A good hunting companion is hard to overcome, be it a person or a hound. Trey shares with us how he overcame the tragic loss of his dog Cash and found more significant meaning in his own hunting.
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Every year, I do my best to take an extended bird hunting road trip through a few western states. I enjoy exploring new places and hunting the birds that inhabit them. Besides, as the English poet William Cowper said, “(v)ariety’s the very spice of life”. And, in my opinion, being exposed to a broad array of conditions make the dogs and me better hunters. This December the first leg of the trip took us to the southwestern corner of Oregon in search of mountain quail (Oreortyx pictus), the largest species of quail in the United States and the only one I had not had the opportunity to hunt.
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As a young traveling wingshooter, I spend a lot of time in the field by myself. Convincing friends to join me on excursions to virgin grounds is often difficult. Although I always enjoy my adventures, I understand that it can be a hard sale for some. The phrase “I can’t promise we will shoot or even find birds, but I can promise we will cover plenty of ground” is less than attractive to some.
These kinds of situations eventually drove me to get my first bird dog. I had spent several years hunting quail without a dog. It just never seemed like the “right time”. After being drawn deeper and deeper into the upland community, I finally broke down and bought my first bird dog. Cash was a 1.5-year-old started French Brittany that came from a kennel in Alabama.
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I drew my bulky piece of weathered steel from its leather scabbard. It had been 5 months since I oiled the shotgun and put it away, the last I laid eyes on my reliable hunting partner. As I ran my hands the length of the old double-barrel, stories began to proliferate from somewhere beyond my conscious. The first thing that caught my attention was the tarnished buttstock. A nickel-sized chunk of wood was missing since the day I tumbled down a southern Arizona hillside, startled by an erupting covey of Mearns quail.
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“Exceptional dog work.” Marvin exclaimed, gazing on at the dazzling Palouse rooster sailing into the distance. “Indeed. It’s a shame
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The rushing, whooshing explosion of a pheasant from hiding is one of the many reasons hunters get out to hunt these beautiful birds. Celebrate your love for pheasant hunting with our new flushing pheasant shirts. #harvestingnature #upland
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Article contributed by Field Staff Writer E. Castillo. Pheasants Forever & Quail Forever chapters hold an annual fund-raising banquet within
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Article contributed by Field Staff Writer E. Castillo. The morning had been glorious to us. Greenheads were hanging from a
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Article contributed by Field Staff Writer E. Castillo. Picture yourself as you’re walking through a field of thick, golden colored
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Article contributed by E. Castillo. To me, hunting is my therapy. Stepping out onto a golden brown field or walking
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