Saturday, September 15, 2012

Letter to an old friend

Hello....

If the calendar is correct and the view from my home and windshield is correct, the crops are coming out and fall is upon us.  Officially.  

This is better than Christmas.

I have many maps in front of me tonight.... drawing up our next adventure.  My pups are chewing up my furniture, but I won't put a beating on them because without them we would be ghost walking through all that tall and thick grass.  Aimless.  And I love them more than people.  They have a better sense of time and know better than me what's to come in the next few months.  Excellent.

So, I have a few private Nebraska CRP/WRP fields to hunt..(this shit is like trying to get a good show in Hollywood), the awesome and usual public ground in Iowa for us, and a few new spots here in Nebraska which will involve you and I and Darlin taking a bit of a road trip while you are here.

I'm pretty excited about all of this.  

There will be shooting, pointing, and tall boy sipping in a dim lighted  day light savings time scenario drive back to our farm with tired dogs at our feet.  

Man.  

I know, but I have to ask you in the spirit of all stokkedeadness... Ready?

Best,

AP

Friday, February 17, 2012

Michael Jordan

Friends, hello.  Its been a productive season and in the middle of it our internet connect had been shut.... Rural living.

For this I apologize.

Now that we have that stuff out of the way, (i feel better, don`t you?), I will continue as if this whole mess never happened to us.  After all, I only want you to be happy.

The story of Michael Jordan is as follows:

We had seen this Rooster, (whom we named Michael Jordan due to his grouse like springing up to approx 12 feet when flushed) and by this trade marked move he had escaped our guns for two seasons, making him a fucking legend in our eyes...  He had thwarted my in law from Montana when he came up against MJ, and even tricked the likes of my hunting buddy Donnie, (whom NEVER misses), upon a flush.

Always camping next to a thicket which is surrounded by a mowed walk-way and dense CRP meadow, MJ was a master of his territory.  There had been many mornings when we would walk through this public ground, almost always getting in some gunning and bagging a rooster or two, no doubt from his past seasons off spring, but MJ always camped close to where we parked about 100 yards from the truck(s) and made a fool of our shot gunning skills as we were about to exit the field...always hard gripped on our guns ready for a final shot as often it would come, pushing the running roosters to the road.  He had it down.  The same scenario upon my exiting of this property.

On one particular morning, in true MJ fashion the usual happened:  We came to the end of the thicket, dogs on scent..then: FLIP FLIP, a burst from this same roosters escape.  This always draws nervous and unaware shooting.  Most of which are parallel pointed muzzels,and trigger pulling that results in the end of anyones shotgun barrel pointing a full 90 degrees pointing at the slowly rising sun, burning away the morning chill and the cache of shells in our guns.  We wipe our brows, every time mind you, and bitch quietly to one another at his escape.  A true master was Michael Jordan....

BUT THIS TIME HE FUCKED UP.

Instead of flying across I-29 (his usual path), he slowly descended to our south approx 40 yards and plopped down into the section in which we started.  Always thinking, this rooster.  I know that he thought that we already hunted this patch and we would just call it "fair game" and walk back to the trucks, have a coffee and determine our next location of our Sunday hunt.  How many times had he done this before?

Donnie, my mentor and uncle, motioned with a hand signal that we head back to where MJ landed; retracing the steps we walked when we entered the field an hour ago.  With my heart beating and my legs warming up I motioned to Darlin (my GSP) to head for the section we started with.

Out of the south the breeze began to pick up.  It was a small, small section in which MJ landed.  I walked sooo slow.  My dog pointed.  Then stopped.  Then pointed again.  MJ was running.  I selected the barrel of my Browning to the IC.  I knew it would come soon.  Closing in.  Closing in.  Darlin`s tail thwarted quickly back and forth, all the while with her left eye on me.  Donnie closed in at approx 10 yards.  I am so determined at this point. Thinking about the shots Dad and Donnie had taken on him in the past.  I remembered laughing at them in the display of shot after shot and watching this Rooster escape.  It had been true entertainment, all of this, in the past.  Though, this time this was a REAL opportunity.

At the last minute, when there was no more ground for our hero Michael Jordan to tread he did it:  That famous "I'm gonna slam dunk it": parallel jump into the sun.  Bang!  One shot ended his career.  My shot.  You are as surprised as I was.

It was truly a silver moment collecting him into my game bag. It was a straight and lethal shot.  Donnie came over with his two Viszlas all wagging their tail and said "I'm glad he didn't fly over the interstate because you wouldn't have had a shot with the traffic and all".  He was happy for me.  Truly.  It honestly felt good in the midst of this cold morning and my 5 hours of rest before all of this.

Getting home that afternoon I examined MJ thoroughly.  His rainbow plumage and long beak...  The usual as you would expect of an old rooster: long tail and spurs.  I took especially great care in his cleaning, as respectful of an endeavor that I could manage.  I thought about the shots I had seen taken at him, even imagined the ones I wasn't there for.  A great bird.  Possibly one of the best.  "This is the reason I came here", I thought as the ever growing grey sky grew over my house here in the country.  I love fall so much.

I don't want this to sound to weird or twisted, but I ate him that night.  I used the best ingredients I had in my house: vegetables that my wife grew and harvested from the summer before all of this, a really good olive oil that I save for special occasions, and this was definitely such an occasion.

A day or so later I re-told this whole story to a coworker, and he inquired why I didn't just have him stuffed.  He had  a valid point.  Honestly the thought never crossed my mind.  Maybe, looking back, honoring this game by the most extravagant dinner I could have out here in the middle of chicken fried steaks and chewy sirloin steak dinners was the best honor I could have given old MJ.

I kept his spurs though.

The best to you though,

AP




Monday, December 5, 2011

First Storm

 Saturday was the first storm of this upland season.  We heard about it`s arrival for days through the local television news, papers and various cell phone applications that I check religiously as of lately.  Waking up saturday morning, pre-sunrise wielded no weather at all.  Totally still.  I had expected to start out into a voracious storm with high wind and freezing rain.  Not this time.

We set out on a little privately owned 40 acre CRP field that screams rooster.  Plenty of habitat, feeding and watering ground for our little ring necked friends.  This place has had to be in the CRP program for a decade or so.  PRIMO.

We park about 400 yards away.  I was nervous because the wind was sooo still.  Out here in the prairie there is almost ALWAYS some sort of wind.... at least 15 MPH.  THEY WILL HEAR US COMING.

Its dark to the point where I cant tell if a busted tree stump is a deer or just some sort of, well, tree stump.  Shadows.  I know the birds have already gone out to feed.  We decide to split the field.  There are two bluffs and in the valleys of these bluffs are very dense and aged thickets complimented with large 6' tall sunflower wilts.  PRIME.

I take the first top, flat table and Donnie takes the other to the west.  I can make out a shadow of him and his two Vizsla beginning to cover their section on this field.  Picturesque.  If I operated this blog in a professional manner I would have photography of this moment.  I had the duty of holding on to my shotgun.

Again, it is so still and quiet.  I take to slowing my dog down and slowly zig zagging through our section.  She (my dog) hits point.  I creep up.  She sneaks further with nose to the floor of the field, her back legs tip toeing in such a classy manner.  This is so beautiful and personal when this happens. She stops.  No breeze, no nothing.  Fucking total silence.  I exhale and look to the greying horizon for a flushing rooster. We are getting to the end of the table.  Creeping further and then another point.  Something is in here.  I am so ready.  I have hunted this little field a bunch in the last few weeks hoping to timely wade into the flock that I know are here before they wildly flush off the very top that I am on right now.

STOP.  Another point and that little glance from my dogs left eye telling me that there are birds here.  She is telling me, "get ready dad, he`s in here".  I step forward half a boot length and BAMMM, a brilliantly colored rooster pheasant, my rooster, sets off and I hit him within a 5 second period of his flush.  Bang.

The rooster hits the floor, his escape shorted, and picks up heading down the valley to the west.  "GO GET HIM DARLIN", I yell and she is hot on his trail..10 yards below the shot she has him pinned down.  "Good girl", I say, "back off"... the rooster, bagged.

The snow storm started.  Slowly at first then, more and more the flakes piled up on the grass and on us.  It was one of the most beautiful mornings I had ever seen.   Later on that day, upon my commute to work the weather had become so fierce that I had to turn back to my home.  Resting in my chair with a cold beer in my hand, bird dog napping heavily at my feet, I thought away from a work shifts salary not met, but entertained the thought of a rooster in my freezer. Sometimes life can be complicated and simple at the same time.  This balance is gratification.



Sunday, November 27, 2011

Thanksgiving Hunt Update


 We were lucky to have one of the best Thanksgivings ever (regarding weather):  Slight breeze in our dogs faces and some 60`s-ish temperatures all day long.  Imagine that.

From time to time we hit a public field or two, being that we are privileged to live so close to many great state managed areas.  These fields have wielded many a great memory and bird limits, surprisingly sometimes.

Early Thanksgiving day we set out to hit a nice half section public field that is FLAT (my poor knees), and very well maintained.  We got there 45 minutes before legal shooting hours.  We got "dibs"...seemingly.

All throughout this hunt (which lasted 4 hours, we are that thorough), I saw in the distance cars and trucks stopping outside of the field, unloading dogs and stepping in for a bit and stepping out.  I know these other hunters saw us because I waved to them a few times to alert them to our presence.  Still they wavered in for a moment, to test the waters, as it were, and bust the scent trails we were following with our dogs.  Disrupting the whole time.

I dont mean to bitch, as I am willing to share.  Hell, contact me on the road and I`d love to hunt with you.  Strength in numbers and all that, but this was simply not safe.  I have already nearly got shot by a wayward deer  rifle last week.

The thing is that where we were, there are 4 other big public fields within a 2 mile radius of where we were.

I`d like to touch on some etiquette for hunting public field:

If there are vehicles parked around a public field before you get there, move on, or at least try and make contact with those that are already there to establish some sort of boundary of the property.  I realize its public domaine, but do we really need another hunting accident to make the whole scene look worse?

Its simply not worth it.  GET UP EARLIER OR MOVE ON.   Common courtesy/common sense.  To quote Harley Jackson: "enjoy the outdoors and let safety, conservation and ethics be your guide".  i could`nt put it any better than that.




Whoa.  The diamond shot at a short distance did just what it was advertised to do:" hard hitting and a tight pattern".  Ouch.  We will let them get out a little further next time.  (we made stock out of him FYI)



A sleeping bird dog and all the memories made the day TOTALLY worth it.  We roasted up that rooster for our Thanksgiving dinner.  What a great day.

I feel the mid-season moving in.  Colder mornings and that sweater thats been hanging in my closet all summer long.  I know where a covey of Quail is roosted a few miles from here.  Gotta get rested up.

the very best to you,

AP

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Rum to Whiskey



Yesterday was the first freezing rain/winter morning.  Mid-Season.  I grab almost every piece of clothing that I have to stash in the truck as we hit the field.  Its been a beautiful and elongated fall.

The last two days have been covered with ice.

The dogs are really getting it together.  Its funny how much more they know than us.  I follow them.   Sometimes I`m following them up and down and up and down again, trying to catch my breath... all for their point.  I get tired.

I sometimes get frustrated at my lack of physical abilities and start to take it out on the dogs, but then stop myself.  I watch them check every fucking piece of cover, more than I ever would...as they look back at me with the corner of their eye.  I am privileged to hunt along side them.  My stress means nothing out there.  Thats just what we need.

I read somewhere lately that dogs are MASTERS of optimism...  That idea sits really well with me.  It`s pretty comfortable, that idea, really.

Lets take that Idea through the next couple of months/fields.

AP

Sunday, November 13, 2011


Its early morning.  The dog slams on point.  Your feet and ankles are still sore from the day before.   Its hunting season.  Pre-sunrise radio shows (the best are on A.M.), coffee from a thermos, and maybe a doughnut from that small town convenience store thats near your "honey hole".  Autumn.  

Harvest is over.  The best time for a bird hunter.

I sit in my truck waiting for the sun to rise.  Fiddling with the dog`s E collar or some such accessory.  This is so much better than filling the mower with gas on a hot summers morning, preparing to mow around our home.  There are birds here.  Otherwise we would`nt be doing this.  Back in the late 90`s there were many many birds.  People could just hop out of their trucks, walk a ditch and limit out, respectively.  

Its different now.  Less birds, for some ;)  and much adventure for the daring.  Its sorted out the serious bird hunters from the weekend road hunters.  Its kind of nice being the latter.  I`ve seen some spectacular points from my German Shorthair and my uncles Viszlas.  Amazing shots after some pursuits, that in some cases have lasted 30 minutes or so, roughly.
  
Satisfying: Dog gets the scent.  We follow as it makes a primeval snort into the thick prarie floor.  We follow and follow and pick up our pace.  A point or two from the dogs insures this pursuit.  Finally, a point or even a wild flush, (this gets the heart pumping), Bang!  Well, you know.  If you don`t, then you are in the wrong place.

Coming home.  There is nothing like a vest full of roosters and tired bird dogs that just want to plop down and rest.  I sometimes wonder about the dogs perspective on the hunt.  Really, they know more about the whole pursuit than we will ever know. We walk 5 miles but the dogs run 10 miles, following EVERY twist and turn the bird makes.  Sometimes I hit a rooster on the flush.

Dont get caught up on that funky shit going down in the city.  This is the place to be right now.

AP


Friday, November 4, 2011

The Begining

Its finally here:  Bird season.  Little Darlin` and I are aching and tired. Paws are chapped and resting on the couch come 2 pm every day.  Things couldnt be better.

Opening day was great.  Sitting in the truck watching the sun come up.  Sipping coffee.  That familiar old CRP field I spent so much time on last year.  Its just as good.  I remember walking half way through it and yelling over to my hunting buddy (my uncle), "theres lots of work to be done here still", as the sun rose even further and burned my eyes.  Tired legs didnt seem to matter at that point.  It was opening day.  No one gets tired on opening day.  The excitement is so great for the ones that choose this.  Heck, I could barely sleep the night before, even after working till the late hours.  Its like Christmas eve.  I think you know what I mean.

We both bagged some birds that morning.  Early on too.  My new shotgun really was worth all of those late hours of work that it took to purchase.  Super stoked were the dogs, awaiting this day probably more than the two of us.  I remember fidgeting with my wool gloves in the cab of my uncles pickup as the dogs grew anxious.  Yelping at times.

Friends, there is NOTHING like walking up a mountain of a CRP hill, seeing your dog on point, so sure, and the flush...BANG: from my Citori`s exploding 6 shot, patterning across the sky.  The dog rushes to the dead roosters departure, panting and breath outlined in early morning weather.  Getting there.  Kicking the shell out of your gun.  The dogs look back at you.  Its kinetic.  That  FIRST ROOSTER of the season.  That bird, that FIRST bird in your vest, is so motivating and exciting.  I know you`ll agree, and only a few folks know about that feeling.  Its what we wait for.

"I think we should take another pass at it", I said, legs weary and posting my gun next to the passenger side of my uncles pickup..  At this point the rooster comes back to life for a second kicking in my vest at my back.

Across the road a team of farmers are finishing the harvest.  The sound of the combines confirms what time it is.  I am happy.

Later on that day I stood over the sink in my house, plucking the birds and respectfully admiring their spurs and feather patterns thinking that one day people wont know what this is like.

Every moment is so important.