Finding Myself Again
The mild fall weather has surrendered to the cold and dreary winter winds. The sky is gray and lifeless with hanging dark clouds while driving down the long gravel road to my favorite hunting spot, while sipping on a mug filled with stiff cowboy coffee. It’s late December and the last portion of the North Dakota Pheasant Season has arrived, but the end isn’t yet, and there is still work to do. One more bird is needed for supper.
The upland season has been full of highs and lows for me. Highs in getting lots of exercise and harvesting gorgeous pheasants, and lows in that the the early season was rough. The gifted shells used in the beginning could have been the problem, and didn’t inspire any confidence after ruining many opportunities at flushing birds. My solution was replacing them with Federal Prairie Storm loads, and boy did they work! More in the field practice also made a huge difference.
Roaming the hills of my boyhood days has been dreamlike, smiling on the inside while the cold winter winds assault the bare skin of my face. This year has meant a lot—more than you can imagine. Health issues from my military service have kept me sidelined from hunting for years, but this time is different, like being re-born, but with a lot of gas still in the tank and a mind eager for adventure and exploration.
Pulling into the approach of the neighbors field, it was time to get out of the truck and load my my new Winchester, while being greeting by the cold winter wind. The final spot for the day has been the site of previous hunts, being a round circle of tall cattails in a low spot of the field. There’s no need to traipse through as it’s small enough to just walk the perimeter. Fall rains have, in part, refilled the slough, but it’s now frozen solid. Before the snow came, the birds were very jumpy. Now, instead of them flushing early, they wait until the last second—every upland hunter’s dream.
The walk to the site was brief with the plan to walk counter clockwise around it, starting north to south before swinging and heading east. As suspected, there were tracks of multiple pheasants in the grey and blue hued snow. At the back side of the cattails, the first rooster flushed and my new scattergun barked once, then twice, hitting nothing but air. There’s no time to be irritated as the last rooster took flight. He made a big mistake flying the opposite direction into the stiff west wind, hitting an updraft. It just hung there frozen in time as I raised my shotgun to fire. The third load of number 5’s did not miss as the bird fell to the ground with a loud thud. Retrieving the handsome, multi-colored prize was surreal, just as exciting as the first bird of the season. It’s no wonder why bird dogs get so excited to hunt.
This season goes down as a personal best in all aspects. Yes, it’s been full of ups and downs, but mostly ups, even on the days when best efforts come up empty. It’s been healing, a reminder that hunting is still doable, along with the ability to enjoy it. There are tons of roosters around, thanks to an abundance of moisture and available cover. The nice thing about upland hunting is the simplicity of grab and go, with most of my gear already in the truck. There’s no getting up at 3 a.m., no decoy hauling, and no brushing of blinds. The most difficult thing is all the walking and how hard it can be to knock down birds. Roosters are tough critters.
The miles put on this season along with a sensible approach to eating have had a massive impact on me with over twenty pounds lost. Who wants to sit in a stinky gym and run on a treadmill, when you can go out in nature, enjoying what the almighty has given us? It’s nature’s grocery store.
Thinking about this season, it takes me back to my first two birds. It took place in a narrow strip of cattails not too far from my childhood home. You never know if the birds will be there or not because they are crafty and well traveled, but just like other animals, they have their favorite spots and can hide in the thinnest of cover. This time, to my delight, the first one took flight and headed for the hills as the shotgun went bang, dropping the bird. In a few more steps another one flushed going the same direction into one of our cut corn fields. The shotgun went bang again, dropping the bird in an instant. Then a footrace ensued after the first bird decided to have a bodily resurrection as if the day of the Lord had come. Even at age 46, I still run pretty fast and the deal was sealed with a final shot.
Hunting is about seizing each day spent in the field and enjoying it whether you limit out or not. You’re not going to experience the joys of hunting without the grind and effort. Sitting on the couch will get you a ticket to nowhere in a hurry. From the first time lacing up my hunting boots, my mindset was to employ some good old U.S. Army grit forged from countless pre-dawn miles in laced up sneakers, along with cold and rainy days spent in the field with heavy ruck sacks and gear, marching for hours. This included enduring an incident with a pair of game shears that robbed me of a finger tip for a while, followed by an untimely visit to the ER. Shooting right handed became a necessity for a good month or more while my bandaged trigger finger healed. This incident didn’t stop me, and thanks to solid marksmanship training, birds still fell from the sky, without the help of a dog or hunting buddies. Thank you dad and drill sergeant Moore.
After harvesting what would be the final bird of the season, it was time to call it quits and head home after a long morning of walking. Two pheasants would yield plenty of meat, which included a bird at home in the fridge from a previous hunt. The breast meat would be utilized in my wife’s favorite dish. She said she married me for my cooking, and not just for my good looks. The legs, thigh meat, and breast bone leftovers would be thrown in the slow cooker. It can be utilized to make just about anything, which this time ended up being pheasant salad for sandwiches. It’s a tedious process, but you get a lot out of it.
At the end of the day I’m just an ordinary guy living the good life on the North Dakota prairie, one day at a time, enjoying life’s simple pleasures. Val was happy the hunt went well and enjoyed her pheasant pasta supper. Hunting season will be missed, but it will come around again soon enough, but this time, Lord willing, I’ll be ready.
