Post by Uplander on Oct 27, 2008 20:05:44 GMT -5
Went hunting today with Dear Ol' Dad looking for pa'tridge. Our first cover produced a woodcock in the gamepouch apiece, and 6 wild flushing pa'tridge that never even were shot at.
On to another cover, where Dear Ol' Dad shot another woodcock before, at the base of an old stone wall, Piper flushed a pa'tridge that rose up to be silhouetted high against the grey, overcast sky and framed by stark, bare trees. "Pow! Pow!" I snapped off both barrels and watched as the bird was rocked by the shots and started to tumble to the ground. Suddenly, my heart sunk as, disbelieving, I saw the bird shudder, right itself in the air, and struggle back up high, then to rocket away beyond sight into the distant horizon. My stomach tightened into an awful knot....
Heartbroken, guilt ridden, and just plain bummed, I took a compass bearing and Dear Ol' Dad, Piper, and I headed in the direction the bird had gone. But it had flown so far that I had little hope. After about 10 minutes bushwacking, that sick feeling in my stomach was getting worse. We estimated we had gone almost a quarter of a mile since the shots, through some very thick cover, and at that point our chances of finding the bird again were getting quite slim. I felt awful. And then we realized that Piper was nowhere to be found. We stopped, and listened. Silence.... A toot on the whistle, and nothing. After about a minute, I could just make out Piper coming toward me from even further out ahead. As she got closer, I could see the pa'tridge lolling in her mouth. She came right in to me, and I sunk down on my knees, gathered her in, and just held her for about 20 seconds, tail-thumping against me while she continued to hold onto her prize as I murmured thanks over and over to her, getting misty-eyed, and just drinking in the feeling. I'll remember it always.
So, we headed on back to the Old Homestead. But not before Dear Ol' Dad convinced me to pull into a WMA we were passing on the drive where pheasants are stocked. I'll be honest, I didn't have a good time. The entire artificiality of the situation bothered me. But, Dad was curious, so we puttered around the edges of the fields, figuring if any birds had survived the weekend hordes, that's where they'd be. After about 30 minutes, Piper found a big ol' cock bird in what looked more like woodcock cover than pheasant cover, and Dear Ol' Dad dropped it with a nice shot.
I don't know what it's called when 3 different gamebirds are brought to bag (I called it a "grand slam" in the thread title), but Piper had a good time doing it.
The after hunt pictures aren't very good, but I was too tired to get too artsy.
Piper & the Upland Triumvirate
Berkshire's Best
Lot of good fly tying material there!
On to another cover, where Dear Ol' Dad shot another woodcock before, at the base of an old stone wall, Piper flushed a pa'tridge that rose up to be silhouetted high against the grey, overcast sky and framed by stark, bare trees. "Pow! Pow!" I snapped off both barrels and watched as the bird was rocked by the shots and started to tumble to the ground. Suddenly, my heart sunk as, disbelieving, I saw the bird shudder, right itself in the air, and struggle back up high, then to rocket away beyond sight into the distant horizon. My stomach tightened into an awful knot....
Heartbroken, guilt ridden, and just plain bummed, I took a compass bearing and Dear Ol' Dad, Piper, and I headed in the direction the bird had gone. But it had flown so far that I had little hope. After about 10 minutes bushwacking, that sick feeling in my stomach was getting worse. We estimated we had gone almost a quarter of a mile since the shots, through some very thick cover, and at that point our chances of finding the bird again were getting quite slim. I felt awful. And then we realized that Piper was nowhere to be found. We stopped, and listened. Silence.... A toot on the whistle, and nothing. After about a minute, I could just make out Piper coming toward me from even further out ahead. As she got closer, I could see the pa'tridge lolling in her mouth. She came right in to me, and I sunk down on my knees, gathered her in, and just held her for about 20 seconds, tail-thumping against me while she continued to hold onto her prize as I murmured thanks over and over to her, getting misty-eyed, and just drinking in the feeling. I'll remember it always.
So, we headed on back to the Old Homestead. But not before Dear Ol' Dad convinced me to pull into a WMA we were passing on the drive where pheasants are stocked. I'll be honest, I didn't have a good time. The entire artificiality of the situation bothered me. But, Dad was curious, so we puttered around the edges of the fields, figuring if any birds had survived the weekend hordes, that's where they'd be. After about 30 minutes, Piper found a big ol' cock bird in what looked more like woodcock cover than pheasant cover, and Dear Ol' Dad dropped it with a nice shot.
I don't know what it's called when 3 different gamebirds are brought to bag (I called it a "grand slam" in the thread title), but Piper had a good time doing it.
The after hunt pictures aren't very good, but I was too tired to get too artsy.
Piper & the Upland Triumvirate
Berkshire's Best
Lot of good fly tying material there!
