Cowboy_Dan
02-14-2016, 11:59 PM
So, my dad is getting a Brittany puppy in a few weeks. I woke up this morning with a text on my phone from him asking if I wanted to go with him on a put and take pheasant hunt. So I pack up my late grandpa's 16 ga. 11-'48 and a box of shells and meet them at the preserve. Short story is I shot 2. Longer story follows.
The past few days Winter finally started to catch up with us. A few inches of snow blanketed the ground. After stopping to get a license, I arrived at the preserve to find my father, the owner of his pup's sire, two other guys, three Brittanies, and three German shorhairs waiting for me. Car thermometer read 20 (it gets a lot colder here, but I still call that cold). We checked in and paid for our birds and then headed out to the field.
This was my first pheasant hunt, but in the field I could see that the dogs, even though each of the three other hunters' dogs had never met each other before, instinctively came together to work as a team. Actually, watching the dogs work was one of the most enjoyable parts of the hunt. A well-trained animal is a joy to behold.
Back to the action. Almost immediately when we got into the field the shorthairs started scenting birds. Within 100 yards two birds had been pointed out, flushed by the Brits, and knocked back down by members of the party. I winged a couple in the first few sweeps, but since I was not too familiar with the shells I had on hand and I was way too excited, I didn't take any of the first several.
We were on the third fencerow pass. A shorthair stopped dead three feet in front of me pointing into a pile of brush. I stop and look into the brush and see a rooster's tail. Before I know it a brit is brushing past my left leg. I raised my gun and said "Get 'im," as she entered the pile. Bird flew up and I connected for my first kill, as in ever, and I'm on cloud 9.
I shot another that went down clean towards the end with the last shell I had in my pocket, having accidentally left about half of mine in the car in my haste. So I make the trek back to the vehicles to grab some more and meet them back near the pheasant pen to play "cleanup" with birds waiting to be let back in. The dogs were able to stir ip another few birds, but I had to remain satisfied with my two as we didn't see any more birds between the pen and the cars.
After today, I know exactly why this was Grandpa's favorite bird gun. It handles great in the field and it isn't too heavy to carry all day. Also, if Dad's puppy is half the hunter that the sire was today, then he'll have a great bird dog.
The past few days Winter finally started to catch up with us. A few inches of snow blanketed the ground. After stopping to get a license, I arrived at the preserve to find my father, the owner of his pup's sire, two other guys, three Brittanies, and three German shorhairs waiting for me. Car thermometer read 20 (it gets a lot colder here, but I still call that cold). We checked in and paid for our birds and then headed out to the field.
This was my first pheasant hunt, but in the field I could see that the dogs, even though each of the three other hunters' dogs had never met each other before, instinctively came together to work as a team. Actually, watching the dogs work was one of the most enjoyable parts of the hunt. A well-trained animal is a joy to behold.
Back to the action. Almost immediately when we got into the field the shorthairs started scenting birds. Within 100 yards two birds had been pointed out, flushed by the Brits, and knocked back down by members of the party. I winged a couple in the first few sweeps, but since I was not too familiar with the shells I had on hand and I was way too excited, I didn't take any of the first several.
We were on the third fencerow pass. A shorthair stopped dead three feet in front of me pointing into a pile of brush. I stop and look into the brush and see a rooster's tail. Before I know it a brit is brushing past my left leg. I raised my gun and said "Get 'im," as she entered the pile. Bird flew up and I connected for my first kill, as in ever, and I'm on cloud 9.
I shot another that went down clean towards the end with the last shell I had in my pocket, having accidentally left about half of mine in the car in my haste. So I make the trek back to the vehicles to grab some more and meet them back near the pheasant pen to play "cleanup" with birds waiting to be let back in. The dogs were able to stir ip another few birds, but I had to remain satisfied with my two as we didn't see any more birds between the pen and the cars.
After today, I know exactly why this was Grandpa's favorite bird gun. It handles great in the field and it isn't too heavy to carry all day. Also, if Dad's puppy is half the hunter that the sire was today, then he'll have a great bird dog.