Saturday, September 28, 2013

Pheasant Hunting..Days Long Past

  The year was 1959 or so..(maybe give or take a bit) and it was bird season. My father and I would often take advantage of those precious weeks of fall, those few days between the closing of fishing season  and the opening of deer season , to enjoy some bird hunting.
   
We didn't have setters, or pointers, or retrievers. Dad was a beagle man.  We beat the brush to flush out a partridge or woodcock or scoured an old field for pheasant and we did our own retrieving.
    
Often we would head out for Frye Mountain in search of the noble ring-necked.  The aristocrat of sporting birds.
(Frye Mtn. is now a WMA and now noted for it's grouse hunting.)

    Not only did we love to dine on pheasant  but my father would enjoy using the browns, and reds and florescent green feathers at his fly tying desk. He was always concocting a new, sure-fire fly to out-wit his favorite, finny quarry..the Atlantic Salmon.

    Dad's favorite shotgun for bird hunting was his Remington Model 11. He really loved that shotgun and would even occasionally use it for deer hunting.  Loaded it with deer slugs it was a mighty weapon with awesome stopping power.  Anyways being deemed way too young to tote around a formidable weapon like Dad's, I nevertheless did not leave our house unarmed.   

(Note my trusty BB gun in the porch boot box.)
        
 So now as the days of September are dying, with a chill in the morning air, and the leaves starting to show some color here on the mid-coast, my thoughts go back to those precious few weeks of those autumn's past. 

Tramping thru field and forest with my father, shotgun cradled in the crook of his arm, puffing on his pipe, sun shining warmly on our faces, thinking how absolutely perfect it all was.
    
Only..as I sit here writing this, some 50 plus years removed, I'm not sure if that is what I was thinking at all. Can a 10-year-old boy put his life  in such a perspective? 

But looking back on those Days Long Past.......

11 comments:

  1. What an inspiring post with some fond memories of what it was like to have a Dad who loved the outdoors. I can relate to this post as well, because my Dad love quail hunting and fly fishing. That was where I got my start for fly fishing. I no longer quail hunt, but the pheasant was one bird I wish I had the opportunity to hunt, not only for its beauty the table fare as well. You and I are lucky to have had Dad’s who nurtured us into the outdoorsmen we both are today. Thanks for sharing a great post!!

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    1. Thanks Bill..I no longer hunt either but have many fond memories of doing so with my Dad and Uncle. And yes you and I are certainly lucky to have had men like these in our lives..

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  2. Replies
    1. Thanks a lot Jim..Recalling the old days are such a pleasure..

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    1. Thanks Alan..you know it's funny..the older I get the more the thoughts of the old days rush toward me..the small stream reflections of my mind..

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    2. Mike, you like me are of the age where we have finally learned to appreciate those times of yesterday.

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  4. Nicely done my friend. Although I was never a "serious" bird hunter, this sure evoked some great memories.

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    1. Thanks Howard..every now and then I get into the nostalgia mood..especially at the turn of the seasons..

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  5. Memories for me too. I didn't hunt but as a child in Michigan there were lots of pheasant and many the time my heart was in my throat as one took off after almost being stepped on.

    Kelley and I were at Frye Mtn. recently and though we have done that trail many times could not find the overgrown trailhead.

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    1. It's true..if you don't have a bird dog working them , they will wait for the last second to flush and I think would rather run than fly if given the choice..thanks for the comment John

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