Road Runner
New member
As another pheasants season winds down I sit at a warm computer and reminisce. I have been hunting pheasants for a little over 25 years now. I remember the first rooster like it was yesterday. Dad handed me his 16 gauge shotgun it was an old Winchester that had the exposed hammer. He said we were more likely to see a jack rabbit than any pheasants on the sage brush flat, where we were hunting. Sandy our golden retriever was out in front working the cover like a pro. We pushed towards a gulley with steep sides and about a six foot drop into the bottom. The cover was thin and any pheasants that might have been there would be running like crazy. The edge of the gully was the only obstacle that caused my rooster to fly. He was out there quite a ways, a shot I was sure to miss, but everybody gets lucky once and down he went.
The rooster fell on the other side of the gulley, and man was he a track star, off he ran. It took some time, we managed to get across the trench, but his trail had gone cold. Sandy searched and searched, I was sure he was lost. Jubilation turned to disappointment and sorrow at the thought of wounding him to die and not being able to take him home. We walked on towards another gulley 500 yards down the field. Sandy got birdie, we followed her, tail wagging, excitement building. Off to the right, straight ahead again to the left. We reached the second gulley another steep bank, and a huge pile of tumbleweeds in the bottom. Sandy barked from the top of the bank at the tumbleweeds. My younger cousin, Rob, got into the gulley and at the bottom of the pile, my rooster sat. Rob fetched him to hand like the best of retrievers and I held my first rooster pheasant.
Little did I know at the time what kind of passion for upland game hunting that hunt would spark in me. I have trained dogs, travelled all over the country to hunt birds, and made some of the best friends imaginable through this sport that I love. As I have gotten older the hunt has evolved for me. I still love to follow my dogs in chase of an old wily rooster, but I remember more and more the moments spent on the back porch with a farmer friend. I took for granted hunting with my father, but now due to his failing health we will never get to share a field together again. I have more than one dog that can only hunt with me in my memories now, each one magnificent in their own way.
As I am currently teaching my son how to hunt pheasants and we are still in search of his first rooster, I wonder if it will have the same impact on him. Will the experience spark a fire that will take him on adventure after adventure? What memories will he cherish 25-30 years from now? Will he even have the opportunities to chase wild pheasants, anywhere in this country, with the quality that I have been privileged to enjoy? Time will tell, but I know, I will not take for granted the time that we share while in pursuit of his first rooster.
The rooster fell on the other side of the gulley, and man was he a track star, off he ran. It took some time, we managed to get across the trench, but his trail had gone cold. Sandy searched and searched, I was sure he was lost. Jubilation turned to disappointment and sorrow at the thought of wounding him to die and not being able to take him home. We walked on towards another gulley 500 yards down the field. Sandy got birdie, we followed her, tail wagging, excitement building. Off to the right, straight ahead again to the left. We reached the second gulley another steep bank, and a huge pile of tumbleweeds in the bottom. Sandy barked from the top of the bank at the tumbleweeds. My younger cousin, Rob, got into the gulley and at the bottom of the pile, my rooster sat. Rob fetched him to hand like the best of retrievers and I held my first rooster pheasant.
Little did I know at the time what kind of passion for upland game hunting that hunt would spark in me. I have trained dogs, travelled all over the country to hunt birds, and made some of the best friends imaginable through this sport that I love. As I have gotten older the hunt has evolved for me. I still love to follow my dogs in chase of an old wily rooster, but I remember more and more the moments spent on the back porch with a farmer friend. I took for granted hunting with my father, but now due to his failing health we will never get to share a field together again. I have more than one dog that can only hunt with me in my memories now, each one magnificent in their own way.
As I am currently teaching my son how to hunt pheasants and we are still in search of his first rooster, I wonder if it will have the same impact on him. Will the experience spark a fire that will take him on adventure after adventure? What memories will he cherish 25-30 years from now? Will he even have the opportunities to chase wild pheasants, anywhere in this country, with the quality that I have been privileged to enjoy? Time will tell, but I know, I will not take for granted the time that we share while in pursuit of his first rooster.
