Four Seasons of Bird Hunting

Uncle Larry's Model 99

2010-11-28T22:42:00.000-06:00

When I was eight my Dad mounted a mule deer rack in the garage to serve as a coat-hanger. He's told me the story of how that deer met his demise many times. In prepartion of a Nevada deer hunt my Dad borrowed his Uncle Larry's Model 99 Savage. This wasn't just any Model 99; it was a .270 Titus, sometimes called a .270 Savage. The Titus, so I've read, was developed by gunsmith Bliss Titus of Heber City, Utah. Essentially the .270 Titus is a 300 Savage necked down to accomodate the .270 projectile. They are purported to be very accurate.

Anyway, Uncle Larry handed over his rifle with a box of hand-loaded rounds, and my Dad made some comment that he "only needed one," but Larry scoffed and sent my Dad on his way with a full ammo box. The next day, as the sun rose over the Nevada desert my Dad spooked a nice mule deer in the bottom of a ravine. The deer charged up the other side and my Dad squeezed off a round just as the buck reached the top and the sun's light flooded the scope. In the early morning silence my Dad heard him fall to the ground and die. The shot was 450 yards and the bullet entered the deer's back between the shoulder blades. At his van a pair of road hunters asked if he had seen any deer, to which my Dad, with blood all over his clothing replied "nope, not a one." Back in Reno my Dad returned the rifle, ammo box, and empty casing to Larry, probably with some smart ass comment about how he only needed one.

I'm hoping I'm as lucky this year as I try to take my first deer using the same rifle my old man used to take his. She's a real beauty and I feel honored just to be able to take it out of the house.

Honeymoon

2010-11-24T11:54:00.002-06:00

Since it's pretty cold all over the US, I thought I'd share something I put together for some friends telling the story of our honeymoon. Yes, it's November, and finally we are hunting birds in Kansas, but a part of me still wishes I was on a flat somewhere in 80 degree weather.

We boarded a plane early in the morning on Sunday, and with some creative plane switches and good timing we were over the Bahamas early that afternoon. As we flew south over the Exuma Cays the flats were quickly apparent. There must be bonefish everywhere down there.

We were shocked, floored, completely surprised by our accommodations for the week. We had been upgraded to “the Castle” because of a broken pool pump at the other villa, and upgraded can’t begin to describe it.

We later talked with the developer and he told us this is the nicest house in the Exumas. Completed just three months ago, we were the first guests.

We spent Monday learning to drive on the left side of the road, buying groceries and booze, exploring the beaches and George Town, enjoying the private pool and hot tub, and whatever else honeymooners do. The weather was perfect and we always had the place all to ourselves.

The local beer is called “Kalik,” after the sound a cow bell makes. I bought a case and taught the wife to bring me another every time I screamed “we need more cow bell!” (I get to use some artistic license, right?!)

Tuesday marked the day I was to receive my official wedding present from Hannah: a day on the Bahamian flats with an experienced bonefish guide. We met Martin Clarke, of Moss Town on Tuesday morning at a pier down a rough road. His house and pier were only a couple minutes from our villa, but we were still late. Long night, ya know.

We motored down a narrow mangrove-choked channel until the banks opened up to reveal the vastness of the ocean. The tide was up, but falling, and we checked out two small beaches in protected coves to the north. Neither yielded bonefish, but he asked me to cast for him, to size me up I imagine. I did my best impression of a double-haul and sent the new line flying through the guides and he smiled, “oh, okay, we going to alright then today.”

Further north we came to a flat that looked like it extended the rest of the western coast of Great Exuma. It just went on and on and on. The goal was to catch the fish coming out of the mangroves. Martin directed my casting and stripping and we got the skunk off early.

Then I got another.

I saw neither fish but both ate the gold-assed Gotcha willingly and pulled hard. Just as Hannah was falling asleep we came across a school of fifty fish, and I caught a few more. Soon the water was getting too low and we had to leave the flat or be stranded. We headed far south and anchored the boat in a channel bisecting two enormous flats. Hannah stayed behind to sun bathe while Martin and I left to wade the ankle deep flat.

It wasn’t long before Martin softly commanded “stop!” and pointed out tailing fish in front of us. And so it went for an hour or so, he’d spot fish, I’d cast and either hook up or spook them. After lunch we were motoring to the other side of the channel when Martin called out “that’s a big fish!” and pointed to a nine pound bonefish on the edge of the channel. Just as I sent my fly sailing he turned away, and just as I was picking up the cast he turned back and spooked. Damn.

We anchored and were into fish immediately, bigger fish, too. We saw a dozen fish in the nine to twelve pound range, but none were hooked. I did manage to land my largest fish of the day, about six pounds. I’ve seen it written that the average Exuma bonefish is about eight pounds, but my average was probably three or four pounds. Martin fished us a full day and we both had a great time.

The next day I wanted to find a spot to wade on my own. The highway that runs the length of the island is called the Queen’s Highway, and it’s really the only good road on the island. It runs the ocean side, which is more scenic and therefore where all the developments are. There aren’t any bonefish on the ocean side, they’re on the flats side of the island. But, an adventurous soul could brave the badly dilapidated secondary roads to nowhere in search of flats. So, despite Hannah’s pleas to turn around, despite my fantasies of finding a long lost tribe of pygmies, we pressed on and found our own private piece of bonefish paradise. Well, it was someone else’s piece; there was a small boarded-up house on stilts over a concrete pad, right there in the middle of no-where, and it’s backyard of lava-rock and mangroves was the only easy access to the beach and miles and miles of endless white sandy, muddy flats. Hannah sunbathed as I waded aimlessly. Unfortunately I was unable to spot any fish; maybe they were there, maybe they weren’t.

Hannah decided she'd rather fish again than go sailing like we had planned, so we booked the next day with Martin. This time we arrived on time and were slowly feasted upon by no-see-um’s until Martin arrived late. The tide was way up as we motored out and we hit the same two beaches directly to the north. The first one yielded a large school of bonefish that were gone as quickly as they appeared. The second beach was unproductive as well. In the higher water we decided on a yellow Deceiver pattern I had to get down quicker than a regular Gotcha pattern. But, there was a trade-off…the heavier fly often landed with a splash that would spook the fish.

After the two beaches we hit an area close to some mangroves. With the wind and the falling tide there was a strong out-to-sea current, and TONS of bonefish, and they were stacked up like salmon. We could see shadows and flashes for over and hour, mostly out of casting range, but some close enough. The first fish I hooked was taken by a lemon shark just twenty feet from the boat. I caught a couple more before we had to motor off the now much shallower flat.

We hit several places that, to my untrained eye, didn’t look like the best bonefish water. The coast was perforated lava rock, and although the bottom was the white sandy mud, the water was still four feet deep. However, Martin directed my casting to fish and I was able to catch a couple more. Motoring across the open water was a little rough, and each time the boat fell to crash on the water there was a jolt that shot through my ass and up my spine like how it must feel to have a Mexican featherweight boxer go to work on your kidneys. We finished the day wading the same gigantic flat that we fished on Tuesday. The water was higher than last time, but dropping. We didn’t see any fish as we walked several hundred yards from the anchored boat and I could tell Martin was frustrated. We turned to walk back and started seeing fish. I caught a few, but something seemed off. They weren’t eating like they were the other day. Shadows from aerial line would spook them. They were picky. Martin thought maybe it was caused by the hurricane passing off in the distance to our east.

My greatest feeling of pride came on the walk back where I actually got to point out a fish to Martin. He had seen every other fish before me, up till that point. Dozens and dozens of fish. He would see schools coming directly our way a hundred feet before I could make them out. He would look out over a flat and comment how there were lots of fish out there, but all I saw was waves and sand. Anyway, to finally spot one before him probably meant I got lucky, but I hoped it meant I learned something.

On Saturday we went back to the private flats and Hannah waded with me for a couple hours, but still I wasn’t able to spot any fish.

Overall, it was an awesome trip. I will go back to the Exumas again. It’s more affordable than you think.

Priorities

2010-10-19T20:44:00.000-05:00

It's been nearly two weeks since we've returned from our fall classic in Montana. And I've yet to make a post here, or anywhere else for that matter, to share any stories or pictures. The reason? The upcoming nuptials are only 10 days away, and that means the flats of the Bahamas are only 12 days away. So, I beg your pardon, but I'm sure you understand the box needs to be filled.

Long Distance Relationships

2010-09-24T08:41:00.000-05:00

Remember when you were a kid and you met that special girl at summer camp? She wasn't like the girls back home, she was different. You fell head over flip-flops for her. You came home and thought of her often, you longed for her. You told your best friends about her sandy blonde hair, about how she was driving with a farm permit at 14, and how she liked to go muddin' in her truck. A truck! What kind of girl drives a truck? The best kind.

You might have begged your parents to call long-distance, and surely you traded some hand-written letters (complete with Elvis Presley stamp, to let her know how cool you were). High-school resumed, and even with myriad distractions she wasn't far from your thoughts. Summer began to give way to autum, and the dank mornings were replaced with a refreshing crispness that confirmed the changing seasons. You decided you would ask her to be your date for Homecoming. Then, one by one, the logistical challenges of a long distance relationship revealed themselves to you in earnest. It just wasn't going to work out.

Fast-forward 15 years. Things have changed quite a bit. You've settled down, married, maybe have a couple rugrats crawling about. But, you still have that long-distance relationship. At least I do. And just like Jenny from summer camp, my close friends know about it. They've heard how the dogs usually wind them from a distance, how they always explode as a group at the exact moment you're admiring your dog's stylish point, and how they and screech as they rocket away. As I type this my bags are packed, collars are charged, boots are treated, and the gun is cleaned. This is one long distance relationship that works just fine.

Dog Topper Retrofit

2010-09-16T14:31:00.001-05:00

Having a mid-size pickup is just fine for one guy and a couple dogs. Things get interesting with three dogs, and downright cramped with two guys, three dogs, and camping gear.

Over the last year or so I've seen a few projects (Living With Birddogs and Idaho Upland Hunting) that inspired me to retrofit my existing topper to more easily accomodate dogs and gear. I knew I could build one with wood cheaply and easily, but aluminum offers many advantages and seemed like more of a challenge--I like to stay busy during the summer. Anyway, aluminum is cleaner, more durable, and just looks nice if you do it right. But I don't have a workshop in a steel building full of gnarly tools fit for cutting metal. I also don't know how to weld al-loo-min-ium, and hiring a welder would make any project cost-prohibitive. Without welds, joints would look too sloppy using common fasteners. And then I found these steel-core tubing connectors online. With that, this project was a go. After I finalized my design I ordered the connectors and some 1" aluminum tubing and a 4'x12'x0.063" sheet of aluminum from EMJ Metals here in Kansas City, and the doors came from Bob at Wingworks.

I cut the tubing with my Dad's miter saw and filed the burrs off the edges for a clean finish. The connectors fit very tightly with 1/16" wall tubing, once it's in it's not coming out. I used 1/20" wall tubing on pieces I wanted to be able to come apart--this thing is designed to be quickly disassembled.

Here's a look at the frame laid out before assembly.

I used an archaic drill press to put holes in the corner connectors for pull pins on one side and spring pins on the other side.

Then I set to work cutting the sheet with a circular saw and metal blade. It worked pretty well aside from the random chip that would fall into my shoe. It was too damn hot to wear proper work clothes anyway. I secured the vertical partition to aluminum angle that I mounted on the roof and floor and held all together with nuts and screws. I ran the calcs and it should support 500lbs with less than 1/2" deflection.

I used 0.063" polished diamond-plate for the back. Unlike the other two projects linked above, I decided to mount the doors inside the truck. I only have a 5' bed, so I decided to leave enough room for a water jug and vests in front of the doors. Otherwise the dogs take up most of the bed area with room for storage underneath them. I like the dogs to be able to load themselves, and I like the doors inside to keep the weather off them better.

Most of the time I'll only roll with one door and backplate installed. The other side will be utilized for storage. I figure I can fit my two setters and my buddy's setter together on one side, and then if we're carrying more dogs install the other backplate and door. I've got some plastic grating to add for floors and I plan to add a DC fan sometime, too. This weekend it gets it's first official test for the prairie chicken opener. I hope you like it as much as I do.

Emergences

2010-08-12T22:22:00.003-05:00

Even in Kansas we manage a few trout-food type hatches. You usually can find mayflies and caddis under outside lights on summer nights. I'd call this one a hexagenia mayfly, but I have no clue if that's actually correct. He was probably three inches long counting the tail. Anyway, he was in the garage watching me build a dog topper I'll be posting on shortly--I'm really welcoming the versatility it will bring to my pickup.

There's another change coming this hunting season: Scampwalker has acquired himself one of those hot-shot trial-bred short-haired setters. Two falls ago I saw a dog out of the same breeding run in Montana, and if this gal turns out as good she's going to be a brag-worthy bird dog.

With Scamp's newly acquired pigeons we set out last weekend to give Lulu her first exposure to birds at just over six months of age. As many well-bred dogs do she caught on quickly and was winding pigeons from range and establishing point like an old salt. I am captivated every time I witness that first special moment.

Imagine if your entire life were completely devoted to one purpose, one function. Mayflies and bird dogs both are a lot like that. The former exists purely to procreate. They hatch from eggs in a river and live a year as a nymph trying not to become food for an organism further along in the evolutionary process. Then, when the time is right, they swim to the surface, wildly scramble to crack open their exoskeleton, escape the shuck, dry their wings, and fly away to avoid what would otherwise be a premature death by salmonoid. Finally they gather over the water in swarming groups in what must be an insect's version of Woodstock. The males donate their genetic material and, completely exhausted, they fall to the water's surface to give their bodies back to Mother Earth.

Bird dogs also only have one simple function: to point birds. Sure, they're bred for conformation, stamina, boldness, bidability, companionship, etc, but the dog has got to have a nose, and he has got to love birds. Those are paramount. Anyway, I thought that a well-bred pup's first point must be a lot like a mayfly's (only) sexual experience. The molecules enter the dog's nose, the receptors process the scent, signals are sent to the brain, and a previously unengaged instinct takes complete control of the dog. The tail straightens, the body tenses and begins to shake. They are helpless to do anything but endlessly ponder the next movement. Captivating, truly.

There Have Been Birthdays

2010-07-27T16:21:00.000-05:00

There's no denying it...I'm officially in my "late 20's." At least when I was 27 I could sneak into the "mid-20's," but not anymore. While it could be worse (I could be turning....30!) this birthday has served as a gentle reminder to quit pretending I'm fresh out of school and to start acting my age. Well, maybe next year...

To celebrate my fiancé and I took in a Reckless Kelly show at Lucky Maggie's in Diamond, MO, near Joplin. This was her baptism into Reckless live and they have another loyal disciple for life--needless to say we both had a great time. Maggie herself tossed me a Shiner-in-a-can on the house, nice!

Normally I would forget these things, but Sage's birthday is exactly a week after mine. This year is his fifth. It's tough to think that (with his ankle injury) his best days are behind him, but he stuck his share of birds last season and we're looking forward to two weeks out west this fall.

First Impressions of the Garmin DC40

2010-07-06T12:28:00.000-05:00

Plant me firmly in the biased camp. I love the Astro system. I believe I need it. I might not have kept Ike around without it. Not that Ike is a run-off, or a self-hunter, he isn't, it's just that I'm still a (relatively) in-experienced dog handler, and up to that point every dog I had hunted behind had been (relatively) closer working dogs, or younger dogs that hadn't yet found their range.

Early on I was running the Tri-Tronics G2 collar with the remote-activated beeper. Every 30 seconds I found myself polling the beeper for clues to Ike's location. Hunts were not enjoyable. I was certain that someday I'd lose him, or find him expired on a country road. There was no trust, and I didn't know how to develop trust with a dog like Ike.

The Astro changed all that.

I felt like I could discern between a wide cast or a deer chase. It took some time to grow the trust, and there were some moments that found me dropping my vest and gun to chase after him when he pushed beyond the Astro's range (chasing deer). But I think today we've struck out a mutually beneficial deal: I let him do what he does, and he maintains his manners with minimal tomfoolery. In that regard, the original DC20 did what I needed it to do. But there were opportunities to excel and as such Garmin just released their third iteration with some significant improvements.

The key is that these improvements directly addressed feedback from users of earlier models. For example, the nylon collar on both of my DC30's are frayed and worn. As such they have been replaced with the more popular coated nylon collars that e-collar manufacturers use. Sometimes I have experienced issues charging collars, especially if the collar and the charger are cold. Now they have switched to use a method that offers more direct mating of electrical contacts. I've muddied up the contacts and put both in the freezer over-night, no charging problems at all.

I managed to run the dogs for the first time with a DC40 this weekend. Works as advertised. I can't image the market for a niche product like this is very big, so kudos to Garmin for listening to users' concerns.

Oldie = Goodie

2010-06-24T19:43:00.000-05:00

Like everyone I have some interesting relatives. Family gatherings are best spent listening to the same stories for the umpteenth time. A lot of the tales revolve around how my Dad and his brother and friends tried to give my Grandma a heart attack...there was the time Dad drove his friend's motorcycle off a cliff...or the time Grandma had to pick him up at a party because he had (temporarily) blinded himself. My sister and I can recite these chronicles word-for-word if called upon, but they're better told by the people that lived them. Besides, we'd rather listen anyway.

Of course you've figured my Grandma never waivered. She's a strong, tough woman of her generation. Her experiences prepared her for life as a mother of crazies, and I'm sure my Dad prepared her for a stint as a California parole officer. There was the one time a disgruntled parolee said he was going to come into the office and blow everyone away, so the entire office decided to start packing. Packing heat, that is. Grandma bought a snub-nose .38 special. Thankfully she never had to use it.

Recently, my Grandma gifted me her pistol, and now I own one of the props that we've been hearing about since I can remember. I was amazed when I first saw it. She still had the original box with manual, and inside she kept the check she wrote for $70 back on Oct 1, 1970. It's in near mint condition, and although it's no collector's piece, it's not for sale.

2009 - Year in Review

2010-01-21T11:57:00.002-06:00

The Snow Drift Hustle

2009-12-15T18:36:00.002-06:00

By the time I reach the southeastern corner of the quarter section Ike is already at the northeastern corner, and of course, on birds. He's always been the kind of dog that I would catch glancing in my direction as he crossed hundreds of yards to the front. I'd think with the heavy snow cover, and the thick freezing fog, that Ike would be more likely to work closer in an attempt to stay in touch with me. There is a thin layer of crust on top of the snow that compounds the now difficult task of putting one foot in front of the other. Every step I'm convinced the surface will hold, and just as I lift my rear foot my forward foot crunches through. But that doesn't seem to slow down Ike.

760 yards. Seven-hundred and sixty. Yards. I'm already out of breath. I've unzipped my jacket and removed my stocking cap despite the temperature in the teens. Ike is as honest as they come, and I know he will hold as long as it takes for me to get there. But no self-respecting wild bird is going to wait for me to come shoot him. No way. Doc has hunted in another direction, but I know I can't lose him. So, I do what I must. Break open the gun, pocket the shells, put the head down and start truckin'. Every minute I check the Astro to verify that Ike is still on point. I'm taking too long. As more time passes the thoughts of a cynic emerge, "maybe he's in a trap"..."maybe he's stuck in a snow drift"..."maybe he's fallen through the ice into the pond." Closer now I crest the hill and search for Ike. Through the stars I see the wooded draw where lives the covey we've met before. A few more crunching steps and I see Ike's tail swirling as he trots around smelling the ground.

Damnit! They're gone.

I stop and turn to collect Doc...a few hollers and he's on his way to meet us, although he stops every hundred yards or so to listen for our bearing. The fourth time the Astro chirps I expect to see Doc "on point" again, but this time it's Ike. He's into the pasture now, solid. "Now we're in business." I fight throug hip-high drifts to cross the not-so-taught fence. I close the distance, fight through another drifted low area, and Ike remains...steady, honest, intense.

I'm just close enough when the covey flushes from the base of the tree. Most of them fly straight away keeping the tree between us, but a pair peel to the left. Ike sees them and drops his center of gravity and watches. The first shot splits the pair--I was thinking double. The second shot finds the lead bird, but she's not dead. Ike makes it there quickly and I find him head down up to his shoulders in snow, so I dig and make the retrieve.

Two hefty thumps on his ribs and a "good boy" and he's off again. The next time I see him he's on another covey.

And like the first most of this covey escapes behind the tree, but a pair offers crossing shots and this time I kill him cleanly. A short while later Ike finds another covey and I take another bird. Three quail and it's time to call it quits. My water is frozen, both dogs have cut pads, and I'm glad, because I'm ready, too. It feels like the late season and it's only December.

The Other Kansas Hunting Dogs

2009-12-10T10:26:00.000-06:00

Wes and I came across this interesting rig and motley pack of hounds at a gas station in the dark hours before legal shooting time. I've seen vehicles like this on country roads a few times here and there. From what I can gather when the driver spots a yote' he pulls a rope or chain run to the cab via a pulley system. This releases the door and the dogs charge into action. The greyhounds are the chase dogs that close the distance and surround the coyote, and the wolfhounds move in for the kill.

Today's Installment of Questionable Logic

2009-12-07T17:09:00.008-06:00

"A toll's a toll, and a roll's a roll.
And if we don't get no tolls, then we don't eat no rolls. "

Translation: nothing worthwhile comes easy. Or, you reap what you sow. Or, you get what you pay for. There's probably a dozen adages that aim to teach what some refuse to accept as truth. I wonder what bird hunting would be like if shooting a limit was a foregone conclusion? Not very fun, I suspect.

Unlike most--who get their start with their fathers and grandfathers--I started hunting later in life. In-state tuition and an esteemed college of engineering pulled me to the middle-of-nowhere Kansas State University. I was a product of suburbia and, since there were no wild trout nearby, I spent the first few years chasing girls and drinking beer, usually in that order. Naturally, I met a lot of kids from rural Kansas (K-State is historically an aggie school) and was taken on a bird hunt or two.

Like all bird hunters I vividly remember the first bird I "earned." That inaugural season I borrowed shotguns here and there and hunted a lot by myself--and none of us had dogs. We didn't know to pick up a WIHA atlas, so we just hunted the same piece over and over again: a quarter section of CRP bordered by a grain field. We saw lots of roosts, but after many hunts we still hadn't seen a pheasant. We're talking many trying hours stumbling aimlessly through the CRP (sometimes slogging through snow or rain), looking down for sign, pausing to listen, doing anything we/I could to stack odds in our/my favor.

One blistery January evening I was alone walking the edge against the grain field with a borrowed Remington 870 Express. The sun was just dropping below the cloud cover on the horizon when I paused to listen. Just then a rooster exploded right in front of me and made a hard maneuver to the left. The trigger pull sent a bright flame out of the barrel and the dragon's fire anchored my bird in the grass. That evening I broke our house mom's rules by bringing the bird into the kitchen to pose for a picture, like it was some sort of trophy deer or gobbler. Well, it was a trophy to me, and a significant emotional experience. I've since killed many more pheasants, but none came after as much effort as that first bird, and no bird has given me a bigger smile (dogs are another matter). The successes after small failures stoke the fire to drive longer and walk further. If ever this thing I do becomes easy, and I don't think it ever will, I'll get bored and move on. After all, nothing worthwhile comes easy.

First Impressions

2009-12-07T16:40:00.006-06:00

In the past four weeks I've managed to hunt nearly every corner of the state and get an idea of what bird numbers look like for Kansas this season. Generally speaking, bird numbers are up year-over-year, at least specific to quail. I don't think birds are back to where they were during the '05/'06 season, but with a little help we could be back there next season. I very much doubt pheasants did as well as Pheasants Forever or the KDWP would have you believe. But, this wouldn't be the first time folks were over-emphatic in regards to our bird numbers. "Consipiracy"...probably not, "optimistic"...you betcha.

Some pictures...

On Thanksgiving morning my dogs pointed five different coveys of quail in less than an hour. A few days later I tried again and only found one scattered covey. Weird.

Wes made a hell of a shot on this covey that wanted to run into the woods rather than flush on the edges.

Doc on a single...

We stopped to watch this covey cross a road. They'd peak out one or two at a time and then sprint across the bare ground to safety. Probably two dozen birds in this covey.

Typical find along a Kansas bean field.

Ike found this covey feeding in a corn field just before dark. Wes and I each took a bird on the rise and then left them to re-group before night-fall.

Da Hunden Stormen

2009-11-25T10:44:00.003-06:00

I can't remember the movie where I heard the title. It was supposed to be a comic translation for dogs the Germans used in Dubya Dubya Two (I'm sure it's wrong)...but I remember it made me laugh. The same can be said for Scar and Rebel, a solid and dependable pair of guide dogs loaned to us for our trip to Montana by a close friend and hunting buddy. Scar, aptly named for an injury sustained to his head during birth complications, is a goofy Vizsla that feels most at home in your lap, or hunting running pheasants. Rebel is an almost entirely roan short-hair, not very big at all, but with astonishing ground speed. Together, they're the hap-hap-happiest brace of hunting dogs since Bing Crosby tap-danced with Danny Kaye. They even play jokes on eachother. For example, they shared a hole in the trailer for the trip, and Scar would purposely block Rebel's entrance by holding up his paws, like a defender blocking a point guard's passing options. Like I said, lots of laughs.

Anyway, neither had ever smelled a hun or a sharptail before, but you wouldn't have known it. Both broke free of the closer hunting patterns more suited to preserve birds and ranged through the prairie. We shot huns, sharpies, and pheasants over both dogs. This post and picture is my tribute to them. They, and their owner, are always welcome in my truck.

Procrastinator

2009-11-13T08:42:00.003-06:00

Sage always waits until the last minute to pick up the WIHA, every year. And as you can see, he usually falls asleep before he's even opened the cover. I wonder where he gets it from?

Photo credit goes to Wes Carrillo.

Big Covey(s)

2009-11-03T09:29:00.007-06:00

Later that afternoon we found a spot so full of good looking cover that it was almost overwhelming. Our eyes were filled with lush shortgrass prairie interrupted by the small fingers branching off a large coulee. I wish we had found it earlier in the day; it would have taken all seven dogs and a couple days to hunt it all. There didn't appear to be much biodiversity in the grass, it looked rather uniform, but it should hold birds.

As we did that morning we opted to run Dottie and Ike. Very quickly into the hunt, while coarsing the edge of a ridge, Ike and Dottie crept into points, a shared find, just ahead of us. The wind was stiff into their noses and that meant the birds would either have to fly straight into the wind or peel off and give good crossing shots. As before, the birds didn't let us reach the dogs before they flushed and flew straight away. Even into the wind they accelerated very quickly and I barely managed a sporting shot. I saw Ted's bird drop but I was unsure if mine had found it's mark. Then Dottie, as she usually does, pointed my dead hun.

I had watched the large covey circle way back behind us and sit down out of view in a cut wheat field. We doubled back to the truck to put another dog down, Vegas, and continued our hunt on our original bearing. Ted took the bottom of the coulee and I tried to stay on the ridges. We made a big circle and oddly didn't see another bird, or even any sign of birds. On the final leg of the circle I convinced Ted to try to find the huns again. Still a few hundred yards from where I thought the birds landed Ike went on point on the edge of the wheat field in a rather sparse pasture of sage and heavily grazed grass. A covey lifted between dog and guns and again we each took a bird.

Back at the truck we inspected the crops as we cleaned birds. The first pair had crops full of greens and grass seeds. No wheat at all. The second pair had nothing, which left us confused. Either the covey processed the contents of their crops in an hour, or it was a different covey. I'm still undecided, but I guess it doesn't matter. It was a great day to be in Montana.

The Initiation

2009-11-02T09:11:00.009-06:00

The first day started off a little rough. I had done a ton of research on areas that would likely hold birds. I studied satellite imagery of many plots of state land, BMA's, and BLM land. I identified plenty of places to turn a dog loose with good chances of finding birds. However, we quickly learned that there is no substitute for boots on the ground. Most of the places had been overgrazed to varying degrees. Even most of the BMA's didn't look good, especially in comparison to the adjacent private lands that weren't open to public hunting. But if we drove enough we'd find a spot that looked worth the effort.

The first spot was a small patch, maybe only 40 acres of prairie grass bordered on two sides by wheat fields and nestled below some sage-covered hills. Ted astutely observed that this piece was probably too small to bother grazing, and that's why it escaped the bovine lawnmowers. As Ike and Dottie raced through the knee-high grass we noticed an old farmhouse over a shallow hill which pretty much sealed the deal for me: I was sure there were birds here. Very quickly Ike made a strong cast to the right and established point--the kind with his rump in the air and his nose to the ground. Two small relocations sent a single hun zooming away and Ike with a question mark hoving above his head. Eh, I can't fault him. First hun he's smelled in a year, and mistakes happen.

We swept beyond the imploded house and along the edge where the prairie grass meets sage hills. Just about to the end Ike went on point, cornering birds between himself and a sharp rise in the terrain. I fumbled my zippered pocket for my camera to document Ike's first find. I decided that taking pictures would assure one of several possibilities: 1) Ike was pointing a badger or a skunk or some other off-game, 2) birds would flush before I was ready, or 3) I would miss an easy shot.

Well, it turns out it wouldn't take a camera to guarantee possibility number three. Ted and I calmly approached Ike and Ted gently whoa'd Dottie into honoring, as I'm sure it was tough for her to see Ike through the grass. Before I was ready birds were in the air, screeching, and hauling ass. I remember seeing legs and wings, and being completely taken by surprise. I shot twice; maybe I picked out a bird, maybe I didn't. I'm sure I scared them pretty well as they rocketed over the sage hill. "Quail on steroids" might be an understatement. Ted, on the other hand, began the best shooting performance I've seen. I think he only missed once the entire trip. Anyway, Ted bagged hun number one and we unsuccessfully tried to locate the covey over the ridge. No matter, it was a great start to a memorable trip. As we were driving out we met a few bird hunters up from Livingston looking for pheasants. Apparently we are nuts for having driven all the way from Kansas "just for huns." Oh well, I've been called worse.

FOLSOM IS ALIVE AND WELL!!!

2009-10-30T10:10:00.004-05:00

"Got the call this morning. He is skinny and dehydrated but is being taken care of by the farmer that found him." - JD

Folsom was found in the farmstead where we originally lost him, next to a massive collection of round hay bales. The farmer called his name and he ran right over. He was skinny and very dehydrated as you would expect after being missing for 10 days. His neck was raw from wearing an e-collar all this time, and he was limping a bit. He ate like a pig and drank water, too. I wonder if he was in those bales for all that time? Temperatures were getting down below freezing at night and they had some snow as well. JD left from eastern Idaho the same day he found out and picked him up that evening. He said Folsom was happy to see him. A vet said it's possible he has a torn ACL, can't tell because of swelling, but he's young and healthy and will likely make a full recovery. JD's lab, Ruby, is also recovering from her surgery, which went well, but it's crucial that she not suffer any setbacks during this delicate time. I am constantly surprised at how tough dogs are.

Montana Odd-yssey

2009-10-29T15:55:00.006-05:00

Never again do I hope to have a trip like this year's 2nd annual Montana hun hunt.

My heart is broken for my friend, JD, who was rear-ended by a semi. His two dogs, Ruby and Folsom, were jarred through their crate doors and onto a state highway. Ruby suffered two broken hips, and Folsom ran away and remains unfound (UPDATE: Folsom found!). Another friend, Scott, was forced to put down his prized pointer, Tikk, after he was diagnosed with an accute intestinal condition. I am emotionally drained over these events. I've replayed the pivotal moments in my head dozens of times and each iteration produces another "what if" scenario. Although I make a point to acknowledge it, I don't like to dwell on the bad news. So, this trip report is going to be a little different. However, if you'd like to read the details they are documented on the 8 More Miles Blog.

JD and Folsom

Tikk

Chickens

2009-10-05T16:45:00.042-05:00

September 15 marks the opener of the "real" bird season in Kansas: prairie chickens. I didn't get to hunt them during the early season last year, but had some success during the general season later in the year. This year would be special. After a few years of stories and pictures my Dad decided to join me on his first bird hunt in more than 40 years--mostly shooting the camera, but he would get to pull the trigger as well. Wes joined us as well, only without Doc, who's been sick lately, but is improving.

On the way west we stopped to hunt a spot along the way before the sun set. Fifteen minutes into the hunt Sage pointed and was rebuffed by a stink-rat. What a way to start the season! I couldn't help but laugh.

Ike managed to point a small group of chickens but they flushed wild as the guns approached. Sage may have bumped them, and that's all the action we would see that evening. After a stop for dinner at So Long Saloon in Manhattan we washed the dog at a carwash that also had a doggie wash pod. It did help to some degree, but my fiancé still thinks he stinks.

We were up early the next morning to hit the same spot where I found my first prairie chickens back in 2006. Ike put down a nice run yet we were unable to locate any chickens in our first hunt. From there we moved to my honey hole, a spot that produced nearly every time I've hunted it. Hunting the pasture south Wes nearly stepped on two small groups of chickens and took a bird from each. The second bird flew across a road onto private ground so Wes took Sage over and he pointed the wounded bird in quick order. With Wes limited out he passed his shotgun to my Dad. A few minutes later a dozen chickens flushed several hundred yards out and we watched them sail away. So we continued walking.

And walking…

We looped back around and were cresting a hill when I heard the familiar chirp and confirmed that Sage was on point. I urged my Dad in and several chickens flushed straight away. Unfortunately there were cattle just beyond them so we didn't shoot, and then a few more flushed to the right offering clear shots. We both fired and I know we hit one bird, but it flew on strong. A couple more steps and another bird got up to the left and I dropped it. We decided to head in the direction the wounded bird flew, and several hundred yards further my Dad spotted the wounded chicken trying to hide along a cattle trail. We were unable to find any more birds.

Ike on a covey of quail we saw run across the road. I almost always work dogs on road birds (without a gun).

We ran Ike for an hour or so on Sunday and found some more quail and a young pheasant, but that's it. Already my Dad is talking about coming on the general upland season, and I am welcome to have him.

This past weekend I hunted with Wes, Mr. Scampwalker of 8 More Miles Blog, and Scampwalker Jr. Like the opener we covered a lot of miles but saw less birds. Still, the scenery was some of the best Kansas has to offer.

The fall colors are really starting to turn.

On Saturday we only managed to get close to one group of chickens, and I'll let you read Scampwalker's account. But basically we saw this...

And ended up with this...

And I learned one valuable lesson: wait longer to shoot.

Now, the task is to pack for Montana. Take care.

Belated Post: Colorado Trip

2009-10-01T11:10:00.024-05:00

I can't believe this trip was more than a month ago. I've been busy and time has been flying, for good reason.

So, I've been wanting to take my girlfriend on a backpacking trip in Rocky Mountain National Park. The two hippie friends I usually do this stuff with are doing hippie things like working for the Peace Corps in Peru or travelling the high-seas on a cruise ship. Besides, a backpacking trip and roughing it for a few days is mandatory in a complete vetting process for potential mates. So, plans were set, bear canisters were rented, and permits obtained to backpack up to Lawn Lake to spend a couple days and nights.

I can't explain why people think these trips are a "vacation." You strap a pack to your back, hike uphill for several miles, and arrive sore and enhausted. Then, you set up camp, eat food not fit for Applebee's, battle mosquitos, and sleep in the dirt (save one layer of nylon and a Thermarest). Some of us even wake up every night absolutely positive a bear is nearby and about to have his next meal. Hopefully, the pictures speak volumes as to the "why."

This is the view we enjoyed for two days...Hague's Peak is on the right and Fairchild Mountain out of view to the left, Mummy Mountain out of view to the right of Hague's.

Of course I packed a fly rod. I really enjoy late-summer fishing to apline lake cutties. While small, they are numerous, hungry, and will rise from the depths to inhale just about anything.

I've never bought into filters and all the other stuff to purify water. I prefer to boil. Just seems like the only way to be sure you won't get some giardia or some other stomach bug. Sure, it takes time and you have to pack a little extra fuel, but at least you get to pass the time fishing.

Sometimes the water gets a little more boil than it needs...

I'm pretty sure this is a greenback cuttie. Count me in the group that thinks their re-introduction wasn't much of a success, but only because they don't get very big or fight like the other trouts. But they sure are good looking.

The last time I was here and buddy and myself climbed up this slope while the waterfall kept us cool.

This is looking back at Lawn Lake after climbing further up.

What she thought was "just" going to be a fishing trip ended up being an engagement trip. We couldn't have asked for better weather to enjoy this special time--the vistas were ideal. A lonely marmot was the only witness and he barked his approval (or displeasure); I don't speak marmot.

Alas, she said yes and has been busy with the wedding planning, one of the reasons for my long hiatus from posting. I should be done with my prairie chicken opener post shortly so stay tuned.

Jack Byrnes or Bernie Focker: Which Dog Trainer Are You?

2009-07-23T16:34:00.008-05:00

If you're not familiar, the two character names in the title come from the movie "Meet the Fockers," where a soon-to-be newlywed couple must endure the first meeting of their parents. Jack Byners, the bride's father, is and ex-CIA operative played by the great Bobby De Niro. Jack clearly subscribes to the authoritarian style of parenting, obviously a derivative of his career and training--strict, rigid, and often unforgiving and unapologetic.

In the movie Jack is balanced by the groom's father, Bernie Focker, who is played by another Hollywood great, Dustin Hoffman. Bernie is a lawyer turned Mr. Mom and is way more sensitive and nurturing than Jack. Always proud, encouraging, and in defense of his son. The conflict in parenting styles comes to a head during a scene where Bernie is showing Jack and the others a room he's created in dedication and in memoriam of his son's childhood and early achievements. Ribbons and trophies everywhere. There is a disagreement over "celebrating mediocrity" which kicks off the conflict throughout the rest of the movie. I think there is an interesting parallel in the dog training world.

I can see where snippets of both philosophies can be beneficial in training our hunting and housepet companions, but I find myself standing fervently with Bernie. More on this later...

Bad News Bears

2009-07-15T15:32:00.003-05:00

Sage may effectively be retired just a week and a half from his fourth birthday. We've been dealing with an injury off an on since our trip to Texas in January. Sometimes after some hard work he'd show a slight limp and favor his left-front. We have done quite a bit of bikejoring through the spring and honestly I thought we had beat it. Then, after I get back from fishing I knew they needed some exercise. Sage couldn't make two miles without limping this time and upon inspection the joint was inflamed. I gave rimadyl a few days and it still didn't come down. No exercise for two weeks and still swollen. So I took him to the vet yesterday. He said it appeared Sage suffered an injury and the joint has calcified around the injury, and that likely he will be like this for the rest of his life. He suggested some glucosamine treatments and I'm researching those. I suspect he's in some pain because this spring he started growling without provocation, growling at me or my girlfriend, sometimes the neighbor kids, and at Ike. Other times he's sweet as can be.

I feel completely devastated, hopeful (or is it denial?), frustrated, regretful, and confused. I don't really know the extent of his injury, how it will affect him, or if I can break him of the growling. I've decided to get a second opinion so I will be taking him to a vet who has and hunts setters; hopefully he's got better news or suggestions. I'll post some pictures as soon as I can.

Ozarks

2009-07-15T12:52:00.017-05:00

The week preceding the 4th of July I had off work. As mentioned in an earlier post, I had a wild hair to try to find some salmonflies out west or fish the grey drake hatch on "the Hank" in Idaho. Some plans fell through and with the truck already loaded and dogs with a sitter I opted to fish some familiar waters in the Ozarks. In all I fished four rivers in five days and had a really great time--it was like a complete decompression.

The first ingredient of a successful road trip of any sort is good music. Six months ago if you had asked me who my favorite band was I might have winced and squeaked out something like "Incubus?" I wasn't really sure. Then a good friend of mine managed to sink his hooks in, barbs buried, and now I'm reeling on Reckless Kelly. Really good stuff. The more I listen and talk about them to friends I find that they have a strong cult following with a host of other bands, and what I've sampled has been strong work. Streaming Pandora on a road trip is a great way to identify similar music to what you already know you like--or veg out and make the time pass a little faster.

The first two days I floated and fished what I consider my home river with two friends. We saw plenty of inept canoers, or is it canoeists? Whichever, they were entertaining. These pictures are of three separate canoes (note the fightened chihuahua's in the second picture).

Fishing was okay the first day, and dynamite the second. Most fish coming on a big Pat's or a pheasant tail.

From there I putzed around down in Arkansas for a couple days. They were running tons of water which limited fishing severely. I fished a spring creek new to me for an afternoon and found some really hot fish. I decided to cap the week with more time on my home river.

Found this in the water.

The fisherman's definition of irony: when the largest fish you catch all week is hooked in the ass.

Even threw some streamers...

I really need to fish more.

These Guys Is Good Folks

2009-06-26T16:09:00.001-05:00

Hilarious video. The ending is the best part.

Grey Drakes or Salmonflies?

2009-06-25T16:48:00.004-05:00

One of life's toughest questions. I'll let you know what I decide.

Road Hunting the Flint Hills in Bloom

2009-06-15T15:35:00.016-05:00

A few weeks ago I took my Dad on a photo safari of the Flint Hills in and around the Tallsgrass Prairie National Preserve. The preserve is operated by the National Park Service and protects some of the last tallgrass prairie remaining in North America. The plan was simple: get up early and drive around until we saw something photoworthy (is that a word?), and then shoot it. With a camera. We were greeted with an abundance of wildlife, grand vistas, old farmsteads, and as always, nice people. All photos, unless otherwise noted, were taken by my Dad.

We tried to use the early light to focus on the flora.

Just past a creekbed we came upon three deer having breakfast. The telephoto lens is amazing. I thought two were does and only the one furthest to the right was a buck, but as you can see the one on the left here will be a "button buck" and the one on the right might make a nice trophy this fall.

Ranch land is never devoid of old windmills. Some of them still work, although many have been replaced with electric submersible pumps.

Not to be outdone, we saw this one just down the road. Even in rural America you have to keep up with the Jones' I guess.

We came across this tom trying to persuade a harem of hens. When we first pulled up he stopped strutting, but all it took was a little gobbling to get him going again. I'm embarassed to admit that my gobble is actually pretty good. Thanksgiving around my house is usually a hoot.

After the good morning light was spent we went into Cottonwood Falls for breakfast. The restaurant didn't have a menu. "You order it and he'll cook it." I had the western omelette.

With breakfast sitting pretty the dogs got the opportunity to stretch their legs. The temperature would reach 90 that day so we decided to run where there's a nice lake nestled between some finger hills with public access all around it. We hoped to put up some chickens, or maybe a pair of quail somewhere, but mostly we wanted to keep the dogs wet and have some fun.

What Sage lacks in style he usually makes in intensity.

Ike as always the stylish backer.

From there it was time to visit the tourist spots of the preserve. There was and old farm house with some out-buildings. My favorite was the limestone shitter. There were, no kidding, three seats, one of them much shorter to accomodate a child. I guess you didn't want to take your chances with the natives so everyone went together? "The family that craps together stays together." That'd make a nice bumper sticker I think. While I was comtemplating how to market such a sticker I was distracted by two male bobwhites calling from a wooded area next to the barn. Dang, another million dollar idea spoiled by a mild case of ADHD.

I think we both had a great time. I'm really looking forward to this fall when I'm taking my Dad for his first bird hunt in maybe 40 years. Appropriately, it'll be chickens in the Flint Hills.

This Could Be Nice

2009-05-22T07:55:00.006-05:00

As my kickboats and camping gear sit in the bed of the truck in the parking lot I'm excited for what promises to be a long weekend of good fishing, leisurely floating, camp fires and brew. Enjoy this preview of what looks to be a fishing film with some amazing cinematography.

Fly Fishing - Once in a Blue Moon 60sec promo from On the Fly on Vimeo.

Cautiously Optimistic...

2009-04-14T14:25:00.008-05:00

That's how I would describe how I feel considering the weather we've had and that the due date for personal income taxes is already upon us. The weather was relatively mild. No prolonged periods of snow cover, no ice storms. The rains have been consistent enough to keep the ground moist and not so much to worry about flash flooding. To borrow a term from a favorite childhood story, "just right." At least so far.

This weekend, Sunday rains meant children were doing the Easter egg hunt a day early. The family chef was grocery shopping for the upcoming feast. I, on the other had, was blessed enough to sleep in and be treated to breakfast. As if that wasn’t enough, I was also allowed to run dogs on the best piece of bird cover I’ve seen east of Russell.

For some added fun I loaded the farm lab, Riley, in the truck with my two setters. We started walking down the edge of a pasture and all Riley wanted to do was chase and play with my setters. She’s still carrying a little holiday weight so that didn’t last long. The pasture produced a wild flushing prairie chicken, and at the bottom we turned to follow a thick draw splitting a wheat stubble field. Ike, as he does sprinted ahead following the edge, and it wasn’t long before I hear the familiar beep of the Astro that told me he was on point far ahead. When we got there Sage honored and Riley, who’s never really been “hunting” before approached Ike and started to lick his face. Then two roosters blew from the thicket just ahead of him. Hilarious. There were a couple more recurrences like this as we found quite a few pheasants and another prairie chicken.

Here's Ike on pheasant find number two, with Riley ready to lick the face again.

On the drive out I saw a Harris hawk messing around on the side of the road. As I approached he flew off and I saw this rooster who was managing to keep the fallen tree limb between himself and the hawk.

On Easter morning we repeated the drill before the April showers came, this time without Riley. The results were nearly the same, except we found two coveys of quail. I was worried after the first day didn’t produce any.

Ike on covey number one. Both coveys were 8 or 10 birds, good shape for breeding.

I feel bad I didn't get any good pictures of Sage. I kept trying to get good video of birds flushing but it just wasn't in the cards. Anyway, we timed it so that we were getting to the truck just as it started to sprinkle. I really like that piece of ground.

Is Fishing Season

2009-03-12T08:55:00.008-05:00

I didn't get to fish hardly at all last year, so I was super excited to start off the year right with our first trip. Fished two days with Wes and we had a heck of a time. Our arms and hands were litterally sore from all the fish.

Typical Kansas Weather

2009-03-05T08:26:00.009-06:00

On Saturday morning I awoke to find five inches of snow on the ground. I was to bed late and up early, so it must have fallen pretty quickly. Yesterday was into the 60's, and today could hit upper 70's!

The woodcock flight has reached NE Kansas, as the dogs and I managed to put up six in a very short period on Sunday morning. We don't have much experience with woodcock, but they seemed very jumpy in the snow. The dogs as usual were running the edges looking for quail, but the woodcock seemed more dug in and would flush wild as the dogs ran, or I walked, past. I did come across one guy hunting with a yellow lab. We didn't speak, only waved at a distance, but I have to assume he was hunting rabbits. He probably wondered what I was doing walking around with dogs and no gun. As usual we didn't find any quail. Except for one covey we found while bikejoring last week, I haven't seen any wild quail close to home in almost three years.

Other than that I thought I'd share some pictures my father sent to me. He's purchased some fancy pants DSLR and telephoto lenses and has been getting some pretty amazing pictures. This spring I hope to get a blind on a chicken lek to get some pictures of their mating rituals.

If you click on the pictures you can see full-size versions. The look on the pilot's face is enough to give me a chuckle, I wonder what he was thinking.

Fin

2009-02-03T11:12:00.008-06:00

Just a few pics from the last two weekends.

Odd looking snow.

Doc originally found a large late-season covey that tried to run out from under his point. Here he is on a single.

Ike backs...

The bird was dug in under some grass and flushed low into the wheat stubble. I had a clean shot and winged the bird. Both dogs raced in to scoop up the cripple and they clobbered eachother pretty well; I couldn't help but laugh.

The following Saturday I finished up the season much like I started it; hunting with Ted. We hit some old haunts and found the quail coveys to be in great shape going into the spring; we'll keep our fingers crossed for a mild February.

Here's Dottie on a single.

Later in the day Wes and Doc met up with us. While I think bird numbers in Kansas were generally down compared to the 5-year average, the more experienced dogs found more, and handled birds better than last year. It was good season.

Winding Down

2009-01-19T15:53:00.024-06:00

I love to hunt new spots. The idea of taking what you have learned over time and applying it in a new scenario is very appealing, especially when you succeed. It makes me more willing to take risks, to hunt a spot that doesn't look particularly good from the road, or to explore places that aren't visible from the road at all, but perhaps look birdy on a topographical map.

I started at one such spot Saturday morning. The huntable land was exceeding a section and had two creekbeds running through it. I decided to hunt one creekbed to the boundary, then jump over a wheat field and hunt the other bed back to the truck.

Hunting the first creekbed produced some pheasants from the wheat field on the edge, but no quail. Hunting the wheat across, crossing fingers for chickens...

The other creekbed produced no birds; both had been grazed pretty hard and there wasn't much cover at all. Oh well...I bet only a handful of guys, if anyone, hunted that land this season. Back at the truck it was chow time.

I looked at a few other spots and nothing caught my eye, so I decided to hunt the tried and true for big birds. Here, Ike pointed birds, and held staunch as two flushed from the backside of the cover. When I arrived there was one hen remaining.

Then he started tracking another, which ended up being a rooster that got tired of running and flushed well beyond the dog.

Here, Ike points a covey of quail that landed in a thicket after Sage found them feeding along a creekbed.

Close-up...

Sage scales the tallest mountain in Kansas and enjoys the view...

On Sunday I decided to again explore for some new stuff. We did find one roost here, but were unable to locate the covey.

Ike after what must be his one-hundredth barbed-wire injury. At least this came during a retrieve...

I think he's pointing an empty bottle of Jack Daniels here...but moving on we found some new coveys for our efforts. I only got to hunt a little bit because my knee was killing me and Sage woke up carrying a leg. But I'm really interested to continue exploring this new area.

School is out for...ever.

Two Weeks: Texas, Day 2

2009-01-13T15:54:00.020-06:00

Chuck's friend and son had gone home the night before, and the other folks planned on running some puppies, so Wes and I were going to hunt on our own. The previous day we had found birds where a road crossed a creek bed and hunted the creek one direction; we planned on hunting the creek the other direction.

We got a late start, and with some wrong turns on the gigantic lease we saw more than we planned. By 11am we were ready to put Ike on the ground. At the motel I wrapped his feet in vet wrap in anticipation of putting duct tape on top of that, to help cure the footsore issues. When I pulled him from his crate I found he had pulled off and eaten most of the vet wrap. Nice. So I re-wrapped him and taped his feet with the most expensive gas station duct tape I've ever bought. I have Lewis boots for him, but his front feet are larger than his rear, so I need to get another set for a more comfortable fit; I've actually never had to use them before.

The weather was much cooler, probably around the freezing point when we started, and there was a nice breeze. We started in the direction where we found birds the previous day and planned to loop back across the road the follow the creek in the other direction. Doing only walking this day, I really became familiar with the hazards of hunting in Texas...everything is pointy and trying to stick you...jumping cactus is the worst. There must be some sort of chemical on the end of their spines, because they poke through your brush pants like hypodermic needles and the sting lasts for a while. Leather gloves came in handy negotiating the cover.

As we hunted up the creekbed, Wes is credited with the first find; a covey erupted from the base of a mesquite tree as he walked by. He opted to watch them down instead of trying a rushed shot, and we did get some birds up; can't remember if we had dog work or not.

We circled back across the road and found this...

I'm thinking "now we're in business." But, it turned out to be a nice buck. Not the first time it's happened, either. Ike made a nice cast in the direction of the deer and went on point again.

This time it was birds. He tried a relocation and some birds went, and here's a video clip of another relocate attempt. I whoa'd him to keep him from putting up what I thought was going to be the rest of the covey. He found them later.

It was wierd. We'd get a point, relocate, maybe three or four birds would get up, and then he'd find the rest of them. I think birds were running from us and the sparse scent of just a couple birds was throwing him off. On covey number three he figured it out without any mistakes. In this picture, he is surrounded by birds; we probably caught them feeding.

Over the next couple hours Ike found four coveys and there was some singles work. One thing I will say, singles are a lot tougher in Texas. The birds almost always run like crazy, and these aged birds wouldn't let you, or a dog, get very close before they'd flush. But the shooting was fast and fun; just as we were finished hunting singles from one covey we'd find another to play with.

We never made it far from the truck and we were able to circle back and get Doc who quickly found a jumpy covey as well. Then, Doc pointed, and during a relocation Ike got in front and pointed. Only instead of little birds, it was a brace of feral hogs that, thankfully, ran in the other direction. After that, we heard some birds calling and made our way in their direction, and Ike pointed them from a good distance.

From there we tried hunting the edge of the bottom back.

And then I found this...

With a long drive home ahead of us we packed it up early and headed home. The Garmin told me that in about two and a half hours of hunting, a footsore Ike covered 21 miles. When I got home I found multiple cactus thorns buried deep in his pads. I was very impressed with his toughness and ability to adapt to the conditions.

Two Weeks: Texas Quail Hunting, Day 1

2009-01-12T11:59:00.018-06:00

Last spring I was watching K-State try to put a second lick in a season on KU's basketball team when my phone rang. It was Chuck Wilson, Ike's breeder, dog man, quail enthusiast, and the proprietor of White Rock Kennels, located in Waco, TX. He was calling to check in on Ike as other pups out of that breeding had been doing very well, and he was interested in having a look at Ike for a potential breeding. Nine months later we sealed a date to hunt quail on Chuck's quail lease southwest of Wichita Falls.

My buddy Wes and his setter accompanied us through two days of hunting in Kansas beforehand, and then the two days in Texas. We met up with Chuck and a friend of his, their two sons, and dog trainer Keith Hickham, just south of Wichita Falls. We awoke early and arrived at the lease as the sun was rising. They do quail hunting a little different in Texas and it was pretty amazing to see the material investment. Right now I'm kicking myself for not taking some pictures of the setup, impressive as it was. Before I could even collar both my dogs, Chuck and company made magically appear about 20 dogs, mostly setters, from his trailer and K-Mule boxes. While on the chain gang they took some water in the cool and dry desert air; it was going to be a warm one.

A few minutes later and we had loaded 8 dogs in the K-Mule with Ike and another on the ground. Chuck, Keith, Wes, and myself all rode in the K-Mule while the other three volunteered to walk. At first I figured the three volunteers were eager to shoot some birds, but later I figured out they just wanted to do their walking during the coolest part of the day. Can't say I blame them.

Chuck had only hunted the lease one other time, on the opener, and only managed to move a few coveys of birds. He reported the cover as being thick and very green. This time the cover looked great and I was very optimistic. The K-Mule navigated the cactus and mesquite while we hunted the edge down a drainage. We followed in the Mule about 80 yards behind the walkers, Keith keeping a sharp eye for his sylish dog on the ground, and I for Ike. After a while Ike made what Chuck called a "look and see" cast to the front and over a hill. I was able to rattle off his range using the Astro, "he's over two...now three...approaching four...beyond five...now six..., there's 700 yards..." Eventually he got to another drainage and hunted that down to rendezvous with us again. It was apparent he was footsore from already hunting two days, and with the warmer weather he got put up after only 45 minutes or so. No matter, we had plenty of dogs to run.

The morning produced only a couple coveys despite plenty of legs on the ground; even when we found birds, the hot and dry conditions hampered any decent dog work. When we broke for lunch I had to put on the A/C in my truck, and the high reached a scorching 82 degrees! Sound familiar?

We returned after lunch and loaded some fresh dogs in the K-Mule and decided to look at some new cover--might as well, this pasture was 8,000 acres, so we could afford to be picky. The one thing all the coveys we found in the morning had in common was that they were near water, close to the lowest of the low terrain. So, we used that knowledge to focus our search.

One thing I should mention, out of the 20 or so dogs that Chuck and Keith brought along, the vast majority were less than 3 years old. Neither of them picked up a gun the entire time; it was their complete focus to get young dogs into birds. We all have our motivations for hunting birds, putting in the time, money, emotion, etc. It was obvious Chuck's big payoff is when puppies win, when they put it all together, sort hot from cold scent, point, relocate, hold steady, and the bird is put up and shot. I like to see it, too. I wish I could hunt a puppy every season, just to watch the progress and, finally, the big payoff. There's nothing like it.

Hunting the drainages offered some challenges. The biggest was navigating the K-Mule to where we wanted to hunt. There were plenty of small ditches just a couple feet across, cut by the rains throughout the years. They were deep enough to prevent the K-Mule from crossing, so we'd get to one and end up going uphill until we could get across. However, we did find a larger ditch that we were able to cross, simply amazing machines.

The tactic of hunting the creek bottoms paid off and we were able to move a few more coveys that afternoon, although the conditions remained tough for dog work, and it became obvious bird numbers were well below the norm. As we were riding the Mule we came across an interesting tree with a prickly pear cactus growing out of it.

The forecast called for a cold front to sweep through that evening, and Wes and I were amped for conditions that were closer to what we were used to in Kansas. We would have them...

Two Weeks: Part V, Lesser Prairie Chickens

2009-01-09T11:05:00.006-06:00

For the past couple of years I've always wanted to try to hunt the lesser prairie chicken and the scaled quail in Kansas. Both can be found in the southwest part of the state. Because of a very bad dought in extreme SW Kansas, I decided to leave the scalies for another time.

Lessers are supposedly in a bad way in most of their native range, having lost ~90% of their habitat to agriculture, oil and gas development, over-grazing, and pesticides. Texas limits the hunting to landowners, and by permit only. In New Mexico you have to win a lottery type drawing to hunt them, and I don't beleive they can be hunted at all in Oklahoma. Sounds grim, right? Well, I am happy to report that numbers are, at least local to where I hunted, pretty good. And I found a decent motel for $29 a night. That's a double bonus!

Because the weather was to be warm, I arrived on the scene before legal hunting hours for a little scouting. The first spot seemed a little over grazed so I decided to keep looking. On the way four chickens flew over the road and landed in some CRP.

I got out of my truck and I could hear chickens booming all around me, in nearly every direction. To the north I could even see some birds feeding in the winter wheat field. I observed them for a while and tried to take some pictures; I've Photoshop'd the best one here and you should be able to make out four birds.

I decided to look at the first spot one more time, and on the way back I flushed two more feeding in a cut milo field. I was very surprised to encounter these kinds of numbers, especially so soon. Another look at the pasture and I still wasn't impressed so I moved on. I hunted two smaller pastures with no encounters and it was quickly getting warm and I had forgotten to fill my water. If you ever run out of water, find a church. They always have an outdoor spicket, no one usually asks any questions, and if they do they are happy to help and do anything they can to point you in the right direction.

So, water refilled we drove to another spot. The scenery was pretty amazing, at least for Kansas.

Ike, being the wider dog, got the call as he had the previous two fields. We set our course into the wind towards a windmill that would hopefully have water in it to soak the dog. Well, it didn't. But being the pesky tinker type I figured out that if I climbed halfway up and released a lever I should be able to get some water. Shazaam! Dog wet, windmill off, and wind picking up I decided to change tactics. I had been hunting the ridgelines, basically all the high stuff, I know chickens like to be able to see a long ways. Because of the gusting winds I opted to hunt the low areas between hills, like little waterways. This change produced birds almost immediately. We'd hunt up a waterway, then at the top hop over to the next water way and hunt down. Nearly every one held birds, although they were spaced about a mile of walking apart. The birds were extremely wild, although on two occassions had I not spent both barrells on Hail Mary's I could have bagged a late flusher. As much as I hunt chickens, I really ought to know better. The second time I nearly hit the bird with my empty hulls as I threw them in frustration.

Oh well, I'll be back. Tired puppy...

Two Weeks: Part IV, the Southwest

2009-01-07T11:14:00.001-06:00

With a couple days to burn between Christmas and New Year's, and nice weather on the horizon I decided to explore a part of the state I had yet to hunt this season, and target a bird I had yet to pursue, ever. I'd hunt quail in some notably different terrain, as well as the lesser prairie chicken. So, after sleeping in I pointed the truck down I-35 and headed to the southwest part of Kansas. The forecast for the next two days was for highs in the mid-50's, a nice breeze, and plenty of sun.

Usually the dogs ride under the topper in their crates, but this time they got to ride in the cab. I enjoyed the company, and kids waved from minivans while navigating all the red lights through Wichita. Having a dog riding shotgun is also nice when you're trying to drive and eat a Chipotle burrito; clean up crew.

That evening I ran both dogs for an hour or so at a familiar spot and found two coveys of quail, and a few pheasants. The big birds always managed to keep a cedar between the dangerous end of my shotgun and their escape. Here's a look at the terrain, shallow rolling hills, cedars, prairie grass, and thick plum thickets here and there.

The weather was actually a bit hotter than forecast, highs in the low 60's. They went through 2 liters of water quickly so we didn't get to hunt as long as I would have liked. But, we found some birds for our effort.

When my dogs are young and still hunting close I make it a point to make them hunt the thick stuff, especially for quail. While running the edges is important, sometimes coveys will hunker down in the middle of a large thicket, so the dog needs to hunt those. I guess this time Ike wanted payback, so he pointed, and made me crash my way through the thicket to put up the birds. But, upon doing so they weren't there. Maybe they had run, but he found them in some grass a short ways away. I still think he did it on purpose.

I always find myself taking pictures of roosts. I don't know why bird hunters do this, because they're essentially pictures of...well...poop. But I've seen it before and I'll probably continue to do it myself. I found this one just after Ike pointed that covey. If I find a roost in the field, I might take some extra time to thoroughly work the area, because the quail are probably close.

This exact tactic paid off for me later the next day. First I saw this (probably the largest quail roost I've ever seen)...

And then I saw this...Ike with another find.

And now on a single...

Next, lesser prairie chickens.

Two Weeks: Part III, Finally with Pictures

2009-01-06T16:35:00.000-06:00

I finally broke down and bought another camera, pretty much the updated model of the old one. It's a Canon SD790IS. I like it; fast, somewhat compact, big screen, takes nice videos, simple, etc. Anyway, I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.

This is Sage pointing one of the five coveys of quail I'm convinced this particular piece of WIHA holds. Hunting quail alone is a tricky proposition; they are always on the opposite side of the plum thicket, hedge row, etc. I did manage the one bird that flew into the opening left to right; didn't find any singles.

Here's a picture of the chickens I've been writing about. This time they flushed as soon as the dog made it over the hill, a long ways away. I counted ~65 birds this time. You can see one in the tree in the lower right.

Their tracks were everywhere in the pasture.

They flew to a cut bean field, and I tried to approach them again. They flushed way wild, although the dogs still detected their scent in the field. You can see two chickens in the tree tops on the left hand side.

Two Weeks: Part II

2009-01-06T11:27:00.002-06:00

The morning after my trifecta I slept in a bit and then accompanied a good friend to breakfast at the new greasy spoon in town. Being a Sunday, the after church crowd of a small town was in full effect and it was pretty busy. Despite not actually being from this small town, I sure did see a lot of people I knew having their breakfasts. I love that you can still get two eggs, bacon, hash brown, toast, and a cup of OJ for less than $5. Charming, really, especially when the waitress knows everyone's names.

I headed back to the spot where Ike found the quail and the chickens on Thanksgiving morning wishing they would hold again, only this time I'd keep the camera in my pocket. I started at the south end this time; hopefully the stiff artic breeze would alert Ike to the chickens' location before we had to crest a hill and blow our cover. Late season chickens can be jumpy, especially if they've been pressured. Ike made a nice early cast into some CRP and the Astro told me he was on point. I thought it could be pheasants, but I saw some deer running away, so I decided to wait him out since we were here for chickens anyway. Five minutes later and he was still on point 450 yards into the CRP. I snapped a pic of the Astro's screen and got to hopping the fence. The Astro directed me right to his location and a pair of roosters erupted skyward, and like the day before I dropped them both. Elated, extatic, all of the above. I reached into my pocket for my camera to document my second double in two days, and like the transmitter and GPS, it was gone. I walked between that spot and where I crossed the fence three times and was never able to find it. A real bummer, it had some good pictures on it. More than anything else I wanted the card out of it. More bittersweet, I guess.

We returned to the pasture ground with a heavier game sack and worked our way across so that we'd be directly downwind of where I thought we'd find the chickens loafing about. Before we could make our turn north Ike went on point again, now in a bottom area below a man made pond. I snuck below the canopy of the trees and found him pointing in an area with literally no ground cover, just bare dirt with a few horse apples littering the ground. Maybe a squirrel or a rabbit? Ike will point just about anything. He relocated through the thicket and slammed on point again. I walked to his side and peered at the ground, thinking that if ever I was going to see a covey of quail bunched up ready to bust this would be it. A minute passed and I never found anything. One step and I was surrounded by quail exploding from the ground just in front of Ike, absolutely huge covey, maybe two dozen birds. I can't believe I never saw them, they were right there! Ike found one single that jumped in the wind and I missed badly. They landed mostly in some private ground so I pulled him off to get after those chickens. We worked north and I found a couple roosts, but no birds.

We worked into the breeze and when we were circling back to the truck the chickens lifted off the ground quite a ways from where they were last time. Ike was not in the vicinity, and they flew into the wind right over me. I couldn't resist and knocked down another mature male chicken. Had I managed one of those quail it would have been two slams in two days, with two pointed doubles on pheasants. I hunted a new spot, two sections of pasture, hoping for more chickens. But despite a long walk the wind beat us up pretty bad and we weren't able to move any birds. Oh well.

More to come...

Two Weeks: No Work, Lots of Play, Part I

2009-01-05T11:38:00.001-06:00

Today is the first day I've reported for duty since December 19th. Frankly, I'm both sad and excited to be back; it's nice to catch up on the blogs I read, and the general happenings in the world. Alas, this is not a business or current events blog, so I'll get to the bird hunting directly.

The past month or more has been bittersweet; it seems that for every extraordinary event something happens to bring me back to reality. On Thanksgiving morning I stumbled across a real gem, a piece of public ground holding pheasant, quail, and chickens. In just more than an hour Ike had finds on two coveys of quail and one covey of about 30 chickens. I only managed three or four quail, and the chickens flushed with the camera in my hands. Still, a great find close to a place where I spend a lot of personal time.

The next day I was invited to hunt some ground in western Kansas with my neighbor and his in-law's family. The land is owned by two brothers and is farmed by the region's Pheasants Forever Chapter president. So, needless to say the policies and farming practies utilized on these lands are favorable to game birds and bird hunting. There's plenty of CRP with standing milo strips, buffers along crop edges, and even strips of CRP running along the terraces in wheat stubble fields. It was a great hunt, with a couple inches of our first snow on the ground. Birds were holding unbelievably tight and they were plentiful. I always get nervous running my dogs in front of folks, especially in "walk and block" situations, because they are bigger going and will freely relocate on running pheasants, which inevitably results in a bumped bird or two. But Sage completely exceeded my expectations, and we shot many roosters over him, several I could have caught with my hands as they were buried in the thick, snow-ladden CRP.

On the second day, after the family headed out of town, I was given the run of the place and we took advantage. Sage quickly put a rooster and two quail in my gamebag and it was Ike's turn. We hunted the wheat stubble field with the strips along the terraces. I could see him running along the edge several hundred yards ahead of me when he started the point and relocate dance that can only mean running pheasants. He'd trot along the edge low and then stop, his body and tail would rise with the scent until he stood tall, and I could see his mouth and nose trying to chew and taste the birds. Then he'd break and creep low with the tail sweeping back and forth like a windshield wiper, and he'd pause again. Eventually Ike stopped and stood long enough for me to close the distance, all the while thinking "this is it." I saw one bird make a run for it into the stubble and I put him up. I pulled the trigger as he sailed right to left and a second bird flushed right in front of Ike, who will often stand through the flush. The first bird crumpled in air and I swung on the second with the remaining barrel. I managed to break a wing and knew we were in for a chase when he langed legs down and head up in the stubble. Ike has never been a stellar retriever, but he will surprise on occasion. Imagine my shock when he flew past me, first bird in mouth, and completely linebacker'd the second bird. It was my first pointed double on pheasants, something I hope I never forget.

With three pheasants and two quail in the bag before noon, I decided to relocate to another part of the state to attempt something I have never done before; quail, pheasant, and chickens all in the same day. When I got there I noticed my Tri-Tronics transmitter and Garmin Astro were missing. I emptied the truck and they were nowhere to be found. Reluctantly I put Sage and Ike down. They were tired anyway, and I didn't think I'd lose them in the open country. A few minutes into the hunt Ike went over a hill towards a milo field and remained gone for a few minutes. As I was doubling back hoping to find him on point a covey of quail sailed lazily over my head and landed in the pasture. And shortly behind them was Ike. I like to think he pointed and held them for some time, they got nervous and ran off and then flew into the pasture. Sage gave me some great singles work, and it was the quickest four quail of my life. Of course, shooting quail in sparse pasture ground is a lot easier than plum thickets, hedge rows, or mesquite country. But we were here for chickens, so I pulled the dogs off the quail and we hunted on. Ike ranged and pointed several chickens that never let me get close enough. Then I saw some birds coming back from feeding to roost. We crept to the area and Ike pointed a bird that again flushed out of range. Ike stood through the flush as I approached and a second bird flushed, and I had my trifecta. A brilliant mature male. I didn't have a limit of anything, but I'll remember it as one of the best days.

EDIT: I forgot to metion that I drove the two hours back to where I was last hunting and I found my transmitter and GPS along the side of the road where we ended. They must have fallen out of the truck while I was loading up.

Documentation of a Shooting Funk

2008-12-03T11:10:00.001-06:00

Here's a short video of Ike pointing a single after he had found the covey and we have some other singles work, some photographed below. I was in a bad funk, wasn't thinking clearly, couldn't pick out a bird, all bad mojo. I recovered before it got really bad. I was shooting IC/Mod, and usually #9's in the first and #7.5's in the second for quail. I've since switched to Skeet/IC and standardized on #7's most of the time. Have had great success since making the switch.

Pictures from a Quail Hunt

2008-12-02T11:01:00.000-06:00

Ike...

Ike again...

Dottie backing Ike...

Close-up of Ike, I could actually see quail running in the brush.

Dottie after we split the covey...

Finally back home...

Ten minutes into the hunt, Sage finds birds...

A friend's lapdog that accompanied the hunt. While she may not look like much, she did locate a dead quail that eluded the two other dogs on the ground.

Can you spot Ike on point?

Here he is again...

And again...he has just been pure murder on birds this season.

Coveys of Seasons Past

2008-11-26T12:10:00.000-06:00

For the quail opener I did as most of us would do: I went and looked for coveys I had found and documented over the last few seasons. In just a few pieces of public I hoped to find 11 coveys, all within a few miles of eachother. It wouldn't be easy, but if I found half of those it'd be a great day.

After a cold sleep in the truck I arrived at my first spot to see that the corn on the south side of the tree-filled draw had not yet been harvested. Better to leave those birds alone until after the harvest. Scratch two coveys from the list. Hit the next spot just down the road, again, corn still in. Scratch two more coveys.

Spot number three should at least yeild some hunting opportunity, as it was always wheat or beans, and lots of pasture ground. There had been as many as four coveys on this spot, but I had never found more than three in a day. I hunted what I call the lower part first, where I had once found three coveys in just an hour or so. Sage got the call, and despite a good run, we found no birds. Time to hunt the high side. It's basically a long walk through some rather unlikely pasture strip to get to this back corner that is packed with cedars, and is surrounded beans and CRP, with a nice little pond to boot. Sage winded and went on point just as we approached the back corner. He must have caught the birds on their way back from feeding, because they flushed from the sparse pasture grass before I could approach within gun range, despite Sage's flawless manners and long nose. I marked them down along the dam of the pond, and we got some good singles work. The wind took a toll on my shooting, but we did put a bird in the bag...a very small rooster bobwhite. That made the walk out seem a little shorter. So, one for eight so far, and Sage was hunting strong.

Spot number four has in the past held as many as three coveys. Unfotunately, a portion had been removed from the WIHA program, so we lost access to one, maybe two coveys that was usually found on the fringe. Sage ran again, and again, depite a thorough search, we found nothing. I was beginning to think the spring rains had taken a toll on my birds. Well, I was here, so I decided to hunt some new stuff across the road. I had never hunted it before for two reasons, 1) I never needed to, and 2) the bank of the road was very high and you couldn't see over it to examine the land. Silly, I know. But upon initial inspection it seemed potentially productive, a standing bean field meeting a picked corn field, with at least two tree-filled draws. We hunted all the way around, and on our final push back to the truck Sage went on point, then relocated 10 yards, and slammed into a (for him) very stylish point. The covey erupted straight up and headed over the trees. I managed a sluggish shot, and no birds dropped. I was beginning to feel the pressure of sliding into a shooting funk. We also failed to locate any singles, but the draw was thick with trees, underbrush, and thorns, so I didn't dwell on it too much.

I decided a relocation was in order. So I hustled an hour away to some other stuff I had hunted in the past; it was on my way to where I wanted to crash that night anyway. I picked an unlikely quarter section of cut milo and pulled in. I hadn't hunted it before as it was wheat stubble last year. I could see leaf-barren tips over the high center of the terraced field...a tree row bordering a milo field, which in my mind is quail paradise. It was Ike's turn, and deliver he would. In that half-mile of border, where trees and agriculture meet, Ike found and stood three healthy coveys of quail. The first came on his initial cast from one corner towards the other. Two hundred yards ahead the Astro called out what I believed to be an inevitability--Ike had found birds. After an attempt to fly directly up my nose (I missed two very close crossing shots) they glided to private CRP through the trees. At the end of the field where the milo gave way to harvested beans, Ike found covey number two, which we scattered into the milo and had some good singles work, and I took two birds for my freezer. I couldn't believe how far those birds were willing to run; Ike found one single more than 300 yards from the edge in the milo, he had run the whole way. I nearly stepped on one single and he flew back to near where we found the first covey, so I thought that would be a good training opportunity to further encourage Ike to run the edges in search of quail. He linked up with the edge beyond the single and made a nice cast backwards and went on point. Perhaps another single I missed? I stepped in and a dove flushed from heavy cover 15 yards ahead of his nose. I didn't think he pointed the dove, that's a long way. One more step and a single quail flushed, again too far from him. One more step and covey number three blew up, and I took a single going away.

Back at a friend's farm, I cleaned the birds and put them in a ziplock bag on a table outside. I knew the girls wouldn't want dead birds in their freezer, and it was cold enough. The next morning I discovered the family lab helped himself to my quail during the night. Dang.

Kansas Pheasant Opener

2008-11-17T17:06:00.000-06:00

We changed plans at the last minute for the pheasant opener, fearing the drought had delivered poor bird numbers where we wanted to hunt. Seeing as how the pheasant opener is the busiest tourism weekend in the state, we couldn't get a motel. No matter, the weather appeared to be mild, so we found some state camping access and set up shop.

The lake access allowed a better-than-average view in which to enjoy our favorite brews, and a place to swim dogs in the warm afternoons.

The hunting was good. The first morning we tallied eight roosters, all with dog work, despite only seeing ten or more roosters. Very high success rate, and we only hunted till lunch time. Every single bird had hoppers, and only hoppers in their crops. The second day was tougher; we saw many many birds, but they were grouped up and we only got close to one bird, which is in Tom's freezer now. The "critical mass of pheasants" had been reached; that's the point at which more pheasants actually hurts your hunting success, because all those eyes and ears make the approach nearly impossible, and once one flushes the domino effect ensues before the dogs are even close. I need to go back there now that the weather is cool and the milo should be completely harvested.

"Danemark"

2008-11-14T15:27:00.000-06:00

In October I spent two weeks in the central Jutland portion of Denmark. It was work, but I managed to have a little fun. The founder of my company lived in a large cottage before he passed. It is very uniquely decorated, rich in impressionist art and other goodies. But, I only took pictures of the stuff that was interesting to me.

This is what I was told is an "orre." I did some more research and others call it a black grouse. It's apparently a very large upland bird found in the Scandanavian part of Europe. I'll do more research and make another post.

The deer there are much smaller than in the US. Here is a proud wall of trophies.

Of course, huns! While I was there I met a colleague from the Czech Republic. Apparently they see huns all over the place, and pheasants as well. I'd really love to hunt huns in their native range some day.

The pheasant: a royal gamebird known and hunted throughout the world. The one on the right was undoubtedly the largest rooster I have seen in my life.

Bikejor Video

2008-11-14T10:27:00.001-06:00

We don't usually go this fast, but I only had one hand to break with. They like the colder weather much better!

Winner Winner Chicken Dinner

2008-11-13T15:49:00.000-06:00

Have you ever stuffed yourself full of a steak dinner? Sure.

What about when the waitress comes by with the tray full of desserts? They look delicious, right? Your date says they look good, but she's full. Translation: "I want some of that chocolate thingy, but I prefer not to look like a pig."

Such was the case on the way back from Montana. We had bagged sage grouse, sharpies, and huns. I killed three new species of birds. What else could I ask for without looking like a pig? Well, a prairie chicken or two wouldn't hurt, right?

So, back to the sandhills of Nebraska! Dogs were weary, skinny, and hardened, so throw the Hail Mary, put all six down. Getting e-collars and Astro's on that bunch proved to be a task in and of itself. They were fired up and ready to go for our last hunt of the trip.

Long story short, Ted's knee started hurting, the wind was strong, and I would have gotten lost without the GPS. But, we got our chicken, a few doves, and a sharptail. I also missed an easy double.

Part VIII: Goodbye, thank you, see you next year

2008-11-10T17:48:00.000-06:00

The last hunt was bittersweet to say the least. We were slow to get out of bed, dehydrated and with headaches; I'll let you guess why. The morning was cool, not cold, and a bit humid. Having a fullsize pickup and a dog trailer made navigating the mountain roads a bit tricky, especially when we discovered the BMA sign-in wasn't where it was supposed to be. At least we got to see some more beautiful country before we could make a safe turnaround.

We decided to hunt a large patch of grass laying on the top of a plateau. The edges gave way to rimrock, and the hills were straight and steep as the descended to the surrounding pasture ground. I'm not sure if it was the proper rotation or not, but Sage and Dottie were put down for our last hunt in Montana. I think we were both anticipating sharptails, as we had plenty of success on them, and wanted to end our trip on a high note. We hunted along the two track following the edge of the field.

It wasn't long before the Astro chirped, and we perceived Sage on point ahead of us.

The point yielded no birds, and Sage hunted further into the field as we walked tired, lazily, and content regardless of the outcome. It wasn't long before I heard the familiar chirped again, indicating Sage on point 150 yards to our flank in the field. I used the device to get a bearing on his direction, and I started my approach towards him, anticipating a premature flush of sharptails already weary from hunting pressure. I saw Sage and knew he had birds. As I approached a covey of huns flushed tightly together, shrieking as they accelerated away from the danger. They were within ethical gun range for a 20, but they were so tight that I made the snap decision not to shoot, as it would have felt like flock shooting. I knew we could pick them up again, maybe from a different angle, and both of us could get clean shots. The birds flew towards the rimrock, and we lost view because of the crest of the hill as the edge falls off. We both thought they sat down right on the edge, and with the topographical boundary, that they'd have nowhere to run. We crossed a barbed wire fence as quietly as we could, and kept the dogs close. We walked all the way to the edge, and no birds. Then, Sage when on point again right at the edge.

I crept to the edge, fearful of the rock giving way, and peered over the dropoff. Then I noticed a porkie in the rocks below me; Sage must have been smelling him. We worked the area over again, and now Dottie pointed.

Just the porkie, again. We worked around the edge some more, and paused to take some pictures.

We hunted a little more and managed to put up one sharptail with no shots fired. I was pleased, nonetheless. Looking back, I'm not sure if I'll ever get to do something like this again, at least not until after I retire. Ten days away from home and work is tough to leverage. But there's always hope. Next time, I only have one wish: better weather.

Goodbye Montana. Thank you.

Part VII: Just pictures

2008-11-04T08:22:00.000-06:00

Setting off in search of huns...

Initially, we found lots of pheasants, and had plenty of quality dogwork.

Dottie has pointed almost every gamebird in the US. She nailed her first covey of huns, like she has most of the other birds she's hunted. A proud owner...

Sage was late on this group of sharptails that busted ahead of our approach.

"If I stand still, maybe they won't see me..."

Can you find the dog on point?

A closer shot...

Part VI Videos

2008-10-29T13:35:00.000-05:00

I apologize for the poor quality, but these were both taken with handheld point-and-shoot digital cameras. In the first clip Ted films me shooting a sharptail over Doc's point. You can see how well the other dogs backed--we had a total of four on the ground.

In this second clip Ike tallies a nice find, and Ted kills our limit sharptail over him. You can see a secord bird flush as the first is falling.

Part VI: WTF Just Happened?

2008-10-24T11:22:00.000-05:00

Note: This trip encompassed 10 days. This post is dedicated to one hunt lasting only 90 minutes. I hope I never forget this particular hunt.

From Lewistown we decided to hunt an area that I found using Google Earth, and posted about earlier in The Gems of Internet Scouting. After a brief hunt that only produced pheasants we decided to move on. We set our sights on a big piece of state land where we thought we'd find sharptails. They had been easy to find, and after frustrating ourselves with huns it would be nice to shoot the gun some more. Up until this point we were only running two dogs down at a time in the interest of preserving our hounds over the long term, and keeping things simple. I also believe that there is a steep curve of diminishing return running multiple dogs. But, the weather was slightly cooler, there was actually a humid breeze, and the land was large and featureless. So in a moment of rushed judgement down went Ike, Doc, and Ted's Dottie and Vegas. "F*** it."

The field was like a table top with the edges falling off into lower pasture land. I followed the edge of a ridge and Ted stayed to my right, bisecting the field as he walked. Doc was off to the races, but I could follow him with the Astro as he hunted beyond 400 yards. I noticed the grass seemed to have been planted as it was in tight rows. After a few hundred yards with no action I thought that even the sharptails would now elude us. And then it started. Bird busting one, two, three at a time here and there. The wind was at our backs, and the two bigger running setters each ran beyond these birds. After a few wild flushes the temptation became too strong and Ted dropped a double. I think that is when it started.

We reached a fence and opted to circle back around to the truck. Ike made a long cast down the fence line and established point. Doc saw and hunted towards him and birds broke as Doc crossed the fence. At the end of the fence we turned right back towards the truck, into the wind. It wasn't long before we saw this in the distance ahead...

Ike instinctively honored, as he has since he was a pup, from a hundred yards or more. As I went beyond Doc's nose Ike probably started creeping, but I didn't notice. I cleanly killed the sharptail and as Doc attempted the retrieve Ike rushed ahead in search or more birds.

Then all hell broke loose.

Ike would point, and Doc would bust the bird. Then Doc would point, and Ike would bust it. We lost several birds like this. All the while I'm screaming at the top of my lungs in the wind, trying to get to the e-collar transmitter, or the camera; it was pure madness. Doc and Ike, in their competitiveness, even stopped ignoring the e-collar on the light setting, so it went up. This went on for what seemed like a while, but was probably only five minutes. Right there we ended up having a harsh training session on "whoa." I have never been so red-faced in the field before. My voice was hoarse. Even now my blood pressure goes up just thinking about it--I was so angry. The most frustrating part is I knew that both of them knew better, and they chose to ingore me, and for that the "team" suffered. Frankly, I felt embarassed in front of Ted.

Eventually the dogs put it together and we were able to finish our limits with good dog work. We even got some video that I'll be posting later.

Not bad for a short walk under the Big Sky...

I'm not sure why I took this picture; I wasn't particularly pleased with either of these no good butt sniffin' bird bustin' biscuit eaters.

Now THIS is a gaggle of birds. Count 'em, six sharptails in one hand!

We unceremoniously posed for pictures, put the dogs up, and cleaned birds only trading a few words between eachother. Then we sat on the tailgate each sipping a cold brew. I think we were both reflecting what just happened for a few minutes, and I broke the silence with "that was the most stressful limit of birds I've ever shot in my entire life." Ted agreed.

Part V: Lewistown!

2008-10-23T10:50:00.000-05:00

From the Hi Line we pushed towards Lewistown. We wanted to hunt larger expanses of land for huns, as opposed to the birds that seemed tied to structure in the northeast. We thought it would cut down on driving between spots and wasting the cooler part of the day. We also hoped to make it into the mountains for some grouse. On the way we drove through the Missouri Breaks...quite an odd place.

We found an area that had some state land we could camp on, and were exicted to see a covey of huns and some pheasants from the road near where we planned on hunting. Ted cooked the sage grouse for dinner. He, and the dogs, thought it was edible. As we prepared to hit the sack the coyotes started their evening calls. Ted spotted some just a couple hundred yards way with his night vision scope. That night he slept with his .357. Being without a pistol, I slept with Ike and my shotgun.

The next morning Ted flushed a pair of huns out of our camp as he exited his tent. We reckoned it was going to be a good day. In short, the pheasants were numerous, and the other birds were tough. Even the coyotes wouldn't come out and play during the heat.

Looking west towards our camp...

Looking north, towards camp...

"Point! Somewhere out there..."

I'm not big on hero shots, but both dog and hunter really earned this hun.

Trying to call in 'yotes in the heat of the day...

Part IV: Downtime

2008-10-23T09:57:00.000-05:00

I'll be honest: after hunting three days in the northeast corner of Montana we were discouraged, or at least I was. Not by a lack of birds...I knew finding them wouldn't be easy considering neither of us had hunted huns before. But we were finding them. Four coveys in one morning, in one spot, on the last day! The beater was the weather. The highs were in the low 80's every day so far, the sun was hot, and it hadn't been very windy. So, we were sure to be in the field at daybreak, and were usually done hunting by 10am. That left a lot of time for napping, scouting, and hanging out.

On our way west along the Hi Line, we stopped at a reservoir to have lunch and let the dogs go for a dip. They were beginning to get rank anyway and would enjoy a chance to cool off. Ted cooked some massive burgers, with an even more massive slice of tomato on top. Delicious.

Air drying...

Part III: Hot and Hotter

2008-10-14T15:56:00.000-05:00

After a long cast to the north from SE MT we found ourselves near Circle, MT. I knew the pheasant hunting in that part of the state was pretty good, but I wasn't sure about sharpies or huns. I knew they'd be there, but in what kind of densities? No other way to find out than to put dogs on the ground and investigate.

On the drive in to a BMA we saw LOTS of young pheasants, simply staggering considering the perceived lack of cover, at least compared to Kansas. We usually have much more CRP and edge cover, but here the only visible cover was wheat stubble cut rather high. Since pheasants aren't in season, we tried to avoid these birds and focus on stuff we thought would hold sharptails and huns. In the first photo is Ted on our first push along a strip of cover splitting two cut wheat fields. Again, the scale of the agriculture is amazing. I think there are plenty of places in western Kansas with similar scale, but it doesn't feel lquite ike Big Sky Country.

A quick circle with Bodie and Doc, the loaner dogs, produced nothing despite Doc's impressive cast to the far reaches of the strip. At least he saved us some walking! Back at the truck the landowner stopped by for a chat. He was incredibly friendly, and even drew some directions on the map where we would find birds. I think he felt sorry for us, and I'm sure he thought we were crazy to come all the way from Kansas to hunt his little piece of Montana heaven. Maybe we are crazy.

Driving to where the landowner thought we should go we encountered our first covey of huns, a large covey that broke out of the ditch and flew a short ways into a wheat field. It wasn't on the BMA, so we made a mental note and proceeded to hunt an field of CRP set between two coulees, again with the Loaners. The farmer said earlier "you can shoot all the grouse you want here" as he pointed to the map. He was right. Doc was the first to encounter birds. His enthusiasm coupled with the lack of wind meant some bumped birds. Dogs were pointing and birds were getting up, and dogs were breaking and putting up more and more birds. I might have wounded a sharpie but I lost focus when Doc instantly located more birds. After the dust settled we noticed Bode was gone, but the Astro indicated he was coming back. He had followed that sharptail more than 200 yards and was making a stylish retrieve. Five minutes later he pinned a lone grouse on the edge of the CRP, which Ted dropped, and Bode completed the retrieve. Bode was quickly establishing credibility, and it was obvious he was going to contribute on an already capable string of bird dogs in their prime.

We tried to locate some huns around some edge cover and grain bins, and beside some good dogwork on pheasants, we were unsuccessful. By then the temperature was approaching 80 degrees so we called it a day and drove to Circle to meet up with two friends of Ted's. From there we pushed to NE Montana to focus on huns. We hunted the next three days looking for huns, and finding sharptails and pheasants. The heat only allowed us to hunt until mid morning, and we'd usually scout the second half of each day. One morning we found four coveys of huns in one spot, so we were having some success. But because they were so spread out and tied to certain landmarks, Ted and I decided to push west and get away from the agriculture to hunt the larger expanses of sage country and native grasses. I think I prefer to hunt birds in more natural landscapes as opposed to ag country.

Part II: Warm Welcome

2008-09-26T13:24:00.001-05:00

A short drive from Valentine found us in southeastern Montana, where we both had our sights set on sage grouse. Neither of us knew how much longer they could be a huntable species, so we focused intently on the opportunity to take these birds that are much like pteradactyls--large and pre-historic in their appearance.

Ted has killed nearly every species of upland bird available in the US over Dottie, but he needed a sage grouse. So Dottie and Sage, the veterans, got the call. After fifteen minutes we were about to head out to the truck when Sage located birds far to our flank. As he attempted to relocate he put up several of the bombers. We collected our dogs and were able to find the young birds just over a hill, where we both took our first sage grouse over Sage and Dottie's shared find. A little ways further into the sage and I had my limit of two. On our last push towards the truck, Sage made a long forward cast with the wind at our backs, and located a solitary juvenile in some grass. One hour and two limits of our first sage grouse, not bad!

Now for 70 miles of dirt road on our way north. We were warned to be careful of rattlesnakes; this one was on the road basking in the afternoon sun. No rattlesnakes were harmed during this vacation. This was actually the only one we saw the entire time.

Eastern Montana is extremely beautiful in it's simplicity, vastness, and scale of agriculture. Not to say all of it is wheat wheat and more wheat. That evening we hunted some rougher stuff and were able to find a few sharptails with Ike and Vegas. Lessons learned: 1) there can be a lot of mosquitos--even in arid Montana, 2) prickly pear cactus aren't easily extracted from the roof of a dog's mouth, and 3) you get what you pay for when it comes to most everything, motels in this case.

Montana and Back, Part I: The Sandhills

2008-09-25T10:09:00.000-05:00

Friday, Sept 11, 7AM

Arrived at Ted's house with Sage, Ike, Doc, and gear...pouring rain. We both got pretty wet loading up the truck and trailer. As we hooked up the trailer, we discovered the lights were not working. I had already spent four evenings trying to fix the failed wiring, and eventually replaced everything. It worked fine on my truck at my house. We tried a couple things, but didn't want to tear into it in the downpour, so we packed a digital multimeter and some electrical tape and decided to hit the road and fix later. In messing with the wiring, I got completely soaked and had to change clothes. We were on the road by 8 AM.

Five hours of driving in the rain and we were in Grand Island, NE. Lack of options and wanting to push on, we stopped at Wendy's for lunch. What a horrible experience--that's all I'll say. The plan was to park in the Wal-Mart lot and fix the trailer, but when we left Wendy's I noticed the lights were working. Nice! On to Halsey, NE.Road warriors...

We decided to hunt the Nebraska National Forest on the way to break up the drive and get the dogs a taste of the birds they were to encounter in Montana.

Before any "hotspotter" fingers are pointed, I'll explain something. The forest is well known, hunted by quite a few folks already, and frankly is very tough hunting. We worked hard for the birds we took, covering many miles in the sandy prairie, up and down hills, sweating and tired the whole time. On top of that, the dogs had to be flawless on birds for us to be successful. Not may people have the mettle, physical and mental, or the dogs for this place. We spent the Friday evening scouting, running dogs, and shooting any doves that we encountered. We didn't see any grouse, and I was concerned we were in for a tough day tomorrow. We stayed in Thedford and had dinner at Stub's. They don't have mashed potatoes in the evenings, only for breakfast. Huh.

Ted and I were up well before first light the following morning, and I think I lost a filling on the broken up asphalt road into the forest. I'm sure the dogs had a headache. My Ike and Ted's Vegas got the first call of the trip. We both had high hopes for these two. I expected Ike to be the dog of the trip because of his wide range and reliable nose. He's also the toughest dog I've ever hunted behind. Vegas had lived in the shadow of Ted's other dog, an older pointer, but he had been hunting them seperate last season and she was becoming a strong bird finder, and she was already the best "dead" hunting dog we had in our trailer.

The ground and vegetation was heavy with dew from yesterday's rain. In just a few minutes we were soaked to our waists, and Ike was actually cold and shivering. Not long into the hunt I took this picture...

The sandhills is the most surreal place I have ever hunted. Because the terrain is so uniformly dynamic, you can easily get turned around, even with a GPS. Early in the day we used the sun to keep track of our heading, but as it rose we depended heavily on the GPS to keep us pointed in the right direction. This flat spot offered our first sharptail encounter, a bird that flushed wild ahead of Ike just as he established point.

Then we started to connect in this low area; both Ted and I were able to put sharptails in the bag on account of Vegas; my first sharpie!

We also each took sharptails at the top of the ridge following the draw. There seemed to be no discernable pattern to the birds. They were high, low, in flat and in hilly areas, sun and shadows, too. On the way back to the truck Ike pointed a large covey spread out in a flat area from quite a distance. They broke, and of course I wasted my two barrels on the first birds that got up, and was empty for the birds I nearly stepped on. By now, I should know better.

We re-dogged with Doc and Bode. Doc belongs to my buddy Wes, and Bode is the Garmin DC30 coverdog, owned by Ted's friend Bronson. I have no idea why these guys trusted their companions with hooligans like us. We struck out in a different direction from the truck and were quickly into more birds, several flushing wild ahead and far to our flanks. Doc did point one covey, but again they broke too soon. I think the high sun and the heavy winds had them skittish.

One nice thing about the sandhills is that there is at least one windmill in sight from every peak, so you can water your dogs at nice intervals. But, the cows like them too.

It's important to keep your dogs watered, both from a hydration and scenting standpoint.

After the heat was too much, we turned our attention to prairie dogs. All the shots we took with Ted's .223 were over 200 yards. There were a few close calls, but no kills.

82 Degrees in the Middle of November

2008-09-04T08:58:00.000-05:00

I've come to learn that there are as many bad days afield as good days. Makes sense, I guess. If you were to hunt a hundred days, and then rank them with regard to the total experience, the relativity of it all would put about 50 days as being above average, and the remainder below average. All of which beat doing anything else in the upright position.

To clarify, I think weather does as much to make for a bad day as low bird numbers could. Bad weather could mean excessive snow, rain, but usually it's just too damn hot. Last November I struck out with two buddies for four days of hunting western Kansas. The first two days produced daytime highs of 75, and the third day was 82! And then, of course, the fourth day was cold and humid, high in the 50's, and very very windy. The trip, as far as birds and weather were concerned, was nearly a bust. We shot a few birds each day, and there were some high moments I'll never forget, but it wasn't the early season trip for which I hoped--uneducated pheasants, large coveys of quail, and maybe the first snow. We still had a great time, and I attribute that to good company as much as anything else. I guess my point is, even on a busted bird hunting trip, you could and should have a good time. Maybe do something you wouldn't normally do. Hit up a local pub and mix with the locals. Whatever.

My first recommendation...

The New Garmin DC30

2008-09-03T15:29:00.000-05:00

I've been running one of the new DC30's for a couple weeks now, and this past weekend ran two in "hunting situations." In short, the system works pretty well. There are, however, a couple things that you, the pointing dog enthusiast, can do to make the system work better for you.

1. Change the alert setting to tone 6 (EDIT: TONE 8). I think this particular tone is the easiest to hear, as it's a longer chirping sound.

2. Keep the Astro 220 handy. That does not mean in a backpack, hunting vest, etc. I keep mine on my chest, mounted to the strap on my vest. This gives you quick access to the screen, and allows you to hear the alert of a pointing dog more easily.

3. Change the dog type on each DC20 or DC30 to "pointing dog." I've noticed that in the Auto mode it can sometimes tell me a pointing dog is sitting. In "pointing dog" mode, it could report a defacating or resting dog as pointing, but at least then you get an alert. In the Auto mode, if it reported a pointing dog as sitting, the alert would not be sounded.

4. Be sure to pay close attention to the compass in the "dog" screen. If the arrows seem to be indicating any sort of inacurracy, then be sure to calibrate the compass. It only takes 30 seconds, and can be done quickly in the field while your worm burner is making a long cast down a treeline. Properly calibrated, the unit is very accurate, scary accurate, and has walked me right up the nose of pointing setters in thick cover. I have a few more pheasant tails in my fly tying bin to show for it.

The above being said, I expect pracitcal range for an eastern type bird hunter to be around 500 yards, depending on the countour of the land. I haven't found that heavily wooded areas decrease the range, but hills do. I put the DC30 on a dog while bikejoring, and even with a clear line of site (no trees), the Astro lost contact after we crested a hill 700 yards away. On the prairies, I have tracked dogs beyond 900 yards with the DC20 before I got them turned, and the DC30 should be better.

I think the newer unit should probably be more durable, the only possible weak spot being the antenna. However, it is long and thin, and I think will stand up to any wear and tear my dogs could ever expose them to, and Ike consistently hunts the early season with blood all over his face and chest--that's just the nature of the beast when you put together a hard-running dog with thick cover.

Kudos to Garmin for making the end of the nylon collar pointed. It makes working with that thick nylon much easier.

The Gems of Internet Scouting

2008-08-21T13:00:00.000-05:00

Prior to a hunt, I always go through the ritual of looking at land available to hunt, and then cross-checking on Google Earth to verify suitable habitat for birds that would yield better-than-average hunting. I am doing it on a much larger scale for my trip to Montana. I happened to come across something that you wouldn't normally find on a topographical map...

Looks like a crater, right? Apparently it was a formed by a developing volcano that never came to fruition. From what I can tell, this land is open to public hunting. Birds or no birds, I think it would be a fun place to run dogs.

Some Bikejoring Tips

2008-08-18T11:16:00.000-05:00

It's been more than a month, and I've bikejored with the dogs a dozen times now. I've only changed my rig a couple times and have come to something I'm happy with--at least enough that I'm not going to waste time monkey'ing with it. I try to road them every other, or every third day. It's not always possible, and I haven't been strict about the schedule, but they're getting worked enough. Here are a few things I've learned:

1. We always park and start in the same spot, go east some distance, and turn around and come back. With country roads in the 1-mile grid pattern, no need to get complicated. It makes planning a routine easier.

2. Water the dogs down head to toe before you start, they'll pull harder for longer.

3. If you can plan to go over a creek or by accessible pond, it's nice to be able to get the dogs wet again halfway through the exercise.

5. Wear a Camel-bak or something to water the dogs. Seeing a trend here? Also, it's best not to let them gorge themselves on water. It is better to give them small amounts every mile to wet their mouths, which helps them cool themselves.

4. I'm happy with a 10-minute mile pace, including breaks. That typically means 6-minute mile pace while running, or about 10mph. Any slower and the dogs kick into a trot instead of the gallop, and I'm sure the "power curve" ramps once they're into the gallop, as they are kicking off with both rear feet almost simotaneously.

5. Look into disc brakes before you buy a bike with traditional pads. I've nearly worn through the pads on my rear tire already. I'm not advocating discs, just check them out; they may be better from a functional and longevity standpoint.

6. Pull over and stop when a vehicle is about to pass you, no matter the direction. It'll make you, and them, feel better about it.

7. Don't overdo it. The dogs need their rest.

Dog Sitting

2008-08-01T08:06:00.000-05:00

Today three dogs come into my care for a few days. Wes is dropping off Doc for a long weekend away, and I'll also be taking care of Ted's two dogs, Dottie and Vegas. If it were October, I'd seriously consider loading them all up for a weekend away chasing birds, guns or no guns.

Out for a Stroll with Bob

2008-07-24T07:55:00.001-05:00

Quail used to be very common in the Ozarks of southern Missouri. Now, it's a pleasant surprise just to hear one calling on a warm spring day. In all the time I've spent down there fishing, I've seen more roadrunners than quail. So, it was a nice to catch this fella crossing a country road, probaby on his way back to the lady friend.

More Bikejor and Other Training

2008-07-22T07:27:00.000-05:00

I've been trying to bikejor with the dogs every other day or day and a half, with free runs on the off days. We've had some serious heat the past few days, so I've only been free-running them at a local dog park, nearly every day. Sage gets in a good bit of swimming there, as well. I think they were in pretty good shape to begin with, but I can certainly see an improvement in toughness of their pads.

The dog park also offers me an opportunity for some reminders on the virtues of "whoa." I like my dogs to think that "whoa" means "birds." So, as they're careening off the terraces hunting the thicker grass, if I see a robin or meadowlark in the grass ahead I'll whoa one or both. He or they will stop with their noses in the air trying to pick up the bird. Usually after a moment they'll catch the bird moving in the grass. I'll walk in and flush the bird. I let them find plenty on their own, as well, but they don't let them get too close, so the way it usually works is they'll wind them from a ways off, stop, and scan ahead for the bird. I like that it's making my older dog more cautious, because he's been kind of a all-or-nothing hard charging kind of bird dog.

On Hunting Chickens

2008-07-11T10:29:00.000-05:00

My favorite gamebird (for the time being) is the greater prairie chicken. I particularly like their behavior around pointing dogs, their habitat, and the niche of the tallgrass prairie ecosystem (and folklore) that they fill.

Ted Gartner made the following comments regarding the prairie chicken in a blog post recounting last season's opener:

"For the uninitiated, prairie chickens are the quintessential native upland game bird of the prairies. They roamed the central part of the United States long before the more gaudy, noisy, and ubiquitous pheasant was brought to our shores from China.

"Prairie chickens inhabit vast expanses of rolling grasslands, mostly in Kansas, Nebraska, and South Dakota. As such, pursuing them requires a comfortable pair of hunting boots, rangy but disciplined bird dogs, and a healthy dose of optimism."

I have probably only dedicated a dozen or so days over two seasons hunting chickens, but it didn't take long for them to carve a place at the top of my totem pole of upland bird worship. If thinking about chickens was a paid profession, I could turn in two 40-hour timesheets every week. As Ted mentions, they mostly inhabit tallgrass prairie land in the northern half of Tornado Alley. In Kansas, most of the native grassland fell victim to the plow long ago, which has seriously reduced their range and population. However, there are certain parts of the state where crop agriculture didn't strongly take hold, mostly because of the limestone just a few inches under the topsoil. This layer effectively caused the preservation of some native prairie, because the shallow rock didn't readily allow the ground to be worked with farm machinery. In these areas, I find chickens in pastureland still teeming with native grasses, flowers, and other food sources--although chickens will readily fly miles away to feed on crops.

As you can see, the vast expanses of land and sparse cover allow an independent dog to range far, probing the front and flanks for scent. And when he does locate birds, he can be seen from long distances, making the approach all the more endless and antagonizing. The younger birds are likely to hold for a point in the early fall, and they aren't predisposed to running, although with chickens it's not out of the question, either. The right situation can mean pointed covies in November or December, like this past Christmas Eve. Usually, these covies are rather large.

Their erratic flight isn't strong, and their death comes easily with a well placed pattern of #7.5's. But these birds are neither tame, nor weak. They can detect a hunter's presence and flush wild hundreds of yards away. And they can survive the harsh winter storms that leave pheasants and quail frozen in snow drifts. Simple, and nearly archaic, in appearance, they are known mostly for their wild and extravagant mating rituals.

I'm going to miss hunting them this September, that's for sure.

Really Really, Really Ridiculously Good Looking!

2008-07-10T13:41:00.000-05:00

"Sage, Ike, over here! Who are you wearing?"...."Ike, show us Blue Steel!"..."Sage, when are you going to drop Magnum on us?"...the public attention has been almost overwhelming! Last night I caught a paparrazo digging through my trash.

You're probably wondering what the heck I'm talking about...last summer Garmin (a Kansas City based company) released news that they had been developing a new GPS device that allowed hunters and other outdoor enthusiasts to keep track of their hunting dogs via a handheld device. I had the opportunity to be one of the field testers, priviledged to playing with the unit before it's release for sale to the public. Recently, Garmin released the second generation of the portion that goes on the dog. This time, Sage and Ike got to take part in a photoshoot for the newer version. You can go to the Astro's minisite at http://www8.garmin.com/astro, and click on the "bird dogs" section to view the various media. Sage can be seen in the "Getting Started" and "Image Gallery," and Ike is my movie star in the "Video" section.

Here's Ike showing his "letigra" pose, which a little softer I think. He uses it mostly in post-hunt hero shots, as well as shoots taking place in tropical settings, like in the Sports Illustrated: Bird Dog Swimsuit Calendar.

On a serious note, we all had a great time working with the folks at Garmin; they're all top-notch. I'm sure in the future I'll have some reports or reviews about using the Astro with the new DC30 collar. I also plan to use the data we can gather to try to learn more about how our dogs cover the ground, how weather or small injuries or terrain can affect their run and productivity. We also stand to learn something about the birds we hunt...the terrain they're more likely to inhabit during different times of the day, population density, and much more. This fall in Montana there will plenty of opportuntiy to do so.

Wild Birds in Motion

2008-07-10T12:00:00.000-05:00

I've only been hunting for seven years, over dogs for six, and only over my own for three now--a relatively short span. So, I've taken heavy preference to using wild birds to train my dogs, as opposed to more formal training with liberated or planted birds. The latter carries with it the much higher probability that the inexperienced trainer could make a mistake that creates a significant setback in a young dog's training.

Also, after hunting with someone new, I get to puff out my chest and answer "yes" when asked if I've trained my dogs myself. Little do they know, as this really proves is that I'm capable of driving my dogs to the birds, and keeping my mouth shut as we look for them. The birds do the rest.

Here, Sage points a hen pheasant during a spring run in central KS:

Taken on the same day, Ike also finds a hen, and Sage is honoring.

You can clearly see the difference in style between Sage and Ike, and I think their respective breedings play the biggest part in this. Sage came from a breeder in the northeastern US, and is likely intended to be a "grouse dog," whatever that is. His lines also have much closer ties to European dogs, which explains his tendency to crouch low, or "set" when on point. On the other hand, Ike was intended to be a field trial dog, and it's no secret the trialers like a high and straight tail.

Sometimes it's fun to have someone else flush the birds for you...

Anyway, I hope to get many more clips like this later this fall.

The Right Mix

2008-07-09T07:10:00.000-05:00

Through some romantic connections I've secured hunting access to an unlikely piece of ground in central Kansas. No, it doesn't have a million pheasants like some places in South Dakota, or several covies of bobwhites like west Texas. But, a few things do make it special.

In the fall of 2007 I hunted, several times, a plot of Walk-In Hunting Access land just a few miles from this spot. The setup couldn't have been better. A full quarter section to hunt, half of it cut milo, the other half CRP, and bordered by a tree-lined creekbed. Always with both of my setters on the ground we only ever moved a couple hens.

Back to the "the right mix." On the morning of Thanksgiving Day in 2007, I ventured with the landowner to this spot for a quick hunt. He had it leased out already, but eagerly took me there anyway. We assuaged our ethical reservations by agreeing to only shoot birds that the dogs managed to pin and point, and that would hold for our approach. We walked up several cattail-filled draws and hit the mother-load with a group flush of about forty pheasants. Sage did manage to point a hen on the edge of the thick cover, but that was it for the dogwork.

How could this land support such a large population of pheasants? It was only a quarter-section of flattened milo stalks, with a creek bed cutting through it. Bordered to the north and south by pasture ground; it didn't seem any better than the piece of public close by. More on this later...

The Bike

2008-07-08T08:18:00.001-05:00

I had scanned Craig's List and Ebay for a few weeks hoping to pick up a deal on a used mountain bike, preferably a Trek or Gary Fisher or Cannondale. I think with the summer season the prices were inflated for what was out there, so I decided to bite the bullet and try to pick up a new '08 model. The local Trek dealer offered to cut me a deal with respect to MSRP on a 4300 so I pulled the trigger. Total impulse buy, oh well.

I like the ride, although I think it needs some fine tuning. The front deraileur rubs in 3rd, and sometimes the rear sticks going from 6 to 7. I'll eventually add a more-comfortable-for-gravel-roads seat, a water bottle holder, and both front and rear lights for safety's sake.

Bikejoring - A Work in Progress

2008-07-07T22:52:00.000-05:00

I've decided that in my inaugural post I'll just jump right in. Hopefully things will move quickly enough at first that this entrance will be easily overlooked.

So, I have two young English setters, Sage and Ike, 3 years and 2 years old, respectively. Still puppies for most purposes. This fall we're going on an extended bird hunting trip to Montana. Typically our season starts fairly lightly, hunting prairie chickens for a weekend in Kansas around the 15th of September. But this season we'll be starting a bit earlier, and will be hunting for almost two weeks straight. In order to have dogs that will not only last the long trip, but be productive as bird dogs (finding plentiful amounts of birds), it's important that we undertake an active physical training regimen to prepare not only the cardiovascular system, but the muscles, and pads of the feet.

To that end, the Kansas summer weather can be downright oppressive. The temperatures, even nighttime lows, don't allow for extended off-leash runs of an hour or more. Anything less isn't terribly beneficial. So, in the interest of time savings and applicable benefit, I decided to purchase some roading harnesses and use resitance training (roading) to whip the pups into shape. Basically, the dogs pull against a resistance, which effectivly compresses a longer free-run into a shorter period of time. Being a single guy and having no access to an ATV, I ruled out using my pick-up and opted to explore "bikejoring."

For the uninitiated, bikejoring is a little known sport in which dogs are used to pull a rider on a bicycle. A modification on the more popular skijoring, I can't find much written on the subject. Really, only two sites and a blog I found have useful information. Here are the links:

http://www.sos.net/~brucec/bkjr.htm

http://home.earthlink.net/~abakansams/bikejor.html

http://bikejor.blogspot.com/

In the past week I've dived head first into this endeavor, purchasing an expensive mountain bike, the harnesses, and associated tack. So far I've worked each dog four times and have learned through trial and error (my favorite method) some of the finer points, which I plan to expand upon later.