Chickens

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

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?

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

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

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.