You're a better hunter than me

B

Bob Peters

Well-known member
I don't know you but it's true. I came into pheasant hunting a tenderfoot tyro. Honestly I'm still not sure exactly how it all happened. I suppose it's as George said, "A dog, a gun, and time enough." I can only think in the back of my mind was the image of a pheasant and its hunting. Somewhere in my subconscious I can hear my dad saying, "there were a lot of roosters around that old slough." But you see, he went off to live life, my grandfather sold all his guns and any guns that were in his house. No one ever asked me once to go pheasant hunting. It kind of skipped a generation in my family I suppose, or at least skipped the time where I was alive and cognizant, because both my grandfathers and some of my uncles did it before I was alive. On the one hand I so wished they would have invited me along only to walk with them, yet on the other I wouldn't change anything about the way it all turned out. There are some things about my own story I wouldn't skip even if I could. The way pheasant hunting always called to me but never took hold till a certain moment. It all culminated with a dog and too much time on my hands. On the contrary she had all the time in the world on her paws and was more giving than any person I'd ever met. All she ever asked is that I take her along and she'd figure it out on her own, then show me how to hunt. I don't need to share all the specifics from there as you can imagine what happened. She learned how to find roosters first, sniff them out and flush them from their haunts and I was the slow learner who followed. It took a good while, eventually I learned, got a few down, and finally standing out of her way they were brought to bag. I could go on and on here, but I suppose what I'm trying to say is I owe everything to Skye, the dog who really taught me the where and how, what and when of hunting rooster pheasants. Maybe you've had a dog like this too, who showed you the way where and when to knock down a rooster and bring him to possession.

As to the title of this post, I naturally assume most are better hunters than myself. Find spots more rich with game than I have found, shoot better than I have shown to do, bring more knowledge than I have brought, trained your dog better than I have Skye and Roxy. But in the end I hope you look upon me as brethren, a fellow upland hunter, who has done all he can to shoot birds and make the dogs happy. As far as Skye and Roxy, that judgement is beyond me. Never trained in much beyond obedience, they are hell on roosters. At the end of the day all I can say is how much I love getting out and hunting wild birds with these dogs. And if anyone has a different opinion on the whole deal I've got no problem, you're a better hunter than me. Thanks webguy and all supporters, this is a great website , I hope it continues on for a long time.

20260106_163147(1).jpg
 
Bob Peters said:
I don't know you but it's true. I came into pheasant hunting a tenderfoot tyro. Honestly I'm still not sure exactly how it all happened. I suppose it's as George said, "A dog, a gun, and time enough." I can only think in the back of my mind was the image of a pheasant and its hunting. Somewhere in my subconscious I can hear my dad saying, "there were a lot of roosters around that old slough." But you see, he went off to live life, my grandfather sold all his guns and any guns that were in his house. No one ever asked me once to go pheasant hunting. It kind of skipped a generation in my family I suppose, or at least skipped the time where I was alive and cognizant, because both my grandfathers and some of my uncles did it before I was alive. On the one hand I so wished they would have invited me along only to walk with them, yet on the other I wouldn't change anything about the way it all turned out. There are some things about my own story I wouldn't skip even if I could. The way pheasant hunting always called to me but never took hold till a certain moment. It all culminated with a dog and too much time on my hands. On the contrary she had all the time in the world on her paws and was more giving than any person I'd ever met. All she ever asked is that I take her along and she'd figure it out on her own, then show me how to hunt. I don't need to share all the specifics from there as you can imagine what happened. She learned how to find roosters first, sniff them out and flush them from their haunts and I was the slow learner who followed. It took a good while, eventually I learned, got a few down, and finally standing out of her way they were brought to bag. I could go on and on here, but I suppose what I'm trying to say is I owe everything to Skye, the dog who really taught me the where and how, what and when of hunting rooster pheasants. Maybe you've had a dog like this too, who showed you the way where and when to knock down a rooster and bring him to possession.

As to the title of this post, I naturally assume most are better hunters than myself. Find spots more rich with game than I have found, shoot better than I have shown to do, bring more knowledge than I have brought, trained your dog better than I have Skye and Roxy. But in the end I hope you look upon me as brethren, a fellow upland hunter, who has done all he can to shoot birds and make the dogs happy. As far as Skye and Roxy, that judgement is beyond me. Never trained in much beyond obedience, they are hell on roosters. At the end of the day all I can say is how much I love getting out and hunting wild birds with these dogs. And if anyone has a different opinion on the whole deal I've got no problem, you're a better hunter than me. Thanks webguy and all supporters, this is a great website , I hope it continues on for a long time.

View attachment 13084
Click to expand...
That's a great story Bob. Worthy of publication. Great picture also. Looking in those old eyes makes me puddle up. Reminds me of something I once read that stuck to me. Two old friends and bird hunters were reaching the end when one died. At the funeral, one of the deceased guy's daughters who had moved away long ago asked her father's old friend if her dad was a good bird hunter, He simply said no but no one loved it more.
 
That is well written, and I agree, I'm not the most disciplined dog person, I just love my dogs, and they get to spend a lot of time out in the field. I don't do a lot of training with them, that's not my thing. Yes I am a good pheasant hunter, and my dogs are good pheasant hunters, but I would never put my dog in a crate, my dogs ride in the front seat of my pickup, one in front and one in back usually, or both in front crowding me out. My dad always had English Springer spaniels when he was younger, and then golden retrievers after he turned 50 or mid fifties. He was a good Hunter when he was young, but as he got older he couldn't hit anything, but he just loved to be out there in Montana with his dogs.
 
My dad was a pheasant hunter, & as a kid we had an Irish setter, although Dad attested it had no nose. Dad was also one of the few who loved his work. Right before I was old enough to carry a shotgun, 3 things happened. Doc the Irish setter died, we adopted an older, fat, non-hunting cocker from my aunt (who was going through a divorce), & Dad started his own business. Making it not only float, but sail nicely, kept him from hunting much. Consequently, we didn't hunt a lot, & it was sans dog. But I still loved it more than any kid I knew.

I went to college & entered the adult world. My love for pheasant hunting grew, & I hunted a lot! Easy to do with no real career & no wife, kids, or mortgage. I was still dogless, but I knew no one who loved it more or hunted more. However, by my late 20s, frustration had begun to mount. It became harder & harder to get permission on private land. Public land cover became thicker & thicker. Changes in farming practices permitted pheasants to live their lives without using ditches/roadsides as frequently. Consequently, pheasants became more & more elusive.

I'm not certain that frustration equated to less love for pheasant hunting, but it was sure less fun that it had once been. Then we moved to central Iowa. I found seemingly great ground, hunted hard, and saw/shot very few pheasants. But I just KNEW they had to be around. I'd learned enough in my lifetime; I just knew. But if I was right, something was obviously missing. Enter the springer spaniel puppy at the age of 33. Walt turned 5 months old on opening day. That fall I hunted the same ground as the previous year & shot 7 times as many roosters!! More than any other public land hunter I knew!

I was on Cloud 9! I'd found the missing link! That was nearly 24 years ago. Since then, I've bought 2 other puppies & moved back to God's country - land of even MORE pheasants. The career, mortgage, wife, & kids also happened, but those things must have limits. Why? Because I'm a die-hard pheasant hunter. My dog is a die-hard pheasant hunter. We can't get enough, & we love it more each season. Springer spaniels & pheasants make the rest of life tolerable.
 
A5 Sweet 16 said:
My dad was a pheasant hunter, & as a kid we had an Irish setter, although Dad attested it had no nose. Dad was also one of the few who loved his work. Right before I was old enough to carry a shotgun, 3 things happened. Doc the Irish setter died, we adopted an older, fat, non-hunting cocker from my aunt (who was going through a divorce), & Dad started his own business. Making it not only float, but sail nicely, kept him from hunting much. Consequently, we didn't hunt a lot, & it was sans dog. But I still loved it more than any kid I knew.

I went to college & entered the adult world. My love for pheasant hunting grew, & I hunted a lot! Easy to do with no real career & no wife, kids, or mortgage. I was still dogless, but I knew no one who loved it more or hunted more. However, by my late 20s, frustration had begun to mount. It became harder & harder to get permission on private land. Public land cover became thicker & thicker. Changes in farming practices permitted pheasants to live their lives without using ditches/roadsides as frequently. Consequently, pheasants became more & more elusive.

I'm not certain that frustration equated to less love for pheasant hunting, but it was sure less fun that it had once been. Then we moved to central Iowa. I found seemingly great ground, hunted hard, and saw/shot very few pheasants. But I just KNEW they had to be around. I'd learned enough in my lifetime; I just knew. But if I was right, something was obviously missing. Enter the springer spaniel puppy at the age of 33. Walt turned 5 months old on opening day. That fall I hunted the same ground as the previous year & shot 7 times as many roosters!! More than any other public land hunter I knew!

I was on Cloud 9! I'd found the missing link! That was nearly 24 years ago. Since then, I've bought 2 other puppies & moved back to God's country - land of even MORE pheasants. The career, mortgage, wife, & kids also happened, but those things must have limits. Why? Because I'm a die-hard pheasant hunter. My dog is a die-hard pheasant hunter. We can't get enough, & we love it more each season. Springer spaniels & pheasants make the rest of life tolerable.
Click to expand...
My cousin is getting a puddle pointer puppy this spring, and I keep trying to get my nephew to get a bird dog, so we shall see. Springer spaniels are great dogs, my dad had three two of them were really good, one not so much, but the ones that hunted and grew up in Montana were great.
 
Reading Bob and Brent's stories, I’m struck by how much we all have in common. We all seem to have had that gap in our hunting whether it was a career taking center stage, or life simply moving us away from bird country. I grew up in the 80s hunting with my dad in an area that had pheasants but we had to work at it. But like many of you, life happened. College, marriage, and work in cattle country meant that between the early 90s and 2017, I probably stepped into a field less than five times. I had the itch, but I didn't have the key to the lock. That changed when my wife finally agreed to a Vizsla named Ellie.

Much like Skye taught Bob "the where and how," Ellie made me look like a natural-born trainer. She was an anomaly. She was bigger than your average Vizsla, instinctual, and driven. That first season when she was just seven months old, watching her figure out the game alongside a veteran dog was the turning point. By her second season, she wasn't just hunting but almost seemed like she was reading my mind. She turns nine on March 17 and she is undoubtedly my once-in-a-lifetime dog.

I think the greatest "trophy" isn't the bird in the bag, but the evolution of the hunt. Six years ago, we added Willow to the mix, and she’s flourished under Ellie’s tutelage. Perhaps the best part? My wife went from carrying a camera and recording the hunts, to taking hunter safety and carrying her own shotgun.

I often feel that same twinge of envy when I see the polished, formal training of hunt trial dogs. I’ll be the first to admit I’m not consistent enough for that "pro" look. But my dogs are in the field 30+ days a year and on wild birds year-round. They might not have the ribbons, but they are rock-solid where it counts.

At the end of the day, we’re all just trying to make our dogs happy and honor the birds we chase. Whether it’s a Springer, a Setter, or a "Velcro" Vizsla, it’s the dog that brings us back to ourselves.

Thanks for sharing your stories. It’s good to be among friends who understand the "addiction."
 
Just had this conversation with my son and hunting partner last night. Most of these dogs are ten times the hunter we will ever be. I play the testing game, both German and NAVDA, and the some of the guys I hunt with train zero days between seasons. Doesn't seem to make all that much difference on producing birds. Mine may retrieve a little sexier or recall a little better but the instinct cant be trained. Best dog Ill ever have owned was an unpapered black lab female I bought for $50.
 
Great story and most definitely well written. For the record, I am more than likely a poorer hunter, with less than honorable writing skills.

My father, was a much greater reader of hunting encounters than an experienced of hunting encounters. I recall my father’s wing master of the 70’s being just as pristine the day my brother received it nearly 30 years later.

I recall my fathers walking with me on a couple rare occasions, carrying that Remington looking for a grouse or pheasant, wile I with my grandfathers 22 was in charge of harvesting any rabbits or squirrels. While he never spent time showing me how to handle a pointing gun, he also never had to invest time teaching me the art of cleaning small game.

Most of my outdoor time with my dad was either fishing or deer hunting, and while I’m saddened we never got on birds, I’m thankful for the short time I was fortunate to spend outdoors with him.
 
Bob has gotten to be an exponentially better hunter over the years. I remember when he first started this and constantly struggled.

Those days are over, he is an accomplished upland hunter now.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top