Modern Wild Man ~ It's Pheasant Season

Modern Wild Man

Hunting Pheasant is an Uplanders Dream

My favorite time of year is fall, and this year's pheasant opener did not disappoint!

Modern Wild Man and Meg on the pheasant opener!

The Ring Neck Pheasant

The Great Plains of North America is a wonder of nature full of vast expanses and true both in heart and deed.  The land of the prairie is honest and wholesome, but rugged and tough at the same time.  Fall on the prairie is a magical time.  Giant cottonwood trees turn a brilliant yellow, the lush grasses of May and June have come full circle offering golden seed to the autumn winds.  The prairie lands produce a bounty of grain; grain to feed countless mouths nurtured by fertile plains, the summer sun and raised by generations of men and women who care for the land.  It is this combination of grass and field, feed and cover across the plains of Kansas, Nebraska and the Dakotas that offers the sportsman a chance to pursue the magic of the pheasant hunt.

Upland hunting is tradition, right of passage and addictive.  Families gather for opening day with the same institution of any family holiday.  Cousins learn to play together around family farms, smiles and laughter are shared over stories of season openers passed and meals are set around family kitchens and dining tables on opening weekends all across the heartland.  If you are fortunate enough to be invited to such an occasion, count yourself lucky.  The fellowship and camaraderie are second to none.  If you are extra lucky there will be a bounty of birds to go along with the fellowship.

The pheasant is at home on the prairie.

The ringneck pheasant is a sturdy bird, tough and agile.  It is a perfect match for the beauty and the harshness of the plains.  Native to Asia and introduced to North America as a game bird, it is so popular that it is the state bird of South Dakota.  Pheasants make themselves at home in many types of cover including crop fields and grassy prairies.  It's this ability to adapt that makes pursuing the pheasant so addictive.  As a sportsman you must know and understand your quarry.  Trying to find and approach a wary bird that's adapt in so many environments can be both frustrating and fulfilling.  Pheasants become well versed at the game of chase quickly and learn to run and flush early at the sight and sounds of hunters.  Both adept on the ground and in the air, hunters must consider the ground cover, wind and escape routes when in pursuit.

Hunting Fellowship and Friendships are My Favorite

Recently I was able to join a long time friend of Modern Wild Man on an opening weekend hunt.  The experience was full and bursting at the seams.  Through the course of only a day and a half we managed to squeeze in family fellowship and meals, hot cups of coffee in the early morning, nearly 20 miles of walking and game bags heavy with birds.  This was Meg's first real pheasant hunt and an amazing way to kick off her second hunting season.

Modern Wild Man with Meg, a proud dog happy to work!

Opening Day Hunt

Opening morning was cool and damp.  Low clouds hung across the landscape like a heavy curtain.  Hunters rolled out of bed into the early morning darkness with anticipation.  Hot cups of coffee cupped between chilled hands rolled steam above the cup rim around eager faces.  The steam lingering lazily under cap brims pulled low.  The first rays of morning light brought with them a promise and an unforeseen adventure.  Men in leather boots and tan vests patched with orange blocks lined up neatly across the stubble of last summer's wheat in hopes of flushing a wild bird within shotgun range.  Meg quickly went to work, her nose to the ground, lifting it every so often to check the wind.  Step by step our group of hunters worked across the crop field, shotguns gripped at the ready with a bird dog in the lead.  Looking down the line a group of men all together to enjoy a bond of hunting and outdoorsmanship; builders and repairmen, fathers and sons, brothers and friends eyes squinted and steps light across the season's first field.  It wasn't long until the flash of wings and bright plumage took to the air.  The cackle of a rooster in flight.  The flush of a rooster pheasant from cover is explosive and tenacious, almost daring the hunter to shoot.  The nearest hunter in line to the bird snapped his gun to shoulder and just like it was written in a Hemingway novel a shotgun report rang into the morning.  The rooster folded in the air and fell to the ground.  Meg sprang into action at the sound of the gun and had the first pheasant retrieve of her career.

The day and the weekend moved on.  We covered more fields and found more birds.  Meg did not disappoint.  As the hunt moved along retrieves varied from singles to doubles.  Meg found birds in short stubble, tall standing crops and burrowed under weeds.  The confidence she built in the few short hours of that weekend hunt are immeasurable.  The joy and enthusiasm of a good bird dog is contagious.  I find that as many times that I go hunting for me and my therapy, I also go hunting for Meg and her clear love of bird hunting.  Getting to hunt with such a partner is a privilege and a rare opportunity.  Knowing that she has the same passion for the hunt that I do bonds us together beyond what words can describe.  Riding home after a long weekend that seemed so short, watching her curled up on the floorboard in a well deserved deep sleep I can't help but daydream about hunts to come and retrieves she will make.

Meg with a fields take of rooster pheasants.

I cannot express enough gratitude to my Modern Wild Man friend for the invitation to join his family for their opening weekend tradition.  The fellowship, family and willingness to share something of so much value cannot be measured.

If you enjoy upland bird hunting be sure and go to this past post about quail hunting here.

Interested in Meg's first season you can find it here.

Be sure and check out this bird hunting post from a Perfect Saturday!

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Modern Wild Man ~Geese in the Blind~

Modern Wild Man

Waterfowl hunting on the Kansas prairie.

Modern Wild Man & Meg's goose retrieve, five geese from the water.

Waterfowling with a shotgun dates clear back to the 17th century.  Before the advent of shotguns, man was a waterfowler in prehistoric times.  A mural in the tomb of ancient Egyptian Khum-Hotpe (1900 BC) depicts a hunter in a blind capturing ducks in a trap.  It's safe to say waterfowling is a hunting tradition.

I have been chasing waterfowl longer in my life now than I have not.  Chasing waterfowl in their winter migration is a passion, an addiction, a way of life.  I've pursued early teal in September, the beginning duck migration in November, late mallards in December, but every waterfowler looks forward to late season geese.

The Canadian goose is a large sturdy bird.   Canadian geese can reach upwards of 20lbs with wing spans of nearly six feet.  Strong fliers, and wary of danger, a Canadian goose hunt is in the dreams of many a waterfowler.  Kansas is smack dab in the middle of the central flyway.  Being right on the edge of a frozen band of iced up waters from Canada through the Dakotas and past Nebraska and her winding Platte river.  Kansas is a natural resting place for late season geese.  Potholes of water scattered around sprawling crop fields, the plains of Kansas offer up a great opportunity for hunting geese.

Recently I was able to spend a Saturday morning in a blind along a small pothole of water on the Kansas prairie.  A small spot of water between feed fields and the roost lake, often pasture ponds serve an opportunity for hunters to try and entice birds on their way to or from feed to stop and rest.  

The dark hours of the early morning were cold, morning temperatures in the twenties.  The pond water seemed to steam like an overgrown kettle on the edge of boiling.  The heat from yesterday's afternoon sun had soaked into the water, and it was resisting the cold of last nights frigid bite.  I threw out a mixture of mallard and goose decoys, righting themselves with a splash.  A gentle breeze pushed in a light fog and slightly warmer air.  The low clouds covered the morning stars and moon.  Wild places in the darkness are to me the most peaceful of all places.  Early morning darkness has always served me as a type of sounding board to myself.  The quietness, and darkness serve as a type of empty canvas for thought, contemplation and introspection.  With decoys set and a steaming cup of coffee poured from a thermos cupped in chilled hands, the wait for dawn is a special time in a waterfowlers blind.

Ducks often fly early, seeking feed in the darkest hours of the morning.  Looking out over the decoys drifting slightly back and forth on their tethered lines in the morning breeze,  the sound of whistling duck wings cut through the air.  My ears perked, and I searched the still dark sky for the flash of wings.  My labrador, Meg, in her first season is still learning the ropes of waterfowling.  She looked to me at the sound of the duck wings, and with a rub under the chin, and a soft "Good girl." she smiled a dog smile and snuggled into the cover of our blind.  Waiting for light in any kind of hunting is a time full of promise.  Time in the field is unpredictable at best.  I've got to admit, I've been on my share of unsuccessful hunts.  Whole days spent without a glimpse of the pursued game, the sound of a goose honk, or a turkey gobble.  An unseasoned sportsman may consider those days wasted.  They may wish that time back for another pursuit, or time asleep in bed.  A seasoned sportsman knowns that those times are what made up the seasoning.

Meg and I watched the sky come on fire with strokes of red and orange in the east.  Groups of mallards flew high overhead, none of them were interested in our little pond, or the rest our decoys promised.  The excitement wore off for Meg and she curled into a ball, resting her heavy head on her tail and slept the slow hours away.  Slow time in the waterfowl blind is bittersweet.  Ask any waterfowler what is the best way to get birds to come into your setup, and they will answer, " Start picking up the decoys."  It never fails, and it makes a waterfowler reluctant to call it quits and wade out into the spread and pick up.  Watching the cold morning sky, and thinking about my family at home snuggled warm in their beds, I began to wonder what I was doing. 

Just like that, with a wandering mind and a sleeping dog, a group of geese hooked right in like bombers on a landing strip.  Large wings spread open and cupped into what little breeze there was, a group of five birds dropped into our spread and landed.  The sound of birds on the water quickly rose Meg from her half hearted sleep, and she begged to go out after the birds.  Concealed in camouflage, and tucked down into a makeshift blind the birds had no idea I was there.  I counted the five geese on the water, the daily limit in Kansas is six.  Staying hidden, I watched as the birds swam over as a group into my decoy spread, being social, waterfowl seek companionship of other birds.  

Picking my moment, I sprang up from the blind and shouldered my shotgun.  The birds now figuring out that the decoys weren't real ducks and geese after all, lifted off the water startled by my motion.  My first shot dropped two geese into the water, I swung around to another bird now lifting out of the spread, and my second shot connected.  A fourth bird was climbing off of the water, but was still in range, and my third shot found its mark.  I reloaded while looking for the fifth bird that was flying strong by now.  The last bird flew around along the edge of the far side of the pond, but then made a final mistake and came back over my blind.  All five birds were now floating on the pond, and Meg was anxiously waiting for me to release her.  I have been working all summer, fall and winter with Meg on water retrieves, this being her first season, it's a lot to ask of a dog.  

Five large birds now floated in the water in front of my blind and Meg was whining to get a retrieve.  Labradors are bent on retrieving, they crave it, and Meg in particular begs for her handlers approval.  She is coming along great for her first season afield, and this hunt proved her strength and confidence.  With my release, Meg jumped all four feet into the chilly water with a leap.  Swimming hard and strong, huffing a swimming dog huff she swam straight for the closest goose.  Quickly, Meg was able to negotiate a purchase on the bird by grabbing it by the neck, while swimming in water well over her head.  Peddling back to me with bird in tow, Meg was glowing.  She knew her job, she did it well, and she knew it.  Without hesitation she dropped the big bird at my feet, and turned back to the job at hand.  Meg jumped right back in, just as enthusiastic as she had been for the first bird, and made another great retrieve.  It wasn't long before all five birds were back in the blind.  Meg grinned her dog grin and sat up proud.

We didn't stay much longer after Meg's goose retrieves.  We had done what he had came to do.  There wasn't a limit of geese in the blind, and we had yet to have a group of ducks work, but that's not the point.  Meg and I spent, or maybe used our morning, for peacefulness and rest.  We acted out an ancient tradition drawn out on cave walls from millennia ago.  This morning was good, and I think that's it; this morning was good.

If you're into waterfowling - check out the Duck Addiction!

Modern Wild Man and Meg with a morning's goose take.

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