One more story on a Sunday

Yesterday was the Glorious 12th - the day on which pheasant and dove season open in the Imperial Valley. The dogs and I spent it roaming from the border to the Salton Sea, hunting and touring, having a fine time, and finding plenty of birds.

I've been shooting my Fox most of the season and decided to give my Westley Richards droplock a day's use. It is a lovely gun, an engineer's delight, and I shoot it pretty well. I started the morning hunting for dove, and though the shooting was slow, I had a handful of birds by 7.30.

I decided to try another spot and on the way noticed a lot of dove working around the intersection of four fields. The birds were feeding in three newly-planted fields of row crops but the fourth field was alfalfa and unposted. I concealed myself in a drainage canal and killed a couple more dove in just a few minutes. Then I noticed that some hunters were driving the alfalfa for pheasant and managed to put up a few birds. They had not hunted my edge of the field so perhaps a few of the roosters had moved into that area? I got Rosie and Silk out of their crates, loaded the gun with heavier loads of #6, and gave it a try.

We worked the area for 20 minutes or so without moving a bird and then I noticed a couple of dove land on the other side of a drainage ditch 200 yards away. Since the pheasant were not cooperating I dropped dove loads into the gun (I shoot very light dove loads with very small shot) and walked in their direction.

Of course I had not gone 30 yards when a big cock popped up right in front of me. I probably should have just waved at him, but instead I took a close shot with those dove loads, and hit him hard enough to kill him - but not until he had flown 400 yars, collapsing dead in mid air, in the middle of another field that was (a) posted, and (b) being actively worked by a couple of guys on fast tractors with hay rollers. I walked over to the edge and looked for an obviously-dead bird without luck. The drivers would have been very annoyed if I started combing their field with my setters so I cursed my choice of guns (most of my doubles have two triggers, but W-R was very proud of their single trigger and apparently only sold droplocks that way) and headed for other spots.

Next I was in an area with a deep irrigation channel bordered by heavy, waist-high chaparral. I've killed pheasant there before so I loaded with #6 and even managed to kill a dove with that load. Then I ran into a covey of Gambels quail and proceeded to miss 4 in a row over some decent dog work. That was quite annoying. I'm convinced that those little demons flew right through the sparse loads of #6 (I shot 4 for 4 on quail that weekend when shooting #8, so I should have killed at least a couple of them).

Now I'm feeling pretty bummed. I have a nice collection of dove, but no pheasant and no quail, and some pretty sorry stories to tell about it all. Then, redemption: a cock pheasant flushed out of canal and back over my head. Since it was first sold in 1901 the W-R has probably killed 5,000 pheasant on shots just like this and the #6's did their work. The bird was dead in the air and hit the ground in an open spot.

Now I could relax, give up on pheasant, and just shoot quail and dove. We got into more quail and I killed a couple, and then I found a spot for dove that had about 150 birds working the area. Killed a few more there, including a couple a long-range passing shots (60 paces to one of the dead birds) that left me feeling pretty good about the day.

So, the lesson: shoot a gun with two triggers when hoping for a mixed bag! I have a nice thumblever Purdey that would have been a great choice. But the day came out well. Mike, wish you had been there to point out my folly.

What are the odds?

While driving a decent dirt road in Montana in September a rear tire went very quickly flat. When I changed the tire I saw this small pebble protruding from the center of the tread:

The idea that such a tiny rock could cause immediate failure had me thinking about changing my prefered brand of tires. But after Malta Tire installed new rubber I saw that the "pebble" was just one end of this: A perfect tire assasin. My best guess is that the front tire tossed up the rock which then fell in front of the rear tire in a perfect jabbing position. Nasty rock and worse luck. But I always carry two spares on a long trip, and it was about time to change out the rear tires anyway, so just a mild inconvenience in a wonderful bird hunting trip.

East of San Diego

I've enjoyed some great hunts the last couple of weeks and will post a bit about them. First, a couple of weekends ago I hunted quail with Rosie (foreground, she's actually backing) and Silk (background, she found the birds first) in a area east of Julian (San Diego). The cover looks perfect, and I know there is some water around, but for some reason the bird populations are never very good. But I did get some nice work from Rose and Silk, and killed a couple of birds over their points, and had a very nice few hours walk, so who could complain?
By the way, Silk will be 15 in January. Anyone have a picture of an older bird dog pointing wild birds? She has never run big, but she will hunt all day, she handles birds well, and we've killed a lot of birds together. I'd take another one just like her if I could.

You know you're a bird hunter when...

You retire 10 years early with no plan other than to hunt birds everywhere they exist.

You own an equal number of shotguns and bird dogs.

Your hunting truck cost more than your daily driver.

You realize that ALL your good friends are also bird hunters.

You take your best dog and a shotgun on an elk hunting trip -- planning to shoot the first legal elk you see and spend the rest of the two weeks hunting birds.

You wife AUTOMATICALLY assumes that you have some special bit of hunting gear in mind for Christmas.

You look in you closet and you have more hunting boots than dress shoes.

You spend more time in Montana than in your second home in the Caribbean.

When you do go to the Caribbean with your wife, you are invited to shoot birds by your friends... and you go.

Your vet bill equals or exceeds your own medical expenses.

You spend your cross country flight time looking out the plane window trying to spot likely places to go in the Fall.

You realize that all your non-hunting friends have given up on you... you're getting more invites to go hunting than to attend Christmas parties. 

Kris - Showing Progress

Kris is now nine-months old and is coming along really well. Ground work has been done mostly with pigeons and launchers, with the occasional bobwhite and chukar thrown in to keep things interesting. She is standing her birds well and holding most of the time after the flush and shot. Since she was about three-months old she has been worked regularly in the yard; standing on the bench, barrel, and platforms; crating, heeling, and whoaing. She responds to her workouts and training with enthusiasm and has a lot of energy. She is roaded regularly off an ATV and has been run in a few derbies off horseback. Now that chukar season is here it's time to introduce her to some wild birds.

Eastside Finn - RIP

About a week ago I had to put the "Big Boy" down. Finn was suffering from Spondylosis, a chronic condition caused when bone spurs form on the spine due to progressive disc degeneration. It wasn't apparent to me that he was suffering from anything but old age, and the arthritis he had in his front elbows. But overnight, he had gone from moving around slowly in what appeared to be a somewhat arthritic walk, to being debilitated.

This past summer he had enjoyed many days on the dining deck of the "Staff House" of Laurens summer camp, at the feet of the children as they ate their meals. In true Lab fashion, not a crumb was spared. From breakfast through dinner Finns presence was enjoyed by the children and staff alike. Many nights I had to go to the deck to retrieve him. He would grudgingly follow me back to the kennel, his head slung low and moving at a snails pace.

I quit hunting him in the uplands a few years ago, as the ground was just not compatible with his aging frame - the steep rocky ground of chukar country is not forgiving. But we did have opportunities to hunt the Valley for ducks, and shoot a few doves at home. The sight of a gun and the closing of it's action still causing him to whimper, whine, and dance.

He is buried above the barn. It is where he spent most of his days when camp was not in session, acting as the official greeter to all who came to visit. His presence will be missed, memories cherished......

Report from Montana

Paul Garrett and I have been in NE Montana working dogs since August 3^rd. We have had good grounds on which to run dogs, thanks to several local ranchers. We are making progress and so are the dogs.

The long cold winter followed by a wet Spring resulted in some rank growth and many farmers were not able to get wheat in the ground until mid-June or later. Where we are most of the wheat is still standing, but finally browning off, so it should be harvested over the next week or two. This will redistribute game birds and make more ground available for dog work.

Cover on CRP ground here is very heavy and tall, It has been difficult to get much done in this cover – a mix of grasses and yellow sweet clover. It is tough on the dogs and it is hard to get birds pointed in this type of cover.

We have been concentrating on hay/alfalfa field edges that have had the first cutting, edges of wheat fields, and prairie ground. We have been finding adequate birds for training – sharp-tails and more Huns than I expected. Pheasants are scarce. The weather has been hot, so we are working dogs morning and evening.

I am excited with Cody. He has been running well from horseback, staying to the front, responding to voice and paying good attention. He is very appealing on the ground. I have also been check cording him on wild birds and he is pointing Huns and sharp-tails – and becoming a bird monster. He was the primary reason I came to Montana and his progress is well worth the trouble and expense of making this trip.

Ted is getting fit and finding birds. He is hunting birds near camp and running hard. Tommy is still crazy. I still don't know if he is going to be a bird dog, despite the progress we made late last season.

Paul has several nice setter pups on his string that are starting to hunt and run well. They are starting to point game birds and look good doing it.

I will try to post some pictures next time, but I have to get in the truck, drive to the top of a hill a mile and a half away and post via a cellular connection.