doublegunshop.com - home Forums General Discussion DoubleGun BBS @ doublegunshop.com Your very best day afield

Great topic, Stan.

One of the most memorable days afield merely coincided with a Spring turkey hunt a little west of San Antonio near a small town called Pearsall. I was the guest of a neighbor whose wife's family has several thousand acres there.

There can be crawling, sitting, walking- all kinds of movement in, around, and through brush and brambles, all designed to separate you from your cell phone or any other valuable item not sewn inside your turkey vest. So the cell phone was left at camp, along with my wallet, after putting the license with tags in a zippered pocket.

We had arrived on a Thursday evening, and our Friday morning hunt was uneventful. We broke for lunch, and were discussing options for the afternoon when my neighbor's phone went off. He held it up to me and asked me if I recognized the number. I did and he handed it to me. The voice said, "if you pray for a miracle, you might want to be available to be informed of its occurrence."

Two days earlier I had spent a considerable time in prayer for my daughter. She wanted to attend a well known University in Texas, but the scholarships offered/available were insufficient. She had a full ride offer at a lesser institution, but they did not offer a degree in the field she wanted. Dad didn't have the money, and I was not too proud to ask for help. There was a particular scholarship that she had applied for, making it to the last cut. She was an alternate or some such thing. Anyway, my prayer was not that she would displace anyone, but that someone who had it would end up not needing it.

She had received a call late Thursday afternoon, informing her that a recipient of the scholarship had been accepted to one of the military academies, and no longer needed it. Could she come in Friday for an interview? By the time her mother got hold of me, the interview was to take place in an hour or so.

She graduated in 3 1/2 years, and came away with money in the bank. I came away that day feeling very humble- and grateful.

Remains to this day one of the most memorable days of my life.

I have never shared this publicly.

Mike

Good things come to those who deserve it, Mike.

Best day a field was about several years ago. Talked my father into going hunting with two of my sons. Doves were moving, weather was great and we hunted as a family one last time. My then 90 year old father killed 15 bird with less than a box of shells using a 16 Ga. A grade Fox I loaned him. My two sons each limited out and I did as well. On top of that we got four limits of birds and did not loose a single bird. I was taught by my father to find every bird before I was done looking. My sons were diligent to make sure they found every one of their birds and one of their grand fathers. I suspect he knew where it was all along but let them help him. Grandfathers are like that sometimes.

But if I never shot a shell that day I would still consider it one of my best days hunting ever. Dad no longer hunts anymore but my sons will always have that memory of his last hunt. I figure that memory should last another five or six decades as my memory of hunting with his father has lasted me five plus decades. That is a long time to remember a good day a field.

Like CRS it is difficult to just name one day so here are a few very brief:

My father's last hunt was for moose. He was 89. We partnered on the license and scored. He is now 93 and doing fine.

I field trial labs and I have only been serious for 5 years. In my 3rd year I made it to the 10th series of the Canadian National and lost on the last bird. The same dog is entered in this years Canadian National in September.

I guide for ducks and geese and one year with 10 hunts per week for 11 weeks we limited on every hunt.

I never thought I would get the chance to shoot a Rocky Mountain Big Horn Sheep and now I have taken 3.

When I was a teenager way back in the country we always had a hunt on the harvest moon. I won't say how long we shot and how many birds we took home or how many beer we drank on the way home.

A few years ago I took my Wm Moore hammer gun, finished in Canada, loaned it to a youth who had never shot a sxs before and blew a large hole in a duck puddling pond. He now has the collector bug for vintage sxs as well.

My personal goose hunting is in December on the edge of the city limits. We had a field we called the, 'killing field'. One year it was planted in canola and on 4 weekends we shot 288 geese. On the last hunt we took a guest hunter who was a chief at a nice restaurant and wrote an excellent book on cooking wild game. In and out of the field in 1 1/2 hours with 42 birds. To see the delight in his eyes after the hunt, I will never forget.

I take my friends to a private hunt club I belong to in January and February. I am the only one with a vintage sxs with black powder rounds. I shoot my fair share then I am very content to hang my gun over my shoulder and just run my dogs. One of them is a 12 year old miniature wirehair dachshund. It is a great pleasure to see that dog and the other hunters enjoying themselves.

And last I have always drooled over fine double shotguns but never thought I would have the ability or finances to own one. Now when I'm asked how many I own I suggest the questioner ask what is the most interesting gun I own.

We were running two springers and a field bred golden. No bird that hit the ground got away. All those dogs could flat out retrieve birds. The Golden was mine and what inspired my Abby Gun.





Abby passed at 14 years old and was amazing. Miss her every day.

I generally hunt in the evenings for 30-45 minutes and rarely shoot more than one bird. Annie was working a mixture of Multiflora Roses and Reed Canary Grass. I couldn't see her, but could track her by the sound coming from her bell and the movement from the tops of the grass.
After her bell went quiet and the grass quit moving, I waited. I was about to throw a rock into the tangle when Annie bolted out the cover and ran along the edges for about 30 yards and then dove into the heavy stuff again, but this time she was coming to me.
Her bell sounded for a few seconds and then all was quiet. I walked to where the grass tops quit moving and I could see her head and shoulders in the Multiflora Roses. She was in a classic point, left leg up, stretched out and facing the opposite direction from her original point. As I stood in anticipation our eyes met and I knew she was hunting for US.
She had run in front of the bird and headed it off. I've had only one dog that has performed that feat. As I stood there with a smile on my face the rooster cackled and went airborne. I shot the bird with my 16 Ga. using 1 oz. of #6 NP shot and bird folded, dead in the air.
I asked Annie to fetch and as soon as I said it I knew there was going to be a problem. the fence that she had to go through is a very tight 7 strand barbed wire fence with only about 6" of space between the wires.
She managed to get through the fence and scooped up the bird. Getting back was difficult with the bird in her mouth. She manage and added a few more rips to her vest, delivering the bird to me with tail buzzing.

I can�t single out one day or hunt. There have been many memorable days in the field in pursuit of ducks, dove, quail, snipe, woodcock and turkey. Almost 40 years ago I hunted on a lowcountry plantation that specialized in wild quail. The game manager�s covey board had 86 coveys located. Covey rises only and the three guns hunted on horseback with dog and horse handlers. The course was planned to stop at noon for lunch and earlier birds killed were grilled to perfection. It was a day I�ll never forget, but no more enjoyable than many other hunts on public land with an old friend and his dogs in the days when wild quail were there for the taking.
With ducks, several days stand out. One over 35 years ago was on a lowcountry freshwater pond a stone�s throw from the saltwater marsh. It was snowing and windy and the baldpate came in by the hundreds to our decoys throughout the morning, whistling in with set wings, with no other place to go, or so they thought. It was like being in a Chet Reneson painting. My hunting buddy on that day is now dead. Another special hunt was an afternoon with Billy when we went to a wooded Savannah River island that had small beaver ponds holding over 2,000 mallards that all got up at once and slowly drifted back in small flights to our calls and decoys. It was like a quality Stuttgart hunt in the pin oaks, only better as I didn�t have to drive a 1000 miles from home. Another time was in the old rice fields 3 miles from where I sit today at work. Six of us in two boats left the landing and I was in David�s boat with Jimbo and David. The motor wouldn�t start. �Oh, damn same problem as the last time�. �Did you get it fixed?� �No, I thought it would be better today.� I jumped in the boat with Billy and Joe and we went to the potholes in the old ricefields. It was cool, not cold, and a windy front blew in, dropping temps. Ahead of the front came flights of black ducks and mallards looking for a place to set wings and drop their feet. We never had another hunt like that one in those potholes, but David finally got his motor straight the following week. Jimbo and David missed the hunt.
There is no �best� hunt with turkeys. For me, turkey hunting is the main event. I enjoy the cool spring mornings, the ride from my home in the pre-dawn as I head west with the constellation Scorpius low in the southern sky riding shotgun on my left as I head to places I have hunted for over 40 seasons, all on public land. I love the taste and smell of black coffee out of my 35 year-old Nissan thermos bottle which has been a constant companion to the turkey woods for as long as I�ve had it. With turkeys, the solitude during the hunt is paramount to me. It is just me and the turkey. It is not a social or team event, as is dove or snipe.
Every day I can go with my two Britts, Abby and Willa, into the huckleberries and rivercane in pursuit of woodcock is special. Last season with friends was spectacular. I hope we have more to come and I can�t help but think we do.
The bottom line in my hunting is the enjoyment of the home woods and locations. While a jet plane can take me to distant woods and waters, nothing to me is as satisfying as home woods and waters where hunting and fishing can be woven seamlessly into my life at home.
Gil

1987- Black Tuesday in Oct-if memory serves- but the stock market is always a gamble. Hunting with my old HS pal Bob out on the Big Horn River area, where he guided fishing parties in his Lavro boat. We floated the river from the Yellowtail Dam downstream and stopped at islands and access fields, with his two Labs- Mork and Mindy, and our lunch and coffee, and our shotguns. Bob had an older field grade LC Smith 20, a gift from his grand-father, but a client from Texas gave him a used Browning 20 O/U, which Bob liked better than the Smith, due to the single trigger on the O/U-- I had a Model 12 I still have today, a 1921 Nickel steel barrel 28" Full field gun-- with 3 shot plug. We would stop upriver of an island, and I'd do a "pawnee sneak" downside on the water's edge, and wait for Bob to let Mork and Mindy move out- birds flushed like crazy, all the pheasants pushed by the few hunters in that area flew to the islands for safe haven, I guess. We both shot our limit of 4 roosters before noon, and a big rooster dropped in the water like a duck sure looks different than one dropped on land. I also had a shot at a drake wood duck, a species which I do not usually shoot at all back home, but Bob wanted it for the feathers as well as for the dinner table, as he was a first rate fly-tyer as well as a great fly fisherman-

Two days later, a strong wind was blowing all day- and as they say out West- the wind doesn't keep hunters inside-you only have so many days, as each one counts-- We were hunting a private ranch where Bob had permission, I was downwind a bit as he and the dogs approached a small stream, I heard the pop-pop of his 20 bore, saw a duck drop, and then a large rooster, with the wind up his ass was coming at me at about Mach 2- I swung through- the "Bum, Belly, Beak, Bang technique I love for incomers, and shot- the bird dropped like a bowling ball, and bounced hard off the grassy ground ahead of me- about 30 feet or so-- When Bob and the dogs came up, he said: Wow- what a hellofa shot that was. That rooster folded up like a cheap cardboard suitcase in a hailstorm--"" Still remember that shot- I was using Federal Premium coppered No. 5 1&1/4 ounce loads on that trip- wish they still loaded them yet today.

I have fotos and great memories of that trip-and others as well. Bu8t to this day, I reflect on what my pal said- and wonder: "Is there such a thing as an EXPENSIVE cardboard suitcase- Louis Vuitton, Gucci??

Like CRS-- "cold rolled steel"?

I am partners with my two brothers on some waterfowl hunting property at Delta March in Manitoba. Like a lot of duck hunting, the focus is on the early morning shoot, with afternoons tending to be a little more relaxed and more open to improvisation. The water levels in the marsh will fluctuate year to year and some years, if the water has dropped, there may be the occasional extensive mud flat.

One year, I was out in the morning with my brother and another good friend of ours and had a great morning shoot on ducks. When we got back to the lodge to make breakfast around 10:30 or 11:00 am, I noticed that across the bay about half a mile, directly in front of our place, a very large number of snow geese had gathered on one of these mud flats. While I was cooking and eating breakfast my mind turned to one of my favorite pastimes....wild goose chases. Because while there is a great deal of truth in the cliche, sometimes....

I talked my two companions into rowing across the bay (really, circling it to try to slide up reasonably un-noticed) but of course, before we could figure out how to get within range, the several thousand birds all got up and left. Now with Canadas I wouldn't have bothered, because when Canadas leave, they leave. But snows sometimes will come back. With that hope in mind, we slide the duckboat into a hiding spot and started to wander the mudflat, looking for a good place to set up. The mudflats, BTW, were quite dry and easy to walk on. We found the spot!

In almost the dead centre of about a 200 yard radius of mudflat, one outpost of reeds had managed to grow up. Circular in shape, about 15 feet in diameter and with reeds 6 to 7 feet tall. When we poked our heads in, we found it was hollow....essentially a circle of reeds. We carefully climbed in, lay down and began to wait. Truthfully, after a late night before, a very early morning with a limit on ducks and a large breakfast recently eaten, all three of us were quite relaxed and soon we were all sawing logs.

I don't know how much later but guessing an hour or so, I awoke to an amazing sight. Directly above me, as I opened my eyes, the sky was dense with birds coming in to land. So close you felt you could reach out and grab one. I rolled over and peered through the reeds......it was a sea of white starting not five feet from where I lay. I kicked my companions awake and shushed them at the same time. We spent probably 15 minutes just enjoying being in the middle of all this. Completely unplanned and just damn lucky.

This was before my SxS affliction took over so I was equipped with an 870 as was one of my companions. My brother had his Win M1200 with him. When we were ready, we took up positions 120 degrees apart from each other and stood up. I had three shells in the gun, three shells in my hand and three shells in a specific pocket, ready to go. On a signal, we stepped out of the reeds (it was that easy) as chaos erupted everywhere. It is the only time I was six for six on geese. As were my brother and his friend. The total count was 22 birds and while it was a slaughter, given that the daily limit is 50 and unlimited possession, I didn't feel too bad.

The best part was waking up to that cacophony! Very, very memorable.

There are many, many other great days but the days that stand out in my memory tend to be days where I watched my dog, or someone else's, do something amazing.