Your Best Experience this Season

I have several, but tops would have to be watching my younger son getting his first bird
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Chris, we also had one of those " patches behind a house", west of Pierre. Sky was black with pheasants all of these were from one patch. Two of these guys had never hunted pheasants before. Your right it was like a turkey shoot.
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Then a one day hunt that produced a couple scarce NE kansas roostersView attachment 2921
 
jeffstally said:
Thanks for the pics, Setternut. Is that Kelli with her show setter?

My most memorable thing from this season was taking a solo trip to SD for 3 days. Just me and my dogs. It was my first solo trip. I am definitely going to do at least one per year.
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Yep, but Kitty is turning into more than just a pretty face :D
She's a birddog.
 
mnmthunting said:
I think the best part of 011 season was. Even after the worst possible weather conditions across the North Country. Record snow depths, prolonged sub zero and months between thaws. Then the wet cold Spring. Pheasants survived, not the numbers by anymeans. Where I hunted opening week it was about 5 miles per rooster flush. But what the heck:) makes the rewards sweeter.

And my 2 year old pup was amazing!

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I like your photos always Wayne as I know you can only get those special photos by going the extra mile.
 
We had't found any wild birds at all. Winters, farming practices, and predators make it tough for them. I only hunt on a few pieces of private land and have been judicious in the harvesting every time out over the years, but no joy this year.

The trek out to and on-through the state park lands has been really depleting. The first day, as I turned back towards the car, I started looking for a cab, then, an ambulance, and finally...a medivac. Really empty by the time I got back to the car.

The following day, a bit less-worse, but...as I walked back with Mick, the pheasant bumping my butt and my shoulders aching with the effort, I stopped and viewed the muted changing of the colors on the trees, with firs ringing them, making the reds, yellows and oranges of the leaves more conspicuous, felt the strong breezes, savored the aches, and smiled at the dog, ahead with clouds and then blue sky reaching down to him, and brushed off the complaints, realizing that when I allow myself to wish for things...these are the things I wish for.

Mick is loving his life. I wish I could put him on more birds, so he could learn from them, and polish our instruction dialog.

But it was nicely cold, the wind occasionally cutting into my skin, the sun shone often, and the one shot was a beautiful rooster going up and away from me, reaching to clear some junk trees at the far end of the property, then falling at the gunshot, and dropping down to where I could see Mick racing to get him.

The stuff of dreams for an old man.
 
:coolpics: Jim :10sign:
 
Kismet said:
We had't found any wild birds at all. Winters, farming practices, and predators make it tough for them. I only hunt on a few pieces of private land and have been judicious in the harvesting every time out over the years, but no joy this year.

The trek out to and on-through the state park lands has been really depleting. The first day, as I turned back towards the car, I started looking for a cab, then, an ambulance, and finally...a medivac. Really empty by the time I got back to the car.

The following day, a bit less-worse, but...as I walked back with Mick, the pheasant bumping my butt and my shoulders aching with the effort, I stopped and viewed the muted changing of the colors on the trees, with firs ringing them, making the reds, yellows and oranges of the leaves more conspicuous, felt the strong breezes, savored the aches, and smiled at the dog, ahead with clouds and then blue sky reaching down to him, and brushed off the complaints, realizing that when I allow myself to wish for things...these are the things I wish for.

Mick is loving his life. I wish I could put him on more birds, so he could learn from them, and polish our instruction dialog.

But it was nicely cold, the wind occasionally cutting into my skin, the sun shone often, and the one shot was a beautiful rooster going up and away from me, reaching to clear some junk trees at the far end of the property, then falling at the gunshot, and dropping down to where I could see Mick racing to get him.

The stuff of dreams for an old man.
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What a wonderful memory.
 
Every single moment I get to spend hunting with my dog and my son. We had one day in Iowa this year that he and I shot six birds over the course of 4 hours. Great dog work by Sophie. Seven spent shells.
 
Tbear said:
I have a filter setting on my camera that lets me pic what colors I want to show threw. The nice thing is I can take the pic and edit the filter setting later. Here is one that enhanced the reds on.
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Great photos!
 
As this thread's starter, I guess I too should share a great experience. My hunting buddy and I almost always have lunch in a tiny Kansas town that you would think could not support a restaurant. Keeping this restaurant in operation is a joint family and townspeople endeavor. The family that owns the bank across the street opened it and their family and friends literally keep it going. Last Sat. night the kitchen staff included the president of the bank, one of her bank employee/officers and her husband who is a stockbroker. The president bakes pies, among other duties. Four freshly baked apple pies were cooling on the counter when we arrived for dinner. I bought a whole pie and started the next day with pie for breakfast and had pie snacks throughout the day's hunt and on my home down the interstate, my last trip of the season. That homemade apple pie was a stunning experience.
 
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We made some great memories this year, pups first rooster (didnt get a picture:(), days in the desert, mixed bags, and tired dogs.

My dad and brother with gambels quail in the desert.

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North valley mixed bag.

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And tired dogs.

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Mine has to be meeting Tbear even know he grew up in the Happy Valley also and hunting with him on a few different times believe me hes not as bad of a guy as he looks :D Oh and he's a pretty good shot !
 
Well BC, it was either "giving back" to the last generation (my ole' man who blessed me with this "condition") by taking Pops on his first SD pheasant trip OR.........
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Was it the day I realized I'd infected my offspring with the same rare disease?:D

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I can't pick one. I thank God for the opportunity of experiencing them both!
 
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For me, the best moment of the hunting season came on the very last day, in December. As I've said elsewhere, I'm new to pheasant hunting -- last season was my second. I took it up because my dog, a little Duck Tolling Retriever bitch just went wild when I took her to a hunting retriever training course. I hunted ducks and geese with my grandfather when I was a kid, but hadn't hunted since and I'm 57.

Anyway, I started out thinking I would train the dog, but it turned out that she already understood what she was supposed to do and aside from a few obedience commands I taught her, she has been training me. Or maybe I should say we've been learning together.

Anyway, on the last day of the season, she took me down out of a stubble field and into a small, briar-filled swamp. I was dubious, but I've learned not to argue with my dog when it comes to deciding where the birds will be hiding. I was crawling through the cat briars and brush, when she put up a rooster. I managed to squeeze off a shot when the bird was almost 30 yards away and (atypically), I was on target. The bird folded up and dropped right into a fast-running creek at th edge of the swamp. It had rained for a couple of days before the hunt and the water was high, so I was sure the bird was gone. But my dog raced off and dove in.

After a few minutes, when the dog didn't reappear, I began to worry and whistled to bring her in. No dog. I whistled again, and set out to find her. I reached the edge of the swamp and climbed back into the stubble field to see if she was there. No dog.

I was going to whistle again -- it had been 10 minutes since the dog had disappeared and I was truly worried. Then a wet but triumphant little dog came running out of the swamp with the bird in her mouth. Apparently, she swam downstream until she caught up with the bird, fished it out of the water, climbed up the bank and then set out to track me down.

I think I was even prouder than the dog.
 
3 Ruffies with my Sweet Sixteen and my best buddy upland bird dog Gus on a Indian Summer fall day
 
TAC in CT said:
For me, the best moment of the hunting season came on the very last day, in December. As I've said elsewhere, I'm new to pheasant hunting -- last season was my second. I took it up because my dog, a little Duck Tolling Retriever bitch just went wild when I took her to a hunting retriever training course. I hunted ducks and geese with my grandfather when I was a kid, but hadn't hunted since and I'm 57.

Anyway, I started out thinking I would train the dog, but it turned out that she already understood what she was supposed to do and aside from a few obedience commands I taught her, she has been training me. Or maybe I should say we've been learning together.

Anyway, on the last day of the season, she took me down out of a stubble field and into a small, briar-filled swamp. I was dubious, but I've learned not to argue with my dog when it comes to deciding where the birds will be hiding. I was crawling through the cat briars and brush, when she put up a rooster. I managed to squeeze off a shot when the bird was almost 30 yards away and (atypically), I was on target. The bird folded up and dropped right into a fast-running creek at th edge of the swamp. It had rained for a couple of days before the hunt and the water was high, so I was sure the bird was gone. But my dog raced off and dove in.

After a few minutes, when the dog didn't reappear, I began to worry and whistled to bring her in. No dog. I whistled again, and set out to find her. I reached the edge of the swamp and climbed back into the stubble field to see if she was there. No dog.

I was going to whistle again -- it had been 10 minutes since the dog had disappeared and I was truly worried. Then a wet but triumphant little dog came running out of the swamp with the bird in her mouth. Apparently, she swam downstream until she caught up with the bird, fished it out of the water, climbed up the bank and then set out to track me down.

I think I was even prouder than the dog.
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Great story. It is amazing what dogs will do some times to fulfill their training. When I was a youngster, I watched an english pointer my dad had trained chase a coasting rooster a mile across a winter wheat field. We thought we had lost him, only to see him running up the next section road looking for us with that bird in his mouth.
 
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