The first shot nabs Mr. Fox hightailing it along the trail.
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| East end of a Westbound Fox |
A minute later, it's a damning smoking gun shot of Jack doing what Jack's not supposed to do....namely, chase foxes. Goofy beagle.
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| Numbnuts |
Showing posts with label Dogs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dogs. Show all posts
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Busted!
Jack made a break from the pen after dinner the other night. He's only supposed to chase rabbits. Anybody need a beagle that thinks he's a foxhound? A few sessions with the E-Collar ought to fix this.
The first shot nabs Mr. Fox hightailing it along the trail.
A minute later, it's a damning smoking gun shot of Jack doing what Jack's not supposed to do....namely, chase foxes. Goofy beagle.
The first shot nabs Mr. Fox hightailing it along the trail.
A minute later, it's a damning smoking gun shot of Jack doing what Jack's not supposed to do....namely, chase foxes. Goofy beagle.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Needed Some Time Outdoors--November 7, 2009
This is the first of a series of posts recreated from photos, memories, and my written journals. On this day, I had just left Cris and Christiane's side and Cris was having a pretty rough day. We knew the end was near, and I just needed to get off by myself. I drove home, hastily gathered some gear and the dog, and drove over to the Bibb place for a hour before sunset. It was a surreal afternoon. My hunting pal lay dying as I sat in the field with one hand on the warm back of my dog, the other on the cold steel of my shotgun. I tried to maintain my composure as I carried on a one way conversation with a Labrador.
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| Every Day's a Good Day to Flip |
At first I couldn't think of taking a life while Cris was fighting for breath in a dark room thirty miles north, but things came naturally as birds began to fly, and I knew Cris would want me to quit sulking and shoot. We took a few birds; Flip, as always, was on his game and made picture perfect retrieves.
As the sun set, the temperature plummeted, and I walked back to the truck shivering and wiping a few tears as I put the gear up with the dog.
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| Sunset in Louisa |
Friday, October 16, 2009
Last Early Ducks
Monday, October 12 Afternoon Hunt
Sat with Cris some this morning at his house. He's still pretty under the weather, but we had a nice visit.
There was plenty of cloud cover early in the afternoon, so I figured the birds might be fooled into flying early as is often the case on gray days. Dad didn't feel like tagging along, so I grabbed Flip and the Mule and hunted Edward's side. It's plenty thick...lily pads, cattails, bullrush, and other stuff...but with enough open water for landing. We went early and sat for two hours. A few birds came in before sunset, but set in way out in front...too far for a shot. Got some nice pics around sunset as the early season ended.
I looked over my shoulder as I latched the gate on the way out and saw dozens of woodies coming to roost. Suckers always arrive twenty minutes after legal time...oh well. It was still good to get out with the dog, and the sunset was beautiful.
Sat with Cris some this morning at his house. He's still pretty under the weather, but we had a nice visit.
There was plenty of cloud cover early in the afternoon, so I figured the birds might be fooled into flying early as is often the case on gray days. Dad didn't feel like tagging along, so I grabbed Flip and the Mule and hunted Edward's side. It's plenty thick...lily pads, cattails, bullrush, and other stuff...but with enough open water for landing. We went early and sat for two hours. A few birds came in before sunset, but set in way out in front...too far for a shot. Got some nice pics around sunset as the early season ended.
I looked over my shoulder as I latched the gate on the way out and saw dozens of woodies coming to roost. Suckers always arrive twenty minutes after legal time...oh well. It was still good to get out with the dog, and the sunset was beautiful.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
The Last Moment
Saturday, January 24---Afternoon
Flip and I returned to the creek an hour before sunset. We slipped up George's side of the creek and down Edward's....good chance to do some remedial schooling on staying at "heel" with distractions abounding. We flared a couple dozen mallards from the current in the swamp below a beaver dam. They got up at about thirty yards or so from us, but I decided to watch rather than shoot. Flip looked up with a question in his eye, but he stayed at heel....good boy.
We recrossed the creek at the lower honey-hole dam right at the end of legal time (just as if I planned it that way). I unloaded and we sat together on the dam sharing the last of the fading sun. We were in that calm stillness of sunset, when even the winter wind lays down for twenty minutes or so, and I reflected on friends, family, and the simple blessings of country living. It's been a good duck season.....who better to share it with than Dad and the Lindsays?
Back at the truck, I set up the tripod and took a few shots looking South and West. We watched several flights of ducks getting up from various points all up and down the creek, wheeling in the sunset and heading west, toward who knows where.....
Flip and I returned to the creek an hour before sunset. We slipped up George's side of the creek and down Edward's....good chance to do some remedial schooling on staying at "heel" with distractions abounding. We flared a couple dozen mallards from the current in the swamp below a beaver dam. They got up at about thirty yards or so from us, but I decided to watch rather than shoot. Flip looked up with a question in his eye, but he stayed at heel....good boy.
We recrossed the creek at the lower honey-hole dam right at the end of legal time (just as if I planned it that way). I unloaded and we sat together on the dam sharing the last of the fading sun. We were in that calm stillness of sunset, when even the winter wind lays down for twenty minutes or so, and I reflected on friends, family, and the simple blessings of country living. It's been a good duck season.....who better to share it with than Dad and the Lindsays?
Back at the truck, I set up the tripod and took a few shots looking South and West. We watched several flights of ducks getting up from various points all up and down the creek, wheeling in the sunset and heading west, toward who knows where.....
By now, Flip, safely bundled in the truck seat, looked bored with it all and ready for his supper, so I packed up the camera gear and called it a season. Time's left for rabbits and geese, then we'll begin planning bird plots for next dove season....not a bad year, all in all.
Last Ducks This Season
Saturday, January 24
There's been just enough thaw to open a little patch up the creek...moving into place through the darkness the only sound is cold water flowing over the beaver dam thirty yards on our left. The temperature's comfortable and dull clouds overhead seem to muffle all sounds...skating on waders I work to the open water and set up the Mojo and a couple of black decoys. Cris and Christiane have joined us for this, the last morning of the duck season. Still trying to balance my way across the ice, dodging the dog who's skittering ahead, then underfoot, behind me I hear a thud and a curse. Cris has tumbled over his dove stool backwards into the mud. He flails for a minute like a junebug on its back before righting himself onto the stool. I hear giggles from behind gloved hands, first Christiane, then Dad....
Flip and I set up on the left, Dad on the right, Cris and Christiane in between...and we wait. This is the quiet, expectant time...each of us knit together as hunters have been for thousands of years, and also alone with our thoughts. This time before the light, before the ducks and guns, is calm, thoughtful, and comfortable. It's one of those parts of hunting I can't explain to the uninitiated, and wouldn't really care to try if I could. Just before legal time I hear the first circling quacks and chuckles. The first group of four or five pitches in just after legal...I take one fat greenhead and Flip makes a quick retrieve. By now we're covered in ducks. Threes, tens, big groups all pile in without regard for the splashing dog and wading handler. Cris puts one in the thicket behind me, then two more out front. Dad another, and we have four down nearly at once, all drakes. Flip does his job like the thoroughbred he is.
After working Flip on the birds I end up near Cris and squat in front on the ice as another bunch works its way in. As they flare, Cris kills one more, a funky hybrid of some sort that none of us can identify.
Then, as quickly as it began, it's over. If we were ballplayers, we'd be high fiving like crazy over the shooting we just shared....but we're not ballplayers...we're hunters, so we stand and savor the moment as we watch the light fill the swamp and warm the ice. Christiane's popped her first caps at ducks....cool! I pick up Mr. Mojo for the last time and begin to contemplate breakfast and benelli cleaning. What a great day! What great friends to share it with!
jts
There's been just enough thaw to open a little patch up the creek...moving into place through the darkness the only sound is cold water flowing over the beaver dam thirty yards on our left. The temperature's comfortable and dull clouds overhead seem to muffle all sounds...skating on waders I work to the open water and set up the Mojo and a couple of black decoys. Cris and Christiane have joined us for this, the last morning of the duck season. Still trying to balance my way across the ice, dodging the dog who's skittering ahead, then underfoot, behind me I hear a thud and a curse. Cris has tumbled over his dove stool backwards into the mud. He flails for a minute like a junebug on its back before righting himself onto the stool. I hear giggles from behind gloved hands, first Christiane, then Dad....
Flip and I set up on the left, Dad on the right, Cris and Christiane in between...and we wait. This is the quiet, expectant time...each of us knit together as hunters have been for thousands of years, and also alone with our thoughts. This time before the light, before the ducks and guns, is calm, thoughtful, and comfortable. It's one of those parts of hunting I can't explain to the uninitiated, and wouldn't really care to try if I could. Just before legal time I hear the first circling quacks and chuckles. The first group of four or five pitches in just after legal...I take one fat greenhead and Flip makes a quick retrieve. By now we're covered in ducks. Threes, tens, big groups all pile in without regard for the splashing dog and wading handler. Cris puts one in the thicket behind me, then two more out front. Dad another, and we have four down nearly at once, all drakes. Flip does his job like the thoroughbred he is.
After working Flip on the birds I end up near Cris and squat in front on the ice as another bunch works its way in. As they flare, Cris kills one more, a funky hybrid of some sort that none of us can identify.
Then, as quickly as it began, it's over. If we were ballplayers, we'd be high fiving like crazy over the shooting we just shared....but we're not ballplayers...we're hunters, so we stand and savor the moment as we watch the light fill the swamp and warm the ice. Christiane's popped her first caps at ducks....cool! I pick up Mr. Mojo for the last time and begin to contemplate breakfast and benelli cleaning. What a great day! What great friends to share it with!
jts
The Mob after the Hunt
Was That Fun, or What?
Oh Vanna....!
Tres Hombres Benelli....Ole!
What a Great Day!
Yep, M. R. Ducks
Friday, January 16, 2009
Last Doves
Saturday, January 10
Dad and I hit the same spot as yesterday. Nothin'. Dad shot at one high flyer that was circling and really wanted in across the creek....desperation shot. Funny how much difference one day can make. Yesterday we saw maybe a hundred birds in there...today, nada.
Perry slipped in behind us and farther down the creek. I flushed a hen mallard from the swamp straight to him. He said it was the first bird he'd shot in three years. Never thought I'd see a three year drought with one of those brothers....we all get busy with softball or other things our kids are doing. It was nice to see him there. Root's getting pretty old and gimpy...Perry says he's twelve...old Labrador.
Sparks has closed for good. There'll probably be more of that with this economy struggling. We went up to the Mineral Restaurant for breakfast after the hunt. Picked up another beagle pup, Jack, from Allen this week....more on Jack later.
Falling temps and rain were the prediction for the afternoon, but since it was the last day of late doves we thought we'd give it a try. Went over to the Bibb place and set up in a bean field. The birds were working a line between the beans and a patch of picked over corn. We sat against some power poles, but it's a big field and hard to hunt with only a few guns. About three the rain started and Dad headed home. Flip and I stuck it out for another hour before we'd had enough too.
Big flocks were flying, maybe twenty to forty in each, but they were few and far between, and they never seemed to light where you wanted them. I killed three and called it a season. We headed home to the fire and some hot chocolate.
Dad and I hit the same spot as yesterday. Nothin'. Dad shot at one high flyer that was circling and really wanted in across the creek....desperation shot. Funny how much difference one day can make. Yesterday we saw maybe a hundred birds in there...today, nada.
Perry slipped in behind us and farther down the creek. I flushed a hen mallard from the swamp straight to him. He said it was the first bird he'd shot in three years. Never thought I'd see a three year drought with one of those brothers....we all get busy with softball or other things our kids are doing. It was nice to see him there. Root's getting pretty old and gimpy...Perry says he's twelve...old Labrador.
Sparks has closed for good. There'll probably be more of that with this economy struggling. We went up to the Mineral Restaurant for breakfast after the hunt. Picked up another beagle pup, Jack, from Allen this week....more on Jack later.
Falling temps and rain were the prediction for the afternoon, but since it was the last day of late doves we thought we'd give it a try. Went over to the Bibb place and set up in a bean field. The birds were working a line between the beans and a patch of picked over corn. We sat against some power poles, but it's a big field and hard to hunt with only a few guns. About three the rain started and Dad headed home. Flip and I stuck it out for another hour before we'd had enough too.
Big flocks were flying, maybe twenty to forty in each, but they were few and far between, and they never seemed to light where you wanted them. I killed three and called it a season. We headed home to the fire and some hot chocolate.
Right Spot at the Right Time.....
Friday, January 9
Dad and I hunted the same spot as with Cris and Christiane last weekend. Loads of ducks this morning, and we ended up with two drakes and two hens, all mallards. Flip's getting much better this season at working the scent and hunting cover to recover birds. He did fine today.
Dad and I hunted the same spot as with Cris and Christiane last weekend. Loads of ducks this morning, and we ended up with two drakes and two hens, all mallards. Flip's getting much better this season at working the scent and hunting cover to recover birds. He did fine today.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Widgeons
Saturday, December 13
December's full moon is always nearer than the others for the year. This night's was special....closer than any time in the past fifteen years. At its perigee, near setting as we approached George's field, the moon hung bright and clear....fourteen percent brighter and thirty percent bigger than normal. No need for flashlights setting out this morning. Those who think hunting is all about the killing have never spent time with these two hunters when the cold is so crisp as to catch your breath and the moon so bright and beautiful as to make you wonder at God's glory.
We set up by the beaver dam on George's side. Realizing now that most who visit don't know about George's and Edward's and other secret spots gives me pause to explain, and so I will in the next post.....for now, George's side of the creek is next to a big field that this summer was thick with soybeans on one side and forage sorghum on the other. On cold, frosty days like this you could walk all the way to the edge of the beaver swamp, a small pond astride a smaller creek, in your bedroom slippers without getting wet or muddy. From this side, you face east into the rising sun, so duck identification and first light shots are tough. Beyond is a large marsh, full of boot sucking mud and hat-floater holes. The spot in front of us was calm water, just above the beaver dam and full of acorns, a favorite morning spot for whatever puddle ducks move through.
This morning we were lucky. Plenty of birds were trading up the creek from their roosts on the lake, and although Croc yipped in her excitement, the ducks decoyed well. I killed the first mallard drake into the dekes and another minutes later that fell into a cedar bough twenty feet up a tree...thankfully he eventually tumbled down without assistance and Croc made her second retrieve.
A pair of widgeons decoyed and we put both on the water....both drakes....widgeons here are more unusual than they once were when there was plenty of hydrilla in the lake, before the damned carp were put in. That both were drakes seemed even more unusual. Croc made a long retrieve and hunted hard to find the first, which had gone out of sight up the pond. Then she nabbed the second one from where he had scooted under a big cat brier patch....good girl.
Widgeons, called baldpates in some regions, are pretty birds. Smaller than mallards, they get the baldpate moniker from the appearance of their heads. Gray with a green streak across the eye, the color fades to a pale, almost white crown.
Widgeons have very pretty chestnut, black, and gray hackle feathers on their backs and the tops of their wings. I should have saved these for CG, my fly-tying buddy.
As always on bluebird mornings, the birds were done flying by 7:30, so back to the house we went for breakfast and coffee. As we crossed the yard, I noticed the sun highlighting the American holly in the yard.
What a fine morning....what a great place to live.
December's full moon is always nearer than the others for the year. This night's was special....closer than any time in the past fifteen years. At its perigee, near setting as we approached George's field, the moon hung bright and clear....fourteen percent brighter and thirty percent bigger than normal. No need for flashlights setting out this morning. Those who think hunting is all about the killing have never spent time with these two hunters when the cold is so crisp as to catch your breath and the moon so bright and beautiful as to make you wonder at God's glory.
We set up by the beaver dam on George's side. Realizing now that most who visit don't know about George's and Edward's and other secret spots gives me pause to explain, and so I will in the next post.....for now, George's side of the creek is next to a big field that this summer was thick with soybeans on one side and forage sorghum on the other. On cold, frosty days like this you could walk all the way to the edge of the beaver swamp, a small pond astride a smaller creek, in your bedroom slippers without getting wet or muddy. From this side, you face east into the rising sun, so duck identification and first light shots are tough. Beyond is a large marsh, full of boot sucking mud and hat-floater holes. The spot in front of us was calm water, just above the beaver dam and full of acorns, a favorite morning spot for whatever puddle ducks move through.
This morning we were lucky. Plenty of birds were trading up the creek from their roosts on the lake, and although Croc yipped in her excitement, the ducks decoyed well. I killed the first mallard drake into the dekes and another minutes later that fell into a cedar bough twenty feet up a tree...thankfully he eventually tumbled down without assistance and Croc made her second retrieve.
A pair of widgeons decoyed and we put both on the water....both drakes....widgeons here are more unusual than they once were when there was plenty of hydrilla in the lake, before the damned carp were put in. That both were drakes seemed even more unusual. Croc made a long retrieve and hunted hard to find the first, which had gone out of sight up the pond. Then she nabbed the second one from where he had scooted under a big cat brier patch....good girl.
Widgeons, called baldpates in some regions, are pretty birds. Smaller than mallards, they get the baldpate moniker from the appearance of their heads. Gray with a green streak across the eye, the color fades to a pale, almost white crown.
Widgeons have very pretty chestnut, black, and gray hackle feathers on their backs and the tops of their wings. I should have saved these for CG, my fly-tying buddy.
As always on bluebird mornings, the birds were done flying by 7:30, so back to the house we went for breakfast and coffee. As we crossed the yard, I noticed the sun highlighting the American holly in the yard.
What a fine morning....what a great place to live.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
The Ducks are Finally Here
Saturday, December 6
Hunted on George's side....colder than a well digger's grave. Finally, Ducks! Right at legal time pairs, threes, and some big groups started piling in. We didn't put out dekes....no need when you're set up in the honey hole.
The ice was bothering Flip, so he cheated by returning on the beaver dam. At one point we had too many birds down...confused him a bit.
All mallards today. Didn't see a woodie or black all morning. We'll rest this spot a few days and bring Cris next week.
All in all, the best day so far this year. Keep 'em coming!
Hunted on George's side....colder than a well digger's grave. Finally, Ducks! Right at legal time pairs, threes, and some big groups started piling in. We didn't put out dekes....no need when you're set up in the honey hole.
The ice was bothering Flip, so he cheated by returning on the beaver dam. At one point we had too many birds down...confused him a bit.
All mallards today. Didn't see a woodie or black all morning. We'll rest this spot a few days and bring Cris next week.
All in all, the best day so far this year. Keep 'em coming!
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Friday, Sept. 19
Called Dad, who said there'd finally been more birds in the sunflowers. Drove out for an impromptu hunt, arriving at 4:15 and hunted until about 5:30. Fall weather's arrived, along with big flocks......ten to twenty at a crack. The shooting was fast and so was the wind. We each lost several dead into the treeline....shot at thirty yards and windblown into the trees behind us. Since I was rushed to get to Goldmine, I left Flip in the pen. Croc pulled double duty picking up for both of us. On the way back I noticed the dogwoods were just taking on some color. Fall will be in full swing soon.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Opening Day
What a great day! Cool enough to be comfortable in the shade....that's a switch. Awesome company.......
The birds were slow; Colemans' started chopping corn. Dunno, maybe that pulled the birds some. Everybody got some shooting; we cleaned and grilled maybe thirty birds. We'll rest the field and try again Saturday if the storms allow. Missed Will and his boys.....they'll be along Saturday.
- Christiane's first dove hunt, in the shade with Cris in the 'hot' corner;
- Jay and Kathy, unfettered by obligations and savoring retirement time;
- Larry's first dove hunt in years, 196 days and a wake-up to retirement;
- Bill and Greg with the human retrievers Robert and Tyler;
- Neighbor Brian with daughter Courtney and trusty Buttercup;
- Ed from church;
- Kurt, Dad and I representing our clan;
- Croc and Flip doing better than average for an opener.
The birds were slow; Colemans' started chopping corn. Dunno, maybe that pulled the birds some. Everybody got some shooting; we cleaned and grilled maybe thirty birds. We'll rest the field and try again Saturday if the storms allow. Missed Will and his boys.....they'll be along Saturday.
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