down the edge of the ditch and so did she, but I was well in range so I let her go. I had no idea they (pheasants) could run so fast!!! By the time she was on it she was 30 yards away, and he flushed straight away, with her right on his tail. I couldn't shoot until the bird was higher, by which time he was too far to bother. Still, I considered the day a success and called her back for serious praise. Not 30 seconds later she stopped and "pointed" (maybe just a co-incidence that she stopped that way) and then charged into a tuft of long grass just on the edge of the ditch - out came a lovely big cock, flat broadside at 15 yards. I took him and she retrieved for me. To say that we celebrated enthusiastically would be an understatment. All I can say is that I'm glad that no-one was around to witness the spectacle that I made of myself praising her for her work. This was a first pheasant for either one of us, and I will always remember it.
So I give thanks. I'm not a religious man, so I give thanks to the land owners kind enough to leave their fields unposted and ungated and to my fellow hunters who don't abuse (and thereby spoil) this generosity. I also give thanks to you folks, for posting your observations and advice, and for responding to questions, providing a wealth of information and encouragement to help hunters have experiences like I had today.
 
Another great story Crockett. There's nothing like hunting alone with your 4-legged companion and the pride you feel when your canine partner serves up the perfect point or flush, then ices the cake when it brings the bird back and drops it at your feet. Can it get any better than that? :)
 
Thanks JMZ - you're SO right about how great it is! I like hunting with others too, but I sometimes find that it distracts a bit from the enjoyment of watching/working with the dog. Maybe I just gotta find a hunting buddy who's a bit less chatty! lol
 
Learning about dogs and pheasants - something I wrote last season.

Last week a new hunting buddy took me to a spot where he knows some pheasants on a first-name basis. My young lab got on some scent right away, and worked a tuft of grass no bigger than a large armchair for at least 5 minutes. Eventually, I figured it was residual scent from a pheasant that was gone, so we moved on even though she was still REALLY sniffing and wagging. I was sure there was NO WAY a pheasant could hold out that long in such small structure with a dog right on him. Mistake. We got 25 yards away and I expected her to follow. Just as I was about to whistle for her up came two nice roosters, both of which we missed. When I made my notes that evening, where I alway finish with what I learned that day, I wrote: "TRUST THE DOG, stay close to her when she's on a scent." and "pheasants will hold for a LONG time if there is enough snow/cover that they can elude the dog, MUCH longer than I would have thought".
Saturday I went to another spot where I have seen pheasant on every trip, and were we got our first-ever rooster a few weeks ago (my previous story-post). I was worried to see two huge bald eagles in a tree right smack-dab in the middle of the ditch where all the pheasant have come from, but hunted it anyways since it was too late to go elsewhere. Snow had drifted in to fill the ditch, and the dog didn't pick up any fresh scent. We covered some new groud for a long way along the river until we hit a fence and then turned around for the long slog back to the car. We walked back along a different hedgerow, and still found no scent. The dog ran after a few songbirds that were in the hedgerow and "flushed" them, coming back all proud as if they were pheasants. I didn't discipline her, since she'd come back to the whislte, but I didn't encourage it either of course. Anyhow, as we got back I had to go back to my "hotspot" hedgerow to get across the creek, and she got onto some scent. The songbirds were in some low brush where we had flushed the bird that we got a few weeks ago. She ran over and they flew away but she kept sniffing, diving her head into the snow at the base of the bushes, tail going like mad. Even though I thought she might be smelling the songbirds, I remember my lesson from the week before and got close to her and encouraged her to hunt him up. No kidding, she was at if for a full 5 minutes, and I was sweaty and starting to get cold. Eventually she had her head fully at the bottom of the ditch and all I could see was her bum and tail sticking out of the snow, still wagging like a crazed helicopter, but I waited her out. Then I heard a bit of a scramble and saw the snow-laden grass moving just to my right, about a foot from my barrel! I got ready and reminded myself to let the bird climb a bit for the dog's safety and to not turn it into pheasant-burger. Lucky I made this decision, because it was a big fat hen! I rewarded her intensely for her good work and we headed home with nothing for the pot but satisfied with a successful day! Trust.
 
Crockett... It sounds like you've got a bad case of Ringneck Fever and the only prescription is a Rooster rising out of the grass on a frosty October morning.

There's only 2 things I know for certain about pheasant hunting: 1) ALWAYS trust your dog's nose. 2) Most wild birds will outsmart you so be content to bag the few that don't.

Sounds like you've learned the same lessons. :)

JMB
 
John, I agree with your 1-2 statement. And to that end on #2 I have no problem with rooster's "rising" out of the grass. It's the ones that EXPLODE out of the cover cackling all the way saying "You can hit a bull in the A%^&* with a banjo". And....those ones are usually correct.

That's what keeps me coming back. Just like in Tin Cup "Give me another ball, I can make that shot". I think it's time for another classic JMBZ71 movie post.

Chris
 
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This is as good as time as any for my first post, and what a good topic. Lots of good stories so far!

Went out on Thanksgiving Day for a little ringneck hunting with my old man. It's always been a tradition for us, and there are some usual occurances. Typically, we'll roll into the woods a good half hour or so before sunrise and run into a rooster strolling the middle of the road. Like clockwork, I spotted one just standing there. Since these are farm raised birds for the most part they can be pretty dumb before the shooting starts, so it's not a rare situation here. Got to our usual spot and started out. We walked around some swamp and pushed a field without seeing anything. As we pushed through the woods to our next field, I heard a shot and turned around to see a beautiful ringneck taking flight. I got off a shot from my 12 guage and missed; he started running as he landed. Took my second shot and hit him in the leg. He hopped up with his wings and crossed the road before settling into a bush. We must have walked over him a few times before finally finding him. Success!

We started walking down a path when my Dad told me, "Keep your eyes on the sides of the road. They'll either be sitting on the sides, or crossing the road, but they won't be sitting in the middle of the road." In an act of sheer contradiction, we rounded the bend to see a rooster just sitting in the middle of the road! I got off 3 shots, missing of course, and watched as he flew away into the brush. Needless to say, we have incorporated that saying into our routine as we walk down paths hoping to see one just waiting for us. Murphy's law, I guess!
 
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