# Sixteen tons and what do you get? Another day older...



## zettler (Sep 7, 2002)

Another day spent...

I have hunted pheasant as a hunter since I was around 20 years of age. I also use to go with my Father and his friends - mostly doctors and the like - since I was much younger; maybe, eight to 10 years of age.

We lived in Champaign and would hunt the birds all over Champaign County but it began to become more focused as farming practices changed and "we" lost the fence rows and edge cover that many birds would use. It got to the point where he only went a couple times a year to what we called the Schultz Farm on the southwest corner of Champaign and just across the road from the Sanitation plant. It had a drainage ditch running through it that went at least a mile and I believe had one intersect it that offered another opportunity to stretch one's legs for another ½ mile.

And that was basically it. We would flush a bird or two most times and feel extremely lucky if it was a Rooster and Dad's old bolt-action 12-gauge would spring into action and usually connect. Then in my teens, my rebellious teens, I rejected hunting as I did most things connected with my parents - a loss I regret nowadays.

It wasn't until I was 18 or so that I went once with Dad and got to carry the Sears bolt-action, as Mom had bought him a new Sear's pump with an adjustable choke. I cannot recall exactly how we were situated but I know we were some distance apart and maybe separated by the ditch we were walking when a Rooster busted loose, and having never shot at anything except tweetie birds with my BB gun, I raised up and dropped him about 35 or so yards away! But he started flopping in the air as I raced towards him and when I arrived on the scene he was jumping up into the air a good 2 or 3 feet when I yelled at my Dad to see if I should shoot him. As he was racing across the disked field he screamed "NOOOOO!"

By the time he got there the bird was more settled, Dad grabbed the bird and with an appropriate hand motion, dispatched my first ever harvest! My heart was racing and I never felt closer to a Father who I had been estranged from for half my life even though we lived in the same home. He had provided little to no instruction about what to do, as that would not be his way of advising me on how to do anything. Maybe it was because I had been fighting my parents at every turn for six years or maybe it was his way. All I know is that we both lost out on so much&#8230;

Anyway, as I was holding my prize accomplishment he asked me to unload my shotgun and look down the barrel. I did so and found that the end of the barrel was filled with dirt from my race across the field! In my excitement to get to the flopping pheasant and not let this one get away, he had seen me from 50 or so yards away slip a little and stick my barrel in the dirt and keep on running.

I learned a lot that day, about hunting, about safety, about keeping my eyes, ears and mind open, and about my Father.

Now here it is nearly 35 years later and I am the guest of my cousin hunting pheasants with his group in the counties west of Champaign. A group that includes people from the area, Chicago, Indiana and Minnesota. Some were hardcore, some were trying to get their first bird, and others simply trying to recapture the past. It was a lot of people this opening Illinois weekend 2006 and we had split into two groups.

Now in the past 20+ years, I had been hunting this same area with other friends and the most I had ever been with was last year when I carried Oxbow Hunter, his wife Stacey, my two friends from Arkansas and my local friends - the son of my buddy and his teenage friend. That was seven of us and I brought Chunk, my firefox male Lab and my friend's son brought Chunk's brother, Taz. We did very well last year on the weekend after the opener with most getting a limit before the day was over.

Now, my cousin was late and I was going afield with the farmers from Indiana who had pointers and several other people for our first outing. Their dogs had their own trailer and they all had those collars which beeped and would make a hawk sound if they stopped too long in one spot - in order to try and hold the bird(s) that they were on point. The farmer who set this all up would either come to the spot or send someone along to help move vehicles and offer beverages and donuts so we had maybe four or more vehicles at this first spot which had some cover and a pond.

As we disembarked and got ready to cross the open field to the cover, we saw several Roosters flush to and fro within that cover. Looking good! I had Chunk with me and the others let their two dogs out and we moved towards where we could push the birds to a flush or block their escape. As we drew close to the pond, a lone Drake Mallard rose and I was wishing that I had been carrying Steel #2's instead of Lead #5's and #4's but we were here after Pheasants!

To make a short story shorter, the pointer owner killed two Roosters that his dogs had pointed and where the third bird or more went was never resolved. Now, this was Chunk's first outing and he hadn't been around other dogs since last year. Chunk is a very laid back Lab but when the other two dogs were running here and there, he wanted to join them, which is not how he and I are use to hunt. We primarily hunt drainage ditches and CRP edge cover and will even use blockers if there are enough people and some of us are tired. This was an entirely different way for us and I was worried that Chunk would run wild and out ahead of us flushing birds before we could get to them - something he has done before. You see, I never trained Chunk. He knows some simple commands and usually works real close but if a bird is running ahead, there is no stopping him until it either flushes or Chunk loses the scent. It is bad enough when it is just Chunk and me but I am extremely sensitive to the feelings of others and try everything on my power to avoid screwing up someone else's hunt.

Chunk seemed to recognize my angst this time and pretty much stayed close and he was the one who retried the first bird even though the other two dogs were the ones who worked it. So we took a couple of birds and moved to our next spot, followed by more farms to hunt. If you have ever hunted central Illinois, you will understand that most of what we hunt is limited to drainage ditches with some cover extending on either side with the total usually not more than 50 yards wide, with the majority around 30 yards. And when Chunk and I hunt alone or with friends, we spread out and walk slowly into the wind, occasionally stopping and seldom more than four or five people abreast, with someone blocking if we have at least four hunters. And the mission of the blockers is to stay at or near the end of the place being worked to shoot at any birds that might come that way from our push.

Sounds right doesn't it?

Well, what I discovered this opener was that these dogs liked to run out ahead and look for birds, beeping and screeching along the way. And if they screeched for a spell, then there most likely would be a bird there, or had recently been there. Now, I can walk with the best and go all day too even with my size and asthma. Might not be running any races or marathons but I can flat out still do it. What I cannot do though is stay up with dogs that are constantly in front of me at 100, 200, or more yards. And I darn sure cannot run up and be there with them if they were that far and are locked in a point on a bird. A pointing dog is a pretty sight to be sure but when there is limited oxygen getting into your lungs and the others who are more physically fit can run up to and be with their dogs in short order, I along with those less adept have to accept we aren't going to get a shot and that is what happened throughout the day. Blame it on my asthma, my weight, my lack of conditioning, what ever; I just could not do it.

I have never had trained dogs. They are either proficient via their genes and/or share the same passion I do. But there have been times over the last 25 or more years when I had a dog that would run and chase birds way out in front and it would anger me, as well as embarrass. I would be hoarse some days from yelling their names at the top of my lungs, and heaven forbid if I was either the guest or I had guests! Then I was downright depressed. So downhearted I would get that I ended up simply choosing to hunt alone with my dog most days. Now, here I was in the company of gentlemen who have expensive dogs that are trained to work birds and hold them for the hunters to gather and get a good shot but I was distressed.

Was I wrong in my thinking over the years and now again today? Was this the way you are suppose to hunt pheasants in Illinois, let alone anywhere else?

I didn't have an answer and sure could not just come out and ask the other hunters - and especially the dog owners! Isn't that another commandment out there&#8230;

Well, after covering a good eight miles that morning wheezing and not even taking the gun off safety, and after my cousin had arrived to join us on one or two of those races, he and I eventually ended up going out on our own taking another older gentleman to a ditch that had about 30 yards of nice grass on either side of it running due north and south. We decided to walk south into the wind down one side and come back the other to our vehicles. It was just the three of us and Chunk.

It looked sweet and when we had gone less than 100 yards a nice rooster got up on the other side and screamed quartering away just ahead of us - Boom, Boom, BOOM and he tumbles and falls to the ground about 45 yards away but on the other side of deep ditch. Chunk saw him and was coming up the other side lined up perfectly when a Hen busted cover near where the Rooster fell and he went in chase. Couldn't blame him but what to do about the Rooster that is either dead or crippled? We decided to pick it up on the way back, as long as we could remember where we thought he went down&#8230;

Continued at a leisurely pace and flushed another three of four birds but out of range. We hunted at a slow walk into the wind, stopping occasionally and all the way to the tracks - the way I have for years, and while we did not have the benefit of dogs who could point and hold birds, there was only one time that Chunk got ahead of us and that was after a running bird that eventually flushed about 150 yards up. Nothing I can do about that but he stayed close the rest of the way and that is what I expect of him.

We finally arrived to where we thought the Rooster had fallen and spent another 20 minutes looking. With no landmarks and no feathers, we came up empty handed. Maybe I should have gone back and around, or should have had us split in the beginning to walk wither side, or just gotten wet to find him. In any case, I lost my bird. Now, we are almost back to the cars and another Rooster gets up and flies right beside my cousin, I could only get one shot off and the other hunter could not shoot at all, and we both thought my cousin would have an easy shot, when we realized he hadn't seen the bird until I shot and missed! The bird made it unscathed and will be there for another day&#8230;

We then joined up with the group again to hunt a cut corn field with at least 13 hunters spread across with four dogs now and Chunk. No blockers, no body on the edges, just a mile down, move over and a mile back. Now, I hadn't hunted cut corn fields in years and then only out in the Dakotas, so I was not enamored with the idea but kept my mouth shut. My heart was not in it and my body wasn't either as I figured we had already marched 14 miles already since the 7 AM start. Needless to say, my internal prediction came true and not one bird flushed that we know of. However, I cannot say none got up as the one dogs took off and they had to hunt for him by vehicle, with the others ranging out there 100+ yards most of the time&#8230;

Chunk stayed with me.

So here it was, 3:45 PM and they called it a day. Yes, there were about 10 or more birds taken by the 13 or so hunters but we didn't see half of what I normally see just by myself or with my friends in years past - with far less walking. For by now, I estimated I had created the blisters on my big toes by putting at least 14 miles on them hunting the way the group hunted.

As everyone was leaving for their home or hotel, I decided to call my local friends and see how they had done. Well, they had killed out early and had been home since 10 AM. They suggested I hit my favorite ditch just west of town on my way home and see what I could find.

I was there and walking to cross the ditch to hit the western edge southbound by 4:05 PM and was so frustrated that I started to say to myself that I would shoot the first thing that flushed - Hen or Rooster, I didn't care any more as my dogs (feet) were killing me and I had an empty game bag.

I hadn't walked a 100 yards and Hen busts under Chunk's nose. No shot. Another 20 yards at a leisurely pace and another Hen - no shot taken. "God, you're just messing with me aren't you!"

Then I am coming up on the halfway point and a Rooster busts under Chunks nose, I raise my SX2 and "CLICK", eject it and pull the trigger - CLICK! A final chance and this one goes off but it is a throwaway shot at 45 to 50 yards with the bird low over the chiseled field, and as more birds are busting cover and running out into the open from Chunk's efforts, I start to replenish my magazine only to have three more shells not go off! It's not the shells, it's the gun and I had given it a thorough cleaning just the night before. As I walk on and have another shell in the chamber, I look to my left and lo and behold that one bird I had gotten a shot off at is flopping up into the air just like that first bird I had ever shot some 34 years ago and 20 miles away. This time I had the Chunkster and I believe he was happier than me for he wouldn't let me carry the bird. If I had covered 14 miles, I know he had covered twice that, and he had been as down-hearted as me until now. I had one last chance as one more Rooster rose up but once again - Click!

Still hoping the gun would work and that firing pin would hit with enough force to set off the primer - which is a constant problem with this shotgun - I walked back along the opposite side flushing a couple more hens. Nearly a dozen birds by myself on a leisurely walk with the Chunkmeister and I would have been done if my Winchester X2 had worked like it should but at least I had one (or, at least Chunk did) and I was headed home with five minutes left in the day after about 16 miles of walking.

You knew I was tired as I drove the speed limit or below on the 90 mile drive home which provided amply opportunity to talk with friends all over. To discuss how we had hunted that day and how when I gave Chunk the opportunity to hunt the way we are use to hunting, we produced as a team. Sure there might have been more birds in this one spot but we had been in some prime property on private virgin land where we had seen birds but never got many up hunting that way. Maybe free-range dogs works in large CRP fields or in the Hill Country of Texas but here in central Illinois when you are on ditches, edge and small plots, I feel the best way to be productive is take your time, have the dogs stay close, work into the wind and use the terrain and your fellow hunters to maximize your success.

Now, I made it home hobbled but destined to go again the next morning with my cousin and his friends but I was sure B-E-A-T!!!

Yet, I still grilled a couple of T-bones for my son and me and even washed them down with three beers - equivalent to 12 pack in years past - and was in bed and asleep by 9:05 PM.

Day Two

I dragged myself out of bed in the morning and made it the farm at 6:30 AM only to discover my cousin wasn't coming! I was depressed as I have very little family and we had a real bonding time the day before when we drove and hunted together. We were starting out in a prime farm where there were CRP draws and they had seen 15 or more birds the day before. Luckily, the Chunker and I were joined by a local man to hit a separate patch about 60 yards wide with four-foot high trees and a little weed cover in between rows. We pushed at least 6 pheasants out and all but one went onto the major CRP draw that the other hunters with their four pointers were headed to. And since we had a substantial head start and they had so much distance to cover before we tied into each other, we could be there and block somewhat and then join up to finish the final push through.

Sure.

Nope, as we finished you could hear that BEEP&#8230;BEEP&#8230;BEEP of their dogs moving about 150 to 200 yards in front of them with the hunters moving like Patton's tanks through Sicily. By the time I had covered the 75 yards to their CRP draw, they had already arrived and had covered 200 yards with the dogs moving into the locations the birds we had pushed them into. But as they swept to the east and the end would you believe they only flushed one bird! AND they missed it!!!

All that work and nothing AND we had seen the birds but they were of the belief that if the dogs didn't stop on point, then there were no birds&#8230;

For the next two hunts, I claimed asthma and blocked while they pushed towards me. In two pushes, with the last being a two mile stretch of a former railway, they only put up two hens. We finished the day at a new location along the former railway which has excellent cover and is secluded from access. As we drove the hunters to the western edge (I would block the east access a mile away), I spotted 12 deer, three of which were Bucks and they ran along side of us, busted out in front and behind us, and all these deer were right there in a strip of bushes, grasses, and trees not more than 45 yards wide. Yes, a mile long but just narrow. It was a site and made the morning worth it. As I waited for them to arrive, and the first of their dogs arrived a full 8 minutes before they did, I reflected that no shots had been fired. Nada. Zip. What a fitting end to the weekend and the hunt.

Had lunch and dropped off one of the locals before calling my other local friends about an afternoon hunt. Everyone was busy with a funeral or the "Bears", so I decided to first hit the same ditch (wind was still out of the south) and then the railway that runs east and west. And as it was just 1 PM, I would have plenty of time to go elsewhere even though I was tired and the Chunkster was a very tired!

We decided to hit that same ditch and nothing. Maybe they were out feeding? Anyway, made it to the railway and went west through some great cover. About halfway, something started to break out of the bushes and it was a coyote! And as I now was using my Mossberg 935 and wasn't sure of it, I was floored when one shot and the dog was down! Left him there and finished the strip. Turned around after a break and checked out the coyote (see picture). I started to pack him in and decided it would be another thing I would never have time to deal with, so I left him for his brothers and sisters. I was a little distraught when I got back to the ditch, what with no birds. Maybe the coyote had run them out?

Anyway, I decided to try the railway into town and hadn't gone 60 yards when Chunk was on a bird. A cackling alerted me to the fact one was trying his darndest to get away through the briars and brambles and I caught a glimpse and fired, then one last time in an opening about 18" in diameter. Did he drop or did he bounce off the tangle of limbs? In any case I tried to plow my way in and was rebuffed before I could go six inches! As he was quiet and the Chunkster was still birdy, I moved down 10 yards to my left and fought my way in and another Rooster got up. Boom and bird down! Carved my way through to the other side and more birds began to pour out to my right but I had one and maybe two down, so I had to let them pass.

And Chunk was through and on that second bird just like that! It took me a couple of tries but he finally came to me and I put him in the game vest. Then we spent the next 20 minutes looking for the first bird. I covered the chiseled field and all the edge into the brush a good 10 feet. And while Chunk kept getting birdy, no Rooster. As we had flushed and seen nearly 10 birds - mostly Roosters too - I decided to head back through the railway and see if maybe the first one was either crippled in there or the like. Hadn't gone 15 yards back and discovered I had been looking too far out as he had never made it more than 10 yards from the outside edge. Chunk caught the scent, saw the bird, and we were done!

Even flushed two Hens on the way out through the trees and back to the Blazer, and was on the road home by 3 PM. Chunk and I had hunted them our way. Slow, steady, into the wind, and close in. We had walked about ¾ mile to get these birds and was able to obtain satisfaction for our efforts, dedication and patience. Made it home by 4 PM and was asleep with a three-hour nap shortly thereafter. Sure, I have blisters on my feet, Chunk did cut the top of his one paw, but we accomplished what we set out to do.

That sixteen miles/tons of walking/running the day before was becoming simply a learning experience. We had helped others, we had held our tongues, and we had finally accomplished what we initially set out to do - and we did it our way, and while another day or so older, it was two afternoons well spent.


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## Bobm (Aug 26, 2003)

Good read I enjoyed it, I would respectfullly suggest you get a book on training flushing dogs and spend 15 minutes a day for a few months and your dog will be trained for the rest of his life and your life will be much easier and you won't lose crippled birds.

Train hup, so you dont have to run after him, and hunt dead so you can quit wasting birds you shoot.

Its easy and actually fun to do.

You will find hunting behind a trained dog much more rewarding


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## Dick Monson (Aug 12, 2002)

z, thank you for sharing your story with us. Hunting solo certainly has it's advantages as you point out. And we should count our blessings here for the opportunities we have.


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