Best Day Afield
 

I was re-reading Nash Buckingham's "A La Belle Etoile" and it prompted me to think about the beautiful stars of my hunting life.

I thought of first points over beloved dogs, now gone; of doubles taken fairly, of good companions over the years. In a sea of memories, I have one that stands above. Ironically, it was a hunt that involved no game taken, nor shot fired. It happened on a trip back home to Virginia to hunt with my Father over our Christmas break. I was just then experiencing the keen obsession of shooting over my first bird dogs. This was a time, at the end of the 1980s, when quail had greatly declined in Virginia, and the only hunting available to us was by permit on paper company lands. Pop had secured the permits and maps and we spent the day driving to find some cutover lands suitable to hunt. We drove and read maps more than hunted as I recall, and the only covey of birds we saw was a small one that crossed the sand road in front of us and disappeared into a thick stand of pines. I remember as we headed back my disappointment at not being able to present a shot for Pop over my young brace of Gordons. He loved watching those dogs (and spoke of them until the day he died). I commented on the long drive back to the house that I was sorry about the day and the way it had unfolded. Pop told me, in his typical gruff fashion, that he did not give a rip about not shooting birds, and that he just enjoyed spending the day with me. The best day afield I have ever had. It was by chance, our last day afield together.

I'm curious what my fellow hunters would cite as a bright star in their hunting lives...and would you share it with us, please? I, for one, would enjoy hearing of it.

I cant say its the best, as god willing I have many more decades ahead of me, but one that stands out and always will. We decided to foster an English pointer on a whim, fosters are tough. You never really know what trauma or baggage they may have collected to get them to the point of being brought to a shelter. But we took a chance. Danny was with us for about 3 months prior to bird season. He had some basic obedience but was rough around the edges. I decided to take him out on opening day, he was a little wild and frustrating, then BAM that light switch flip on and I watched all that training he was given come rushing back! What a day and what a dog. That's one that will stick with me, that one in a million dog that was fostered on a whim! Who went out into the field wild and came back fully trained! So far that's one of my best!

Rick, It's special when it happens, and, I'd venture, extra special to be a rescue dog. Thanks for responding.

Most of my best memories are relatively recent. Hunting with my sons is the best.

Like a fine shotgun, those memories will get better with time. I'll bet they'll be the same good memories for your boys.

Came home on a 3 day pass in 67 and Dad said lets go fishing, took the tin boat I had bought him to a local pond. He made 3 casts and caught 3 largemouths, 5, 6 1/2 and 7 1/2 pounds. I did not get a hit,said give me your rod and fished an hour with out a touch as he rowed the boat we talked. That was the last time we fished or hunted as I was overseas when he died the next year. It was a perfect trip and his rod hangs in a place of honor and is still used. He had made the rod as he made about every thing he needed

I think about stories like yours when I see old guns -- or fishing tackle, etc. -- come up for sale. Their value in sentiment to someone far exceeds their monetary value. Thanks for sharing this with us.

i had many days in the field with my dad all special...but heres one of them...we were turkey hunting this stormy rainy day i had seen turkey feeding in a soybean field the day before...so the next day we went to that field both of us had put on rain gear i had put on hip boots sense there was a big ditch to cross in the bean field...sure enough the turkeys were feeding in the field our plan was for each one of us to try and slip to the end of the field where hope fully one of us would get a shot or maybe both of us...my dad took the west end of the field and i took the east end...i slowly made my way toward the big ditch we had perfect cover as the ditch had lot of bushes growing on the banks..the water had rose pretty high and it was raining like cats and dogs...the turkeys could not here any of our movements....the turkeys fed to the center of the field so i slid off into that ditch water was up to my breast pockets the over groth made a perfect canopy over the ditch...i held that old 10 ga lefever over my head as i walked up the ditch...i guess that my father was in place by now so i slowly made my way up that ditch water was swift so i had to hang onto limbs as i slowly made my way....it would come a big clamp of thunder and about 3 of those gobblers would really gobble at the noise...must be about 15 turkeys in the flock feeding about 4 of them were big gobblers... i still was not in gun range and the ditch i was in my cover was getting thin so i was affraid i would be seen...the turkeys continued to feed farther away from me but that was ok for i knew my dad was up ther some where and should get a shot...in a few minutes i heard my dads old smith and wesson 12 ga sound off the turkeys flew but none came in my direction...i climb out of that ditch and went to check out how big this old gobbler was...it was a nice mature bird...my dad was grinning.....ill never forget that rainy stormy hunt with my dad....charlie

Nice memory, Charlie. Thanks for posting.

Giving a single “Best Day” would be impossible. I have been blessed to have been started right by a hunting family that owned property managed for wildlife probation. And traveling for additional hunting was just a normal course of planning. Further blessed with an understanding wife that has allowed me to “make a plan”. Many plans, many dreams, many places.
Currently nothing drives me more than a young Setter working a covert where grouse, and as Evans called them cock, make a life. I am my best and feeling most alive watching a young dog quartering, head high and out in front. When that dog stacks up in a scent induced quivering trance or I can see his wheels turning trying to figure out just what to do about a moving grouse, I know he is living out his dreams while fulfilling mine. Those are best days. We do something everyday to work for those best days.

Harold Pickens and I work on doing our part and shoot a few sport clays those are best days.

As C.OB. Says the best grouse gun is the next one, I try and make tomorrow the best one.