First Entry

I am writing to express my love for being in the field with two good dogs.

My home is between Pullman and Spokane Wash. 3/4 mile from the Idaho border. The cover is usually brushy creek beds drain ditches, abandon railroad beds, or farm land that is not being used, commonly known as C.R.P. land.

Today's hunt was along an abandon railroad that has some CPR draws that can be several hundred yards wide at the road bed then gradually get narrower as they wind up between hills. These grassy areas are left uncultivated because they are too wet to plow in the spring.

I hunt two dogs most of the time. One is a twelve year old German shorthair, and a 1 1/2 year old Brittney. Nether are from very outstanding blood lines. I have them because one was cheap while the other was free.

For mid Dec. around here it was a nice day in the mid forties and no rain.

The hunt was a long out and back of about two miles one way. the wind was good quartering into our faces from the right.

Within five minutes of leaving the pickup both dogs were on a hard point in fairly short grass less than eight feet from each other. I moved in thinking pheasant when out burst four or five quail. I haven't shot at a quail for about a month, and their speed took me completely by surprise. They banked hard around some brush, I fumbled with my safety and they were gone before I could get a shot off.

Mumbling under my breath we moved on. One hundred yards later they both disappeared over a bank twenty yards ahead of me. When i got up to the Brittney was no solid point with the shorthair 5 yards away and creeping. I stopped with a Whoa, about that time the Brittney got tired of waiting, jumped , a handful of quail flushed. I shot twice, and watched them all fly away. So far they were doing their part but I was failing miserably. Hang on it gets worse.

About ten minutes later we came to some high brush. The dogs split up slowly moved around the brush and immediately the air was full of the sound of about a hundred quail in flight. The dogs went crazy running around trying to find at least one straggler. They flushed one without a point. I shot it. One out of one hundred. Were obviously are no great threat to the local population extention.

On down the road another 1/8 mile along the side of a fifteen foot high railroad bed fill, the dogs, eight feet apart, slowed, two or three quail flushed, I shot both barrels. Missed with both, them watched helplessly as birds launched from everywhere. The air was full of quail. I tried to quickly reload. By the time I did, all was quiet accept for my yelling at the dogs.They cowered at my feet. NetherNo one had pointed. It had been complete chaos.

After we settled down. The dogs moved out into some CRP so I followed. I could tell they were on fair scent. They were moving too fast. I kept having to slow them down. It looked like there were some pheasant, but they were running up the draw ahead of us. After just a few minutes the Brittney over ran a rooster. It flushed in range, but straight at me, then banked to my right. I fired twice. the second shot had some effect but not enough. A few minutes later, way out of range two hens, them three roosters flushed, and flew to my right cleared a two hundred foot high hill of newly sprouting winter wheat, them disappeared. The one good thing was that they seemed to be going back toward the route that I had just traveled and would have to cover again to get back to the pickup. We returned to the railroad grade, moved on, and within a few minutes intersected another draw that funneled between two hill, and was covered CRP grass.

The Brittney had the best scent trail. She was trotting along the edge of the grass, then occasionally slowing to a slow creep. She pointed twice them moved on. The shorthair was out in the grass casting with less purpose. Three minutes then Juneau nose low locked up. Lilly the shouthair caught the scent moved in from the left, and slowed to a halt. I moved in, it flushed to my right over the plowed field. I shot. It fell dead a short distance away. Juneau the Brittny was on it first picked it up them dropped it two steps later upon Lilly's approach. Lilly scooped it up and brought it to me. That had all the elements of a good kill; solid double point, good shot, quick retrieve.

We hunted through some more CRP, parallel to the grade, intersected the grade, them due to tired legs and the prospect of a long walk home I turned around and headed back.

Retracing your hunt is never as much fun as the trip out especially when it's back down wind.
Two more times on the way back ,angeling slightly down wind ,in CRP , each dog found a rooster. The initial point alerted the other dog, she would move in . They would hold, I would flush the bird, Lilly carried out the retreve. However the last retieve was a bit different.

The bird shot up straight away. I shot, it was hit, but righted it's self, to my amazment. It flew up a long freshly seeded slope, then just before it disappeared over the hill three hundred yards away it faltered the fell. For some reason the dogs had missed all of this. They were still noseing around in the grass. I yelled at them then started up the hill sinking into 4 inches of mud each step. They quickly got the picture and raced out ahead of me. This was my cue to stop walking and wait for the retrieve. The dogs vanished over the hill. I waited with pleased anticipation. This is when good retrievers earn their keep. Too much time passed. They came back into view headed down hill to my right for hunting cover. I yelled, waved my armed and acted like I was resuming my trudging up the hill. They glanced at me, turned on their heels, disappeared over the hill. The bird must have been just slightly down wind from their first search. Thirty seconds later Juneau appeared looking back over her shoulder moving at the gate of a lesser warrior ushering the real hero. Seconds later here came Lilly with the bird. My heart swelled with pride, and my legs were grateful that they wouldn't have to climb that hill.

We angled back to the railroad grade, three- bird limit in hand. The mile and a half hike back to the road wasn't going to include any shooting. I had all the pheasants I could legally shoot. All the shells I had left were 3 inch blasters. Not quail shot. However the hunting wouldn't stop. The dogs would never understand. Everything from now on was going to be hens no matter what.