Uncle Larry's Model 99

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.

2009 - Year in Review

The Snow Drift Hustle

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

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

"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

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.

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.

Road Hunting the Flint Hills in Bloom

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.

Cautiously Optimistic...

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.

Typical Kansas Weather

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.