The less attractive aspects of hunting is getting cold, maybe wet or both. Here are two things that really annoy me. The first is missing easy shots after the dogs have worked extremely hard, and done everything right. I then fail to do my part. It doesn't seem to bother them, but my young dog, I'm sure would get better at finding dead birds, and retrieving if she could see the whole process completed successfully more often. The second thing that I have trouble with accepting is not being able to find downed birds. Especially when I'm hunting alone I don't give up the search very easily. I have a set procedure that I follow, that still fails all too often. Today I came home with two birds in my vest, but experienced three significant disappointments.
The first happened when the dogs, without a very good point, flushed two quail one just a fraction of a second after the other. When the first one fell I knew that it wasn't hit well and tried to mark the spot as I was swinging on the second one. The second one dropped hard. As it turned out the dogs found the first one, but were completely uninterested in looking for the second one, the one I thought I could just walk over and pick up. After tramping back and forth for 20 minutes I gave up.
A short time later the dogs, along the edge of a meandering strip of CRP, got a beautiful double point, and flushed a crowing rooster to my right well within range. Both shots missed. How can I shot so badly at such a time?
Can it get any worst? Hunting up the next CRP strip in subdued light the dog were on good scent moving cautiously when a bird flushed ten yards ahead of them. I saw a flash of buff orange on a smallish body. My first thought was gray partridge. I shot right at the far edge of my range. When it flipped over in the air I saw a pheasant. My Brittney quickly picked a the trail of a running bird. She went on point 100 yards to my right. As I was walking over I was thinking,"it could be a rooster", but in my heart I knew it wasn't.
What do you do with a dead hem? Leave it for the coyotes or take it home and eat it. To waste it seems like following one dad decision with another one. I put it in my vest.
I haven't been checked by a game officer in five years, but as soon as I choose to keep the hen I started keeping a nervous eye on the road. Every pair of headlights made me anxious to get into the brush, and on to the pickup.
Well all I can say is better luck next time, and be careful.
This isn't a great picture, but you can see where the quail flushed, flew, and fell.
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