birdshooter
Well-known member
This happened fall of 2008.
The Culvert Bird
It was the last day of a 4 day hunting trip to the southwestern North Dakota town of Mott that I had a seemingly once in a lifetime encounter with a wiley old rooster Pheasant. Mott North Dakota, considered by many to be the mecca for Pheasant hunting in North Dakota or anywhere else in the upper mid west, can only be described as "incredible". This year was no exception. We were met with some skeptecism a few days before our journey started with reports of 10 inches of snow and considerable drifting from a blizzard that hit the region only a week before. After some soul searching and a heart to heart discussion with my hunting partner, we decided to take the risk and make the trip. This is an annual pilgrimage for both of us, one in which we so look forward to each year. We were not going to be denied, no matter the conditions.
Accompanying us were 3 dogs, my partners 3 year old Brittany Arlie and my two boys Willi and Nash. Willi is a 2 year old up and coming German Shorthair and my old timer Nash an 11 year old Shorthair and veteran of many years chasing ringnecks. Having two dogs I am afforded the luxury of rotating dogs to allow a seemingly fresh dog to always be on the ground. On this particular afternoon (cold and blustery) I decide to take the 'old man out as Willi had hunted the morning and was in need of some rest. Willi being a relative new comer to Pheasant hunting combined with the exposure to the sheer volume of birds we were seeing had him on sensory overload and some time in the kennel was definitely needed.
We needed a couple birds to fill the the days limit and set out to hunt the last piece of cover for the day. Driving down a field road to the far southern edge, I dropped my partner off at the far side of a CRP field with the intention of driving back to the opposite end to work toward each other. With the birds as skittish as they were, pinching them would be our only hope in getting a shot in range. Nash, no stranger to Mott was eager as could be to get another chance and surely knew this was his time. As Nash and I entered the field almost immediately he made scent, which was no surprise to me considering the number of birds I witnessed fly into it earlier. You have to be stealthy as these birds were already on edge and any unnecessary amount of noise would surely set them off. Nash worked the field feverishly into the wind and made some nice points, some unproductive, others producing a hen or two. Eventually we started to see some color (meaning roosters), but unfortunately they were busting wild at the far edges of shotgun range. "Here we go I said to myself".
Nearing the edge of the grass I could see the birds options were fast running out. Beyond the grass lay a picked sunflower field with nowhere else to hide. Any rooster still hiding now was going to have to make a decision... and soon. Just as I thought that we had seen the last bird flush out of that field, one wiley old rooster decided to make a quick and hasty getaway and flushed wild at about 40 yards. Now.. I'm normally not one to take shot if I think there is no chance at recovery, but I was confident that this bird presented a shot that I could make and one in which the dog would be able to track if needed. The bird was hit good almost doing a cartwheel in mid air. But to my surprise the bird hit the ground and the race was on... I could see the bird running, running like his life depended on it until he disappeared into some taller grass along the field road. He was headed in the direction of the highway along the field road we had just driven down. I brought Nash to the spot where the bird went down (apparently he had not seen the bird go down) and immediately he picked up the scent and was running nose to the ground with a purpose. This seemed amazing to me as there most certainly must have been a tremendous amount of scent in the area from all of the other birds that flushed just moments before.
I followed him for a 100 yards or slightly more as he crossed back and forth over the field road. A few times you could see that he appeared to have lost the trail only to backtrack until he finally picked it up again. This all continued till we neared the highway at which time I saw him go on point. As I neared, I could see he was pointing directly at and into a culvert which paralleled the highway at the start of the field road. Looking into the culvert I could see no bird and looking further all I saw was darkness. I thought to myself "What kind of Pheasant runs into a culvert?" or more importantly how was I going to get him out of there? Too small to send the dog in so I ventured over to the other side of the field road to see if the other end was blocked. The other side was drifted in from the blizzard the week before, but upon closer examination I discovered a small opening where the culvert would be and noticed blood in the snow at the entrance. I thought to myself "you've got to be kidding!" . I called Nash over and soon he was off and running nose to the ground down a line of trees that seemed to go on for several hundred yards.
I decided with the deep snow and my now aching foot (oh... did I forget to mention that I am nursing a stress fracture on my left foot) to just let him go and hope that he would win the foot race. As I watched Nash disappear down the tree line, I could not see the bird, but soon noticed many others that were flushing wild from each side ahead. No doubt Nash was in the middle of that. I didn't give him much chance especially since birds were pouring out in every direction and that would most certainly distract him from the wounded bird. After waiting for what seemed like 10 minutes, I could see movement coming in my direction. Yes... could it be! Yes it was, it was Nash with the bird in his mouth as he made his way toward me plunging through the deep snow along the way. He delivered the bird to me and dropped it at my feet and with a look in his eye that said "So.... you think I'm getting too old for this uh?"
Back at the truck I laid the bird on the ground to put away my gun and vest. I turned around and noticed he had picked the bird up again and was carrying it around proudly as if to say "this one is mine". Normally once they are dead he could care less, but this bird was well earned and was his and he knew it. I patted him on the head and told him I will always recall this culvert bird no matter how many years past after he is gone or how many dogs I am blessed to own after him. This will be his legacy and I shall always remember it.
The Culvert Bird
It was the last day of a 4 day hunting trip to the southwestern North Dakota town of Mott that I had a seemingly once in a lifetime encounter with a wiley old rooster Pheasant. Mott North Dakota, considered by many to be the mecca for Pheasant hunting in North Dakota or anywhere else in the upper mid west, can only be described as "incredible". This year was no exception. We were met with some skeptecism a few days before our journey started with reports of 10 inches of snow and considerable drifting from a blizzard that hit the region only a week before. After some soul searching and a heart to heart discussion with my hunting partner, we decided to take the risk and make the trip. This is an annual pilgrimage for both of us, one in which we so look forward to each year. We were not going to be denied, no matter the conditions.
Accompanying us were 3 dogs, my partners 3 year old Brittany Arlie and my two boys Willi and Nash. Willi is a 2 year old up and coming German Shorthair and my old timer Nash an 11 year old Shorthair and veteran of many years chasing ringnecks. Having two dogs I am afforded the luxury of rotating dogs to allow a seemingly fresh dog to always be on the ground. On this particular afternoon (cold and blustery) I decide to take the 'old man out as Willi had hunted the morning and was in need of some rest. Willi being a relative new comer to Pheasant hunting combined with the exposure to the sheer volume of birds we were seeing had him on sensory overload and some time in the kennel was definitely needed.
We needed a couple birds to fill the the days limit and set out to hunt the last piece of cover for the day. Driving down a field road to the far southern edge, I dropped my partner off at the far side of a CRP field with the intention of driving back to the opposite end to work toward each other. With the birds as skittish as they were, pinching them would be our only hope in getting a shot in range. Nash, no stranger to Mott was eager as could be to get another chance and surely knew this was his time. As Nash and I entered the field almost immediately he made scent, which was no surprise to me considering the number of birds I witnessed fly into it earlier. You have to be stealthy as these birds were already on edge and any unnecessary amount of noise would surely set them off. Nash worked the field feverishly into the wind and made some nice points, some unproductive, others producing a hen or two. Eventually we started to see some color (meaning roosters), but unfortunately they were busting wild at the far edges of shotgun range. "Here we go I said to myself".
Nearing the edge of the grass I could see the birds options were fast running out. Beyond the grass lay a picked sunflower field with nowhere else to hide. Any rooster still hiding now was going to have to make a decision... and soon. Just as I thought that we had seen the last bird flush out of that field, one wiley old rooster decided to make a quick and hasty getaway and flushed wild at about 40 yards. Now.. I'm normally not one to take shot if I think there is no chance at recovery, but I was confident that this bird presented a shot that I could make and one in which the dog would be able to track if needed. The bird was hit good almost doing a cartwheel in mid air. But to my surprise the bird hit the ground and the race was on... I could see the bird running, running like his life depended on it until he disappeared into some taller grass along the field road. He was headed in the direction of the highway along the field road we had just driven down. I brought Nash to the spot where the bird went down (apparently he had not seen the bird go down) and immediately he picked up the scent and was running nose to the ground with a purpose. This seemed amazing to me as there most certainly must have been a tremendous amount of scent in the area from all of the other birds that flushed just moments before.
I followed him for a 100 yards or slightly more as he crossed back and forth over the field road. A few times you could see that he appeared to have lost the trail only to backtrack until he finally picked it up again. This all continued till we neared the highway at which time I saw him go on point. As I neared, I could see he was pointing directly at and into a culvert which paralleled the highway at the start of the field road. Looking into the culvert I could see no bird and looking further all I saw was darkness. I thought to myself "What kind of Pheasant runs into a culvert?" or more importantly how was I going to get him out of there? Too small to send the dog in so I ventured over to the other side of the field road to see if the other end was blocked. The other side was drifted in from the blizzard the week before, but upon closer examination I discovered a small opening where the culvert would be and noticed blood in the snow at the entrance. I thought to myself "you've got to be kidding!" . I called Nash over and soon he was off and running nose to the ground down a line of trees that seemed to go on for several hundred yards.
I decided with the deep snow and my now aching foot (oh... did I forget to mention that I am nursing a stress fracture on my left foot) to just let him go and hope that he would win the foot race. As I watched Nash disappear down the tree line, I could not see the bird, but soon noticed many others that were flushing wild from each side ahead. No doubt Nash was in the middle of that. I didn't give him much chance especially since birds were pouring out in every direction and that would most certainly distract him from the wounded bird. After waiting for what seemed like 10 minutes, I could see movement coming in my direction. Yes... could it be! Yes it was, it was Nash with the bird in his mouth as he made his way toward me plunging through the deep snow along the way. He delivered the bird to me and dropped it at my feet and with a look in his eye that said "So.... you think I'm getting too old for this uh?"
Back at the truck I laid the bird on the ground to put away my gun and vest. I turned around and noticed he had picked the bird up again and was carrying it around proudly as if to say "this one is mine". Normally once they are dead he could care less, but this bird was well earned and was his and he knew it. I patted him on the head and told him I will always recall this culvert bird no matter how many years past after he is gone or how many dogs I am blessed to own after him. This will be his legacy and I shall always remember it.
