2011 Was Great
That alarm was set to go off at 3 a.m.* However, at 1:45 a.m. my eyes rocketed open in anticipation of the day ahead.* It was Saturday November 12th, and it was opening day of pheasant season in Colorado.* It was the first opening day of my life and I was fired up.* I had packed the truck the night before so a cup of coffee was the only thing I needed to grab as I headed out the door.* Pride, my eight year old lab, made his way back to his bed, obviously unaware of the adventure about to unfold.*
I pulled into my buddy Jim?€™s house at about 4 a.m.* His engine was running and the truck?€™s headlights were pointing down the driveway.* I loaded up and were off to the selected Conservation Resource Program (CRP) land in the northeast corner of the state.* Discussions during our two and one half hour drive focused on crafting the elements of our morning strategy.* Jim had selected a field that had proven to be productive for him in years past.** If no other hunters were present, we would start in the eastern end of a grass field that bumped up against a cut corn field.* The dogs would work the deep cover and we would walk the left and right seam hoping that escaping birds would flush to the edges of the draw.****
The last ten miles of the drive slowed dramatically as a plethora of hunters in their own trucks lined the single lane road all heading to upland heaven.* The sun had started to rise and we could hear the faint crack of gunshots as we past large stretches of prime land.* I moved to the edge of the passenger seat as we took the final right to our field.* We passed a group of hunters stalking the land adjacent to our spot.* I stared enviously at them as they had already started their stalk.
Jim pulled off the dirt road and parked at the eastern end of the field.* The wind was blowing at about fifteen miles per hour directly into our faces.* We both jumped out of the car and started to get ready for action. *Amazingly, I could actually hear the roosters cackling in the field. *My breathing* and actions quickened, so I had to consciously control myself in fear I would miss something essential to my intended success.
When I let Pride out of the car he started to twirl with anticipation.* He smelled pheasant and was obviously ready to aggressively hit the field.* With my Beretta A400 Xplor Light in hand, I looked at Pride and muttered the command, ?€œhunt it up?€?.* We all entered the field together, Jim and his dog Ella walking about fifty yards to my left.* Without warning, pheasants started to suddenly appear about 60 yards in front of me.* They flew right, left and of course away from the muzzle of my gun.* I carefully watched Pride as he tried to corner roosters running in every different direction in the deep grass.* It seemed that only hens got up next to me while the roosters took flight just outside of my range.* As feelings of desperation overcame me, Pride abruptly stopped on point about 40 yards to my left.* I made certain that Jim acknowledged my position and moved quickly to the spot.* Unfortunately the bird started to move and Pride flushed him.* I should have knocked him down with the first shell but my mount and swing were less than stellar.* Shot number two exploded two feet behind the bird and then I made a mistake; as the pheasant moved from three o?€™clock to five o?€™clock I attempted a ?€œHail Mary?€? shot.* With no shells remaining in the chamber of my Beretta, I uncoordinatedly reached into my vest for more Prairie Storm ammunition.* As I tried to reload, Pride went on point again.* Safety being my primary concern, I worked slowly to arm my weapon.* Too late!* The beautiful rooster took flight ten feet in front of me as I gripped an empty shotgun.
The field provided more action; Jim took down a fine bird on a long and effective shot.* Thanks to Pride?€™s diligence, I had my opportunities, but was definitely suffering from pheasant fever (I was choking).* We hunted that field for three hours then moved to other plots of public land.* The dogs raised plenty of hens as we walked through miles dense cover, but the action slowed as we approached midday.* Before we broke for lunch, we noticed a farmer on his John Deere combine cutting corn adjacent to the field that we were hunting.* Each pass he made toward our field forced multiple pheasants into the air.* We made the calculated decision to let the farmer finish his work so we could end the day on the bordering field.
I became increasingly anxious during lunch (I think I asked for the check as soon as we sat down).* There were opportunities to execute and I was failing myself and my dog. *After leaving the restaurant, Jim and I made our way down another dirt road, when suddenly two roosters flew over our truck moving from private to public land.* We stopped and quickly got ready to roll.* The temperature was now in the sixties and the wind was negligible.* We walked hundreds of yards through dense cover with minimal action.* *Then, without warning, Pride made a hard stop and point about twenty yards to my left.* The bushes were so think that I could not see what he was looking at.* I moved slowly toward the dog.* He jumped left as the bird was obviously running in that direction.* Pride pushed the flush and the rooster took flight.* My first shot was solid, but I felt it necessary to fire again in order to ensure the bird went down.* Pride fetched my first Colorado wild rooster and brought him to my hand.* There are certain things in life that provide profound emotions.* At forty three, I have gained a new passion for wing hunting, and this moment was the culmination of almost three years of preparation.****
To conclude opening day, Jim and I made our way back to the field where we*had seen*the farmer cutting his stalks of corn.* I was relaxed as the pressure of shooting my first bird was behind me.* The tactics we would utilize were obvious; walk toward the downed corn and force the birds into the open area.* It did not take long for us to see an abundance of hens and roosters taking flight in all different directions. *Two finely placed shots brought me to my pheasant limit (3).****
The two and one half hour drive back to Parker had Jim and me reflecting on the day that had been.* The experience touched my soul and I was thankful for the opportunity to fulfill a dream.
