Rich Anderson
03-30-2013, 09:41 AM
Winter has finally begun to loosen it's grip and the hope of Spring brightens each day. We have finally lost our snow thank God but the ground is still frozen and herin lies a problem at least for me in the realm of bird hunting. The preserve season is setting fast in the western sky as the last of the season is tax day April 15. At this time of year the Hay Marsh lives up to it's name as in Marsh as much of it is under water and the earth hasn't softened up enough to accept the melting snow.
As the thought of haveing to wear hip boots to bird hunt doesn't impress me and the sporting clays shooting hasn't really geared up and I have just finished my winter skeet league I have to admit I'm bored. I was cleaning the Man Cave and taking care of my "stuff" of which the wife seems to think there is way to much of and as I sprayed the windex on the dusty glass case I thought back to the hunt that produced the fine trophy encased therin. Grab a glass of your favorite tonic and lets go hunting.
It was mid October and as I let the dogs out for there last bathroom break for the night there was frost in the air. The night sky was bright with millions of stars gleaming like diamonds in the sky. It looked like you could reach up and pick one. The windmill creaked a rusty groan on an errant breeze and I knew what I wanted to do in the morning. Even though it was 10pm I called Tim at the Haymarsh. "Did I wake you Tim?" I asked as he groggly ansered the phone. "No I was just checking my eyelids for leaks" was the sarcastic but friendly reply. I made the plans for a scratch hunt the next day.
I redied the gear, put the beeper collar on the charger where I wouldn't forget it, got the collars, bells, wistles, shells and such into the shooting bag and took a Parker GHE 16 out of the safe. My "stuff" was in a pile so there was nothing left to chance, I was ready.
Frost covered the windshield of the truck as I put some heat into her as the morning coffee brewed. I put the heater on for both front seats and put the blanket on the passenger side to warm up for Gunner. As we headed for the club he curled up in a ball for one more nap befor work.
Tim had set aside 4 fields for a total of 160 acers right in the middle for us. I couldn't have asked for a better deal especially as this was a scratch hunt meaning he didn't release any birds. We would hunt for whatever we could find. There were a couple of other hunters getting redy as well. Like minded souls either enjoying the fruits of retirement or playing hooky from work as I was.
We had been hunting for about an hour when a volly of shots got my attention. I saw a bird flying about 100 yards away escapeing the dogs and guns of some other hunters. I marked it down and gave it some time to settle down and for some scent to accumulate. Gunner and I continued the direction we were headed but we looped around to get the wind in our favor as we worked our way to the area where I had marked the bird to be.
The cover was tall and very thick and Gunner was methodically working into the wind searching for scent. It was maybe 10 min or so befor he got his first wiff of bird. His stubby tail went into overdrive and his pace slowed as he began his hunt. The beeper screamed point but in the thick cover I had a hard time finding the dog. When I did Gun was locked solid but there was no flush, the bird had run. The game had begun. Gunner would point, the bird would run and we would do this dance for the next Fourty muinetes and cover over two hundred yards of cover. I saw the bird twice running like a Rabbit through the thick grass using Deer trails as escape runs. It would have been easy to ground swat him but this was a big Cock bird and a veteran of other dogs and guns. Perhaps a wild Rooster or at least one that has survived the countless Hawks, Coyotes, Ferral cats and he deserved better. The bird was using a finger of very thick cover in his game of hide and seek. This cover though would run out in another 50 yards and he would have to fly as he couldn't run across the water filled ditch. Gunner was doggedly on his trail as I circled around to cut him off. I had barley gotten to where I wanted to be when the beeper indicated Gunner was on point. I couldn't see the dog but slowly advanced to push the bird into flight.
The big cock bird had just muinetes to live and in all honesty if he hadn't been so arrogant in voiceing his disgust at being pushed into flight he might have lived to fight another day. The cackeling bird flushed not where I thought he would come from between Gunner and myself but a good twenty yards off to the side. If it hadn't been for that cackel I might not have seen him in time. The Parker came to my shoulder and the trigger tripped befor i knew it. I saw a leg drop, "Damn it" I thought and moved my left arm to get the gun in front of the bird as each wing beat put more real estate between us. I increased the forward allowance then increased it again and fired the second and last shot at a rapidly evaporating target. By the grace of God and a lot of luck the big Rooster folded. I saw where it went down and just then Gunner apperared from the thick weeds with a look as it to say "after all I have done I hope you got him". The bird was indeed dead in the air and was retreived ever so carefully by Gunner.
He was a vetran by every measure. I counted 32 bars on his long tail and he had the spurs of a fully mature bird, a true trophy by any standard. We might have been on a preserve but the hunt was a good one and the quarry was first rate. It couldn't have been any better in South Dakota.
I had the bird mounted and have enclosed a few pictures. Gunner has been gone for 6 1/2 months now but he's always there on the hunt with me. Thanks for the wonderfull memories Little Buddy.
As the thought of haveing to wear hip boots to bird hunt doesn't impress me and the sporting clays shooting hasn't really geared up and I have just finished my winter skeet league I have to admit I'm bored. I was cleaning the Man Cave and taking care of my "stuff" of which the wife seems to think there is way to much of and as I sprayed the windex on the dusty glass case I thought back to the hunt that produced the fine trophy encased therin. Grab a glass of your favorite tonic and lets go hunting.
It was mid October and as I let the dogs out for there last bathroom break for the night there was frost in the air. The night sky was bright with millions of stars gleaming like diamonds in the sky. It looked like you could reach up and pick one. The windmill creaked a rusty groan on an errant breeze and I knew what I wanted to do in the morning. Even though it was 10pm I called Tim at the Haymarsh. "Did I wake you Tim?" I asked as he groggly ansered the phone. "No I was just checking my eyelids for leaks" was the sarcastic but friendly reply. I made the plans for a scratch hunt the next day.
I redied the gear, put the beeper collar on the charger where I wouldn't forget it, got the collars, bells, wistles, shells and such into the shooting bag and took a Parker GHE 16 out of the safe. My "stuff" was in a pile so there was nothing left to chance, I was ready.
Frost covered the windshield of the truck as I put some heat into her as the morning coffee brewed. I put the heater on for both front seats and put the blanket on the passenger side to warm up for Gunner. As we headed for the club he curled up in a ball for one more nap befor work.
Tim had set aside 4 fields for a total of 160 acers right in the middle for us. I couldn't have asked for a better deal especially as this was a scratch hunt meaning he didn't release any birds. We would hunt for whatever we could find. There were a couple of other hunters getting redy as well. Like minded souls either enjoying the fruits of retirement or playing hooky from work as I was.
We had been hunting for about an hour when a volly of shots got my attention. I saw a bird flying about 100 yards away escapeing the dogs and guns of some other hunters. I marked it down and gave it some time to settle down and for some scent to accumulate. Gunner and I continued the direction we were headed but we looped around to get the wind in our favor as we worked our way to the area where I had marked the bird to be.
The cover was tall and very thick and Gunner was methodically working into the wind searching for scent. It was maybe 10 min or so befor he got his first wiff of bird. His stubby tail went into overdrive and his pace slowed as he began his hunt. The beeper screamed point but in the thick cover I had a hard time finding the dog. When I did Gun was locked solid but there was no flush, the bird had run. The game had begun. Gunner would point, the bird would run and we would do this dance for the next Fourty muinetes and cover over two hundred yards of cover. I saw the bird twice running like a Rabbit through the thick grass using Deer trails as escape runs. It would have been easy to ground swat him but this was a big Cock bird and a veteran of other dogs and guns. Perhaps a wild Rooster or at least one that has survived the countless Hawks, Coyotes, Ferral cats and he deserved better. The bird was using a finger of very thick cover in his game of hide and seek. This cover though would run out in another 50 yards and he would have to fly as he couldn't run across the water filled ditch. Gunner was doggedly on his trail as I circled around to cut him off. I had barley gotten to where I wanted to be when the beeper indicated Gunner was on point. I couldn't see the dog but slowly advanced to push the bird into flight.
The big cock bird had just muinetes to live and in all honesty if he hadn't been so arrogant in voiceing his disgust at being pushed into flight he might have lived to fight another day. The cackeling bird flushed not where I thought he would come from between Gunner and myself but a good twenty yards off to the side. If it hadn't been for that cackel I might not have seen him in time. The Parker came to my shoulder and the trigger tripped befor i knew it. I saw a leg drop, "Damn it" I thought and moved my left arm to get the gun in front of the bird as each wing beat put more real estate between us. I increased the forward allowance then increased it again and fired the second and last shot at a rapidly evaporating target. By the grace of God and a lot of luck the big Rooster folded. I saw where it went down and just then Gunner apperared from the thick weeds with a look as it to say "after all I have done I hope you got him". The bird was indeed dead in the air and was retreived ever so carefully by Gunner.
He was a vetran by every measure. I counted 32 bars on his long tail and he had the spurs of a fully mature bird, a true trophy by any standard. We might have been on a preserve but the hunt was a good one and the quarry was first rate. It couldn't have been any better in South Dakota.
I had the bird mounted and have enclosed a few pictures. Gunner has been gone for 6 1/2 months now but he's always there on the hunt with me. Thanks for the wonderfull memories Little Buddy.