What Makes a Red Letter Day?

[Andy]

Originally Posted by Garry L Gordon

It all makes me cringe. I had a male Gordon that could not leave porkies alone. The last time he tangled with one we had to take him to the vet to have the few we could not get in his mouth removed. While he was under anesthesia, his heart stopped. They revived him, but three days later he dropped over dead after beginning to retrieve a grouse he'd pointed. We are still not sure what happened, and it haunts me to this day, but I shoot porkies on sight now when I come across them.

I hope Otis is okay.

Garry I really do appreciate the thoughts and I will keep rechecking him. Compared to the first two times, this was a lighter one. The very first one was terrible they were very large quills in his eyelids and nose and gums and lips, probably 100 after he kept grabbing the damn thing. I'm not one to just kill something to kill it, but this one is dead today. My vet told me about the quills migrating to the lungs and heart and I'm sorry to hear about your loss. Didn't mean to hijack this thread, it's supposed to be a happy thread : )

[Phil C]

A recent RLD.

[mobirdhunter]

Originally Posted by Phillip Carr

A recent RLD.

I'd like to see that in person -- what a sight! I'd probably forget to shoot.

[Gary Laudermilch]

Ah, nothing much better than bird dogs at work.

[Dean Romig]

That’s a really nice picture Phil - definitely should be framed!





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[Chris Pope]

I’m new to PGCA and thought I’d add a late note to this great chain of hunting “red letter days”. Last October a friend of mine had to return home from hunting camp and “lent” me his 28 ga Parker Repro. A little background on him- he’s the only one of the five of us not yet retired (we all rent a log cabin every October up north for bird season) and the youngest, in his fifties. He works in a very large gun store and has a life long passion for doubles, especially the classics. Every year when he arrives at camp we drool over the 3 or 4 new (old) shotguns he has acquired or is “trying out”. In any case, he found himself in a quandary. He owned this 28 ga repro with a pistol grip stock but he had just tried out an identical 28 ga repro only with an English stock and liked that better. I knew what he was up to. He thought if he “lent” it to me that I would fall in love with it and buy it from him so he could re-invest in other Parkers since he liked the English stock version better. I don’t fall for this trick any more because I’ve known him for too long and have bought many shotguns from him. On the other hand, I wasn’t about to turn down the opportunity to try out this little beauty. I was now alone with my 2 Griffs (and my loaner 28 ga repro) to fend for myself in the northern woods infested with woodcock and grouse. We hit a sweet little woodcock covert that runs along a stream that empties into a larger stream. 15 minutes into the covert, my 2 year old griff crosses in front of me and jambs on the breaks skidding to a stop. It was as though his nose had been snagged by a large fishhook dangling from an alder. But it was no fishhook. It was the sweet scent of a woodcock. I promptly walked up. The bird launched with that classic whistling twitter from behind an old apple tree. I could not see the bird at first. But the direction was right before me so I began to mount the 28 side by side. Suddenly the timberdoodle appeared right in the notch between the two main branches of this old wild apple tree. As it sped away it imbedded an image that shall remain forever in my mind. Because the Parker Repro fit me so well the butt found my shoulder and my cheek the stock and all I could see was this bird on the bead at the end of the barrels as it moved out to about 25 yards. I pulled the forward trigger and down went the bird. The griff fulfilled his duty by bringing that beautiful woodcock to hand. It’s that fall dance that all of us who hunt know- dog, bird, scent, point, flush, gorgeous Parker to shoulder and bird back to hand. Then I shouted a really bad expletive because that darn friend of mine had done it again. I violated that golden rule. If you don’t want to buy the car don’t test drive it! And yes, now I own it. My first repro. What a fine memory.

[mobirdhunter]

Chris, welcome! It is a Red Letter Day when a new gun proves it fits you. Congratulations.

[Dean Romig]

That’s a really nice red-letter story Chris.





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[Ed Norman]

Chris,
Thats a nice story for sure, and welcome to the forum. I think I hunt with the "twin" that sold you your gun

[Stan Hillis]

I recall a red letter duck day, from 2-3 years back. I've been chasing green heads in eastern AR for 25+ years. When my oldest grandson got big enough to handle a duck gun I took him with me and he killed his first mallards. A couple years later his younger brother showed interest in going with us, so we made it a threesome.

i was shooting my 32" HE Fox with 1 1/4 oz. handloads of #4 bismuth. There were five of us in the big floating blind that morning and it was a good day. Both grandsons killed ducks, and Grandad was on a pretty good roll. I had killed a mallard and a widgeon, with two shots. Then I killed a gadwall with one shot. A drake and a hen mallard circled and made the commitment. Just as I pulled on the drake the hen cut behind him and I dumped them both with one shot. I was thinking that I was five for four shells. Thinking stuff like that can get to you. I said to myself "Myself, if you kill the next one with one shell you will have a 6 duck limit with 5 shells". Next duck I had a shot at was a big mallard drake, all by his lonesome. He circled the dekes four or five times, talking it up. The wind was in our faces, and he came from behind. I hit him hard....... I thought. As he was falling I could tell he had lots of life left in him and would be a swimmer, so I hit him again before he hit the water, with the left barrel.



Ended the morning six for six, and both grandsons killed ducks. That was indeed a red letter day, but I remember another one in that same blind, with that same gun. My friend and his Dad were with me. They own the land. And, another friend from AR was with us. Slow morning. We had killed 6 or 8 when a lone drake mallard starting circling the hole. He was lonesome, but wary. He came from behind and I thought, from the way he was losing altitude, that he was going to set down in the dekes. He saw something at the last minute that he didn't like and starting climbing, going straight away. I put that big Fox's bead on him and sent a load of bismuth chasing him. It hit him hard and he shuddered, but kept going, climbing slightly. When my load hit him he was probably 45 yards out, and many of you know how hard it is to anchor a duck with a straightaway shot, if you don't break a wing. He flew out to about 170 yards then put both wings out rigid and crashed to the water, behind some tall trees. My older friend said that I had the only gun in the blind that would have made that shot, with it's tight chokes and the bismuth.

My younger friend commanded his young black Lab Max to "Mark!". He sent him through the decoys, across the big hole. Into the trees he swam ..........out of sight completely. We waited and waited. I was getting worried about Max because he had been gone so long and there was nowhere the water was shallow enough for him to touch bottom. I mentioned that we might should get in the boat and go see about him. We waited a couple more minutes and my friend said "Look at that!" Max was coming back through the trees and we could barely make out a green head hanging in front. Finest duck retrieve I ever witnessed ........... at least 180 yards, blind retrieve with no correction from his master, out of sight of us, in deep water.

SRH