Our Outdoors: In the Thick of It
By Nick Simonson
Give me an expanse of cattails in December with a little snow on the ground and a lot of pheasants scattered throughout it, and that’s about the best gift the outdoors can provide. Even in those years where I did not yet have a dog, I can recall serving as my own flushing machine, stomping over the three-toed tracks of pheasants weaving through a frozen slough. My buddies were often content to hug the edges, but I enjoyed the sweat-inducing high-kneed tromp through the crackling reeds and, more importantly, the excitement of a flushing rooster that often resulted.
Even now, when my dog is hard on those same trails of frozen tracks, and when his tail gets going while his nose vacuums up the fresher ones imprinted in the powder of the small openings, I’m right there behind him, content to be in the thick of it, sweating it out with my thumb on the safety. When the crash and crackle give way to a slight stillness and only the tick-tick-ticking of his tail, I know something’s about to happen. Like the clock on a time bomb, it is often only a few seconds before the beige canopy blows up in a blur of wings and explosion of fluff as a rooster takes to the sky, forced from his hiding spot in the slough.
Sure it’s work, but it’s well worth it. I’ve never shied away from the challenges the outdoors brings. From hauling stands for deer hunting on my back from one draw to the next in the heat of summer, to stomping up a sweat in the chill of early winter, the equity earned in the process of putting in the time and effort is dividends paid in close encounters and memorable shots. I often consider such adventures my second workout of the day and let the minute and calorie rings roll on my wristwatch accordingly. By the end of a day with a few thrashings through the thick stuff, I’ve often amassed more on both than what came from my morning run.
But it isn’t all just brute force in those frozen backwaters either. There’s a science to the stomping. Just like pheasants relate to the edges between their home fields, grasses and those thicker areas, there are edges within those larger expanses of cattail flats where the birds seek thermal cover. Trails form through usage by deer, coyotes, birds and other critters, and some get used more than others. Those superhighways under the cover of matted reeds that have hardened tracks which have thawed and refrozen and have newer markings in fresher snow around them are the ones my dog and I follow, seeking the makers of those latter marks. Additionally, the cattails often open into areas of snow-covered frozen surface, where birds can land and take off, sun themselves or simply find a spot to look and listen. There, the marks of tails and wings suggest a recent landing and a starting point for a new chase.
With some experience, the ebb and flow of the thickness of a given slough provides clues as to how pheasants move through it in late season, and the advantage they may have had of hopping over the wetter areas that would flood hunting boots and soak field pants has waned for those willing to hit the thick stuff and provide pursuit this time of year. Picking out those side trails, areas of easier movement, or those denser stands which provide cover from the pheasant’s predators above, gives clues that pay off, walk-after-walk, stomp-after-stomp, season-after-season.
Perhaps the best part of the thick stuff is that there’s an even greater chance to have it all to yourself this time of year. Something about that extra work required of smashing through it keeps the tennis-shoed hunters of early season away, and the challenges of winter’s chill take care of some of even our most devout upland brethren. Further, there’s a likelihood that because of its nature and a walkability that only comes with cold weather, it’s virgin territory for the season and may only have been hit a few times – and likely only by last month’s deer hunters on the trail of a swamp-loving buck.
In the end, getting into the thick of it is what defines December pheasant hunting. The challenge is there, but so are the birds and the energy expended in the toughest territory of the uplands and the adventure of rousting them from their deepest hiding places is one of the most unforgettable…in our outdoors.
Our Outdoors: Back on Schedule
Our Outdoors: Back on Schedule
By Nick Simonson
“We now return you to your regularly scheduled program!”
Whether it was Bozo the Clown before school or Saturday morning cartoons, when interrupted by a breaking news story or weather alert, those nine words were a relief during my childhood that no matter what was happening in the world or on the landscape, things would quickly be returning to normal, and I could get back to the day’s routine. For me the firearms deer season is always like that TV interruption of old. It’s not a bad break from the usual upland antics my dog and I get into, but it certainly is a more intense set of circumstances, bringing memorable highs, challenging lulls and a blur of days afield, which I enjoy in a much different sense than those walks through the uplands.
From the pre-dawn drives to a favorite lookout over a tree-lined river bottom, the all-day sits and spikes of adrenaline from the world’s biggest squirrels foraging in the oak-leaf carpet of the bare woods, to the peak heart rates developed as a buck comes into view, capped off by a headlight-illuminated blacktop drive back to town, each day is a season in itself. Even in those years where I have tagged out on the first day or the first weekend, the season seems long as my fellow hunters patrol the gravel roads, and the orange-clad population swells tenfold over the weeks in October. It is only on the day after the firearms deer season closes, when the dust settles down and that mental broadcast airs, that I can really return to my regularly scheduled pheasant hunting program. But even this late-season routine comes with a transition. Pressure on a changing landscape has moved upland birds around, the weather is typically colder and snow becomes a factor, and the roosters that have made it into the backside of November are smarter and jumpier. Adjusting to these seasonal shifts is just part of the program.
As a result of a completed harvest of the corn, soybeans and other crops which provide pheasants cover, the birds have turned to habitat like taller grasses, sloughs, brushlines and other areas of dense vegetation to remain concealed. Additionally, they utilize these thermal areas to stay warm at night and can often be found there at the start of many chilly morning walks, however, approaching them may not be as easy as a few weeks ago. All around, the world is crisp from hard frosts, snow begins to accumulate, and each step taken toward those traditional pheasant haunts sends out a warning signal in the form of a crunch from cattail reeds or hardened snow on the ground.
Silence becomes golden, and voice commands from the early season to my dog turn into slight whistles and hand gestures in the final weeks. Tailgates are closed with a slight bump of the hip, and a gentle lean is applied to any open truck door to muffle the usual “thunk!” that comes with it, all in an effort to keep those pheasants somewhere out in the nearby expanse on the ground. Tighter patterning shells become the norm in my vest, and a quick adjustment in chokes is sometimes in order, as wary roosters tend to rise a few yards further away than they did in the early season. Utilizing those loads – which are harder to find this season as well – and moving up from an improved cylinder to modified or modified to full choke helps push pellets a little bit farther on down the line to where those birds are rising. While the game remains the same, the rules have changed and so have the pieces on the playing board.
The situation is not unexpected and is by far my favorite portion of the upland season, as I often go days without seeing another hunter on the landscape, even on the weekends, and enjoy the added challenge and open spaces. Free to roam the thick cover and pop out to the field edge as those warmer afternoon temperatures settle in, the last month or so of upland hunting brings a program all its own and a welcome regularity that can only be found…in our outdoors.
Our Outdoors: For Flock’s Sake
Our Outdoors: For Flock’s Sake
By Nick Simonson
There is nothing more surprising on an upland hunt than to wander into a draw or to the edge of a stretch of grass and watch a covey of grouse or a group of pheasants rise en masse, wings whirring over their warning calls issued in the moment of excitement. Likewise, there are few results more disappointing in the outdoors than to expend two or three shots after an adrenaline-fueled shouldering of a scattergun and come away empty handed from such an amazing opportunity. The phenomenon of flock shooting is often to blame for the misses, and the overwhelming nature of the moment leads to an overriding drive to just shoot at the group and not take a narrower perspective of things.
While it isn’t easy – I spent many years just blasting at the bunch before I began to take a more granular look at a flushing flock of birds – with experience and a few pointers, I’ve found better success when the group presents a chance to bag a rooster, sharpie or hun. Getting over the initial rush, focusing on a single bird, and the following up or finding a straggler are some of the best ways to convert a flock shot into a great retrieving opportunity for the dog.
Anything can happen in the outdoors, and it often does. But after a while, the seemingly irregular begins to take on a pattern. I’ve had flocks of partridge flush from the black dirt of a tilled wheat field and four roosters pop out of a willow thicket which would have made for a perfect outdoor post card. In both instances occurring in my early years in the field, I bagged exactly zero birds from each experience. However, they were formative in helping me go through the rush of a group flush, and more importantly, taming the surge of excitement that comes with it. It can be overwhelming, especially when it comes without warning from the dog or environmental cues but knowing where birds are likely to relate due to weather or food sources or habitat can help prepare a hunter for such a flush. Windward ends of grass, the terminus of treelines, protected places on sunny hillsides and other classic grouse and pheasant holding spaces learned through experience will help provide expectations of when and where group flushes will occur. Being ready for the flush, whether it’s one or ten birds, is half the battle.
When a number of birds get up together, don’t get lost in the flock. Single out a specific bird and stay on it. This is easier with pheasants because it comes down to picking a brightly-colored rooster from the beige hens which might be flying around him. With sharptailed grouse and Hungarian partridge, it may be harder, as both genders are fairly uniform in their colorations. Sometimes one sharpie in the covey may present a better view of its white belly, or one may take off later than the rest of the group, and the male Huns have a slight orange hue to them. Simply single that unique bird out from the group and take the shot. Alternatively, pick one at the leading edge of the flock, or the top, and stay on it. The human eye-to-brain connection is amazing at picking out slight differences in a homogeneous setting and honing in on those unique markers, even in moments of excitement.
After that first bird goes down, and if the flock presents another opportunity, repeat the process of picking out the next target, likely one near the back of the group which is closer. Don’t rush the shot with the idea the salvo of pellets won’t catch up, because they will, especially if utilizing a second barrel with a slightly tighter choke. Alternatively, note that some birds may linger on the ground behind the flock, or may be positioned off to the side of the main group. Especially with pheasants, let the dog work cattails, brush or other habitat near to where the main birds got up to get any stragglers into the air. It’s likely that another opportunity awaits. Even with grouse, there may be a singleton or pair nearby that will provide another shot without all the whir of wings which produced the elevated heart rate from the group that went ahead of them. If a shot remains in the backup barrel or the tube, get ready to use it, or quickly reload to be ready.
The flock shooting experience is one that every uplander experiences, and often leaves us scratching our heads when we have nothing to show for what seems like a golden opportunity. Through time in the field and knowledge of where these group flushes are most likely to happen, focusing in on a single bird rather than the bunch, and knowing where secondary opportunities may be in those thrilling moments can make them more productive, providing a memorable conclusion to an exciting occurrence…in our outdoors.
Our Outdoors: Little Challenges
Our Outdoors: Little Challenges
By Nick Simonson
When it comes to the outdoors, I’m not a huge traveler. I find contentment and more importantly, excitement, close to home with the opportunities I have nearby. Whether that’s plying the breaklines for walleyes, casting to rising trout on a stocked lake, or working public parcels with my dog for pheasants, much of the joy I experience in fishing and hunting comes within an hour of my home. However, that home and thousands of others up and down the streets around me, likely harbor sportsmen who are looking for the same satisfaction from their efforts in the field as well. With that, we all face the first of many challenges, and that is access to a limited resource.
Public lands are at a premium where I live, with many of those parcels and open-access acres frequently visited by me and other hunters looking to stretch our legs and raise our shotguns from time to time. So it was the case this weekend, as a visiting hunting buddy who had traveled a long distance and I set out in search of success in the uplands. Surprisingly, for the last weekend of October and the gusty conditions, we saw a good number of hunters about, looking to get into the same grasses, cattails and treelines we were aiming for, those ones that more likely than not held the season’s remaining populations of pheasants and grouse. In the moment, competition like that can seem like a challenge, but in the grand scheme of the outdoors, it’s a good thing to know that others who enjoy the opportunities provided by a WMA or a WPA or a parcel of private land open to hunters, appreciate those opportunities and hopefully somewhere down the line, will become advocates for them. In that challenge of finding access with like-minded hunters, there is the realization that the future of sustained public lands and good access for sportsmen has a strong foothold within that group.
I wouldn’t say I’m a fair-weather hunter, I’ve been out in some bitter cold and heavy snow tromping after roosters in December sloughs and waiting for a deer to wander by my perch. Generally though, I pick more hospitable conditions now than in the invincible days of my youth. With my friend visiting, however, we took what Mother Nature gave us – which included gusty winds from both directions throughout the extended weekend – and made the most of it. Sometimes, the gales were so strong it was tough to hear the cackling of a rooster that on a calm day would have echoed over the county after rattling every cattail in the lowlands as he got up. For those birds that took the wind, they were gone in a wingbeat, for others, like the two back-to-back sharptails that rose into it, they provided slow-motion shots so beguiling, I managed to expend four shells as my focus shifted and I attempted to ride the rising birds. While we missed our share of grouse and pheasants on the gusts, we did manage to bag a good number that made up for the red faces brought on by the windy conditions, and perhaps from few easy shots we didn’t convert.
Which brings me to the final challenge, the one in the space between my ears. Hot streaks come and cold streaks go, it’s an ebb and flow that anyone of any level of consistency in the field experiences at some point and to some degree each season. To shift from the challenging second day of our trip, hitting two out of six birds shot at, to going three-for-four and being done on a single parcel the following outing, is just part of the game. Sometimes the hunt is about putting a bad round of shooting behind you and focusing on the next bird, converting on one of those misses that should have been a gimme the day before to start that process. Then it seems the harder shots become easy, and the shift is on. The challenge remaining then is to ride the hot streak as long as possible.
Between all these trials – be they the ones from Mr. Hanson’s eighth grade English class of man versus man, man versus nature, man versus himself, or all of the above – comes the great reward of being a sportsman in these modern times. Effectively navigating the landscape, adjusting to the conditions, and overcoming the uncertainty of the psyche make for a better experience now and in the future, building a contingent that appreciates opportunity, is resilient in its efforts, and is of a solidly forged mindset which only comes by regularly taking on these little challenges…in our outdoors.