Take a step back and realize what you've got

B

Bob Peters

Well-known member
I don't know where to start. I've been pheasant hunting about 5 years seriously. I didn't grow up hunting, my dad sold all his guns when he went to college. My grandpas both hunted but it was mostly before I was alive. I'm sure they had it great. On my dad's side Grandpa grew up on a farm, they grew corn and sorghum. His mom would tell him to go and get some pheasants for dinner, and he would. On my moms side, I'm still lucky enough to be able to hunt some of the land she grew up on. Her dad and uncles would go out and hunt up a pile of birds. By the time I ever toted a shotgun one had passed the other was very old. If either were still around I would drive to their house tomorrow and ask them about hunting, to hear their stories of the old days. Where they hunted, what they saw, how they cooked their birds, all of it. Things are so quickly forgotten or swept away by the passing of time. Talking to my uncle he told me that his dad(my grandpa) would just raise the gun so fast and the bird would fall down. I'm not bragging on my grandpa as a sharpshooter, because I wasn't there, but I love to hear these old stories. And my uncle would tell me how the old timers in his day would say how many birds there were. Those dirty fields, ditches, waterways and wetlands were lousy with roosters. The classic stories of walking into a cover and having pheasants blacken the sky. How much is hyperbole and how much is truth I don't know. I feel lucky that my uncle lets me hunt his ground, and that he does his best to make good cover for wildlife. He has 80 acres on which he lives. Slough and CRP grass. He does burns, sprays buckthorn, plants a food plot or two. He traps off and on to thin the predators. When I first got in to pheasant hunting he took me out and I'll never forget him yelling, "ROOSTER, SHOOT SHOOT SHOOT!" I missed that bird, but sometimes it's the experience that means more than anything. At least I can say I got out with his black lab the next year and managed to knock one down that his dog retrieved for me. I'll never forget that. She's too old to hunt now, but is still getting along and I love to see her every time I hunt there.

I know at this point I could write a novel. Sometimes I just can't believe I ever got into this. Living in the suburbs, if it weren't for a bunch of happenstance I'd of never had the luck and honor of shooting a wild rooster. I started shooting clays, invited myself along on a duck hunt, and things grew from there. The first entries in my pheasant journal I walked some crp without a dog. Then I kinda invited myself along with a buddy on a pheasant hunt. After that Skye came into my life and it would never be the same. I'll never forget how I took her out hunting, and she was ABSOLUTELY clueless. That being said, I was too. The dog learned at a rate exponentially quicker than I ever could. She learned from the birds, and then taught me how to hunt. It's amazing how a dog getting a late start at 3, takes to it quicker than a human. She's taught me more than anyone else ever could.

I don't mean to be preaching to the choir here. But if you're blessed with being a fellow bird hunter with good opportunities, don't ever take that for granted. Take your kids, other peoples kids, or just other people in general out hunting. I think so often of how easily I could've missed this greatest of outdoor pursuits. On my dad's side it's a very large family, and I can't name one of my cousins who bird hunts. On my mom's side I don't think any of my uncle's grandsons have an interest in hunting. Perhaps I have personal bias here. I've been an avid angler my whole life. Caught walleye over 11 lbs. black bass tipping the scales around 10lbs. and brown trout over 5 lbs. conservatively. As wonderful as all that has been, nothing comes close to working hand in paw with a good bird dog to corner a cagey wild rooster, get him to flush, knock him down and after a great retrieve place him in the game bag. Pheasant hunting is a wonder indescribable with words, but I hope we can carry it forward to the generations that rise before and come after us. This is a great website and I'm thankful for all the knowledge I've gained from the members here. I try to get better every time I hunt, some for me, and mostly for my dog. Please allow me to post a picture.
 

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I retired 5 years ago and am living the dream....enjoying each morning hunting with the dog.
Yesterday I whiffed on a rooster the dog pinned down at the creek edge, but the dog had fun!

The sights I see amaze me.
Yesterday I was within 10 meters of 3 otters for a minute or 2, saw hundreds of geese and swans flying overhead,
and saw the biggest red fox I've ever seen.

Plus a great crisp morning of good exercise.
Because of the exercise involved (I put in 6 miles, the dog probably 3 times that) my healthy lifespan has likely been extended.
I'm 68 years old and hope to continue as long as possible.
 
Good words, especially during the Holiday season, to make time to appreciate what and who we have more than ever, to remind ourselves to cherish it all year round.

I'm 49 years old, grew up hunting, fishing, listening, learning from my 2 grandfathers and my father.
I lost one of those grandfathers to cancer when I was 8, he was in his mid 50s. I lost my father to cancer when I was 23, he was in his late 50s. 3 months after my dad passed, I lost my other grandfather, he was in his mid 90s. None of them ever got to see me "grow up" and build a career and a life. I still hunt with a gun of each of theirs' at least once a year for them.

In my career, I've seen tragedy at its randomness and it's fallout. I've shown up at more doors with a chaplain than I care to recount.

The time outdoors, especially when it is just me and the dogs I've had through the years, is my peace. I often find myself daydreaming a bit about the past......

Don't ever take anything for granted, it can all be gone in the blink of eye.
 
Bob Peters said:
I don't know where to start. I've been pheasant hunting about 5 years seriously. I didn't grow up hunting, my dad sold all his guns when he went to college. My grandpas both hunted but it was mostly before I was alive. I'm sure they had it great. On my dad's side Grandpa grew up on a farm, they grew corn and sorghum. His mom would tell him to go and get some pheasants for dinner, and he would. On my moms side, I'm still lucky enough to be able to hunt some of the land she grew up on. Her dad and uncles would go out and hunt up a pile of birds. By the time I ever toted a shotgun one had passed the other was very old. If either were still around I would drive to their house tomorrow and ask them about hunting, to hear their stories of the old days. Where they hunted, what they saw, how they cooked their birds, all of it. Things are so quickly forgotten or swept away by the passing of time. Talking to my uncle he told me that his dad(my grandpa) would just raise the gun so fast and the bird would fall down. I'm not bragging on my grandpa as a sharpshooter, because I wasn't there, but I love to hear these old stories. And my uncle would tell me how the old timers in his day would say how many birds there were. Those dirty fields, ditches, waterways and wetlands were lousy with roosters. The classic stories of walking into a cover and having pheasants blacken the sky. How much is hyperbole and how much is truth I don't know. I feel lucky that my uncle lets me hunt his ground, and that he does his best to make good cover for wildlife. He has 80 acres on which he lives. Slough and CRP grass. He does burns, sprays buckthorn, plants a food plot or two. He traps off and on to thin the predators. When I first got in to pheasant hunting he took me out and I'll never forget him yelling, "ROOSTER, SHOOT SHOOT SHOOT!" I missed that bird, but sometimes it's the experience that means more than anything. At least I can say I got out with his black lab the next year and managed to knock one down that his dog retrieved for me. I'll never forget that. She's too old to hunt now, but is still getting along and I love to see her every time I hunt there.

I know at this point I could write a novel. Sometimes I just can't believe I ever got into this. Living in the suburbs, if it weren't for a bunch of happenstance I'd of never had the luck and honor of shooting a wild rooster. I started shooting clays, invited myself along on a duck hunt, and things grew from there. The first entries in my pheasant journal I walked some crp without a dog. Then I kinda invited myself along with a buddy on a pheasant hunt. After that Skye came into my life and it would never be the same. I'll never forget how I took her out hunting, and she was ABSOLUTELY clueless. That being said, I was too. The dog learned at a rate exponentially quicker than I ever could. She learned from the birds, and then taught me how to hunt. It's amazing how a dog getting a late start at 3, takes to it quicker than a human. She's taught me more than anyone else ever could.

I don't mean to be preaching to the choir here. But if you're blessed with being a fellow bird hunter with good opportunities, don't ever take that for granted. Take your kids, other peoples kids, or just other people in general out hunting. I think so often of how easily I could've missed this greatest of outdoor pursuits. On my dad's side it's a very large family, and I can't name one of my cousins who bird hunts. On my mom's side I don't think any of my uncle's grandsons have an interest in hunting. Perhaps I have personal bias here. I've been an avid angler my whole life. Caught walleye over 11 lbs. black bass tipping the scales around 10lbs. and brown trout over 5 lbs. conservatively. As wonderful as all that has been, nothing comes close to working hand in paw with a good bird dog to corner a cagey wild rooster, get him to flush, knock him down and after a great retrieve place him in the game bag. Pheasant hunting is a wonder indescribable with words, but I hope we can carry it forward to the generations that rise before and come after us. This is a great website and I'm thankful for all the knowledge I've gained from the members here. I try to get better every time I hunt, some for me, and mostly for my dog. Please allow me to post a picture.
Click to expand...
If you do write a book, I'll take a copy.
 
I definitely took for granted the great hunting opportunities I had to hunt when I first started 26 years ago. I just tagged along with my Grandfather and Uncle toting a shotgun because they let me when I was 16.

Things changed and if I wanted to continue hunting as an adult, I had to take matters into my own hands doing all the leg work. It made me realize how much time and energy they put in to making it happen when I had to start doing it myself. That was a real eye opener.

I'm glad I did though. And I'm not taking it for granted either.
 
AKSkeeter said:
I retired 5 years ago and am living the dream....enjoying each morning hunting with the dog.
Yesterday I whiffed on a rooster the dog pinned down at the creek edge, but the dog had fun!

The sights I see amaze me.
Yesterday I was within 10 meters of 3 otters for a minute or 2, saw hundreds of geese and swans flying overhead,
and saw the biggest red fox I've ever seen.

Plus a great crisp morning of good exercise.
Because of the exercise involved (I put in 6 miles, the dog probably 3 times that) my healthy lifespan has likely been extended.
I'm 68 years old and hope to continue as long as possible.
Click to expand...
Over 62 and still busting brush.
 
My dad use to hunt when I was I little I was to young to go along. There were five of us and were all into sports. His hunting stopped. Every few years we might go hunting on my mom’s side over Christmas break. I never killed anything.
When I got out of school and was in my mid 20s me and a couple of buddies started hunting again. I got my first dog the same year as the Kansas walk-in program came out. We were upland hunters. Walk-in and we each had a few spots of private we could get on .
My first dog died at seven. I had a daughter of my own and had already started the switch to becoming a waterfowl hunter. My second dog was a waterfowl dog.
About 15 years ago I was starting another dog and had grown tired of the waterfowl scene so I switched back to upland. I live and breathe it now.
In 2018 my dad was sick and wanted to go out west and see the home place and say good by to his high school best friend. At that time Roo one of the dogs I have now was about seven months old. I brought her along. My dad wanted to see her hunt so my brother Idled around with my dad following me and Roo. I dropped Roos first pheasant in the ditch in front of that truck , Roo retrieved it. My Dad saw the whole thing.
We then went over to see his friend who actually owned part of the farm that my dad was raised on and started talking hunting. He said I was welcome anytime. It’s weird that I never hunted it before. My dad died the next year. I hunted that part of the farm for a couple of years and then his friend got sick and I stopped hunting it. He died last year.

The other part of the farm stayed in the family until last year. Another farmer that has been farming it ended up buying it I have an open invitation to hunt it for now. He’s getting up there in age so who knows for how long.
I share a birthday with my mom it was a couple of weeks ago. I try to go it there and hunt and visit graves. I I ended up in Nebraska that weekend so I went today instead.
The farm really isn’t the best habitat and has gone down hill but I always seem to scratch out a few.( the roosters were shot on it) Old Irish luck I guess.
It’s a little sad thinking about it, but 150 years after we homesteaded I am most likely going to be the last OBrien to ever hunt it.

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I love that story BrownDog, sad but sweet. I hunt a few private spots that are marginal, mostly cattails and low marshy ground that would be okay for hay but not crops. But it's near where my great grandfather and grandfather farmed and lived. There's something special in scratching out a bird in a place like that. When I'm hunting that area I am flooded with memories of and questions about the past.
 
Man you guys are going to get me all jammed up reading these memories…

My dad and his brother were old upland guys. They raised and trained English Pointers and hunted out of old station wagons. Prairie chickens in South east Kansas, a couple pheasant trips out west to pheasant hunt then weekly quail trips to round out the years. He had a lot of contacts and there were a lot of birds. I was finally allowed to go out west with his crew when I was twelve… He died when I was 18. I did a couple trips with them after he was gone but my heart wasn’t in it. I spent my twenties partying and chasing money, I didn’t hunt again until I was probably thirty. I met a friend that had access to good land in Iowa and I was hooked. There were years there I went nearly every weekend. I had always heard my dad talk about South Dakota and the clouds of pheasants during the soil bank days, so twenty years ago or so I made my first trip. I saw things up there I didn’t know existed. I have done my best to keep my sons engaged but they are experiencing the same factors I did at their age. I do make sure we do at least one trip a year and a couple day trips now there are some quail again up on the family grounds I have access to. I look forward to every trip.
 
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I hear what you’re saying.

71 year old dad and 17 year old nephew today. Now we are halfway through our 10 hour drive home.
 
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I started walking with my dad when I was 5, I remember all the railroad tracks we would walk back when no one cared it you were doing it. By the time I was 12 and able to take a shotgun with, I was well seasoned from all the walks I went on with my dad. Shortly after that when I was 13 is when we made our first trip to SD. 30 years later and I am still carrying on the tradition my dad and uncle started back when I was 13. Yearly trips to SD for hunting, what started as a family trip with my dad, uncle and brother has now turned into a yearly trip with good friends that share the same passion. I wish 11 years ago I would have known that my dad was going to pass away that next summer to cancer and never get to go back to SD, I would have made a extra trip with him. Either way the experiences and memories I have from those years of hunting in MN and SD with him will be with me till the day I die. I still go and visit my dad yearly as we spread his ashes in SD in some of his favorite spots. Last year while I was visiting my dad and doing some scouting, I came upon a field that we had hunted probably 100 times, it was a private field that my dad had gotten permission to hunt years ago from the farmer. I noticed people standing next to trucks out in the field, so my friend and I went to investigate, we got out there and found out that the old farmer had passed away that summer and they were there to spread his ashes in the field. We shared some good stories about his dad and mine and all the times we were invited in for coffee and pie when we would stop out to see them. There is just something about homemade pie and coffee from the farmer's wife that just can't be beat!! These are just some of the memories I have along with thousands of others that like most you, you just can't dream them up, they have to be experienced and that is why I will never give up my time in the field.
 
I had a bunch of family stuff last weekend. The good news is I got out hunting for 2 hours late in the day Sunday. The last spot was marginal private ground. I parked the truck and had to walk a few hundred yards down a snowed over service road. Gun in hand and Skye standing beside me, I looked across the road and could see the treeline around my family's old farm. It was all grays and whites with clouds thick in the sky and snow covering the ground. I said unprompted, "thanks Grandpa." I'm not even sure what I was thanking him for, but thought that since I'd said it maybe he would look down and send good luck our way. We worked silent as falling snow, but the few roosters were still flushing just out of harms way. The good cattails we had covered and so walked along a thin fenceline. Skye did her magic, put up a young rooster, and for once I stopped thinking about the shot and just took it. For only shooting one shell, it was one of the most enjoyable hunts I can remember.

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