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Family, Hunting

The 225 Mile U Turn

I can recall almost every hunt that Echo and I have experienced over the last 5 years. There are some hunts however that stand out because something remarkable occurs. Most often it is Echo doing something so tremendous that the moment is emblazoned in my mind forever. 

On this cold December day, Echo and I took the long drive to our favorite farm in Wray, Colorado. The plan was to meet up with a good friend and his dog by mid-morning. I know the area well, and I wanted to hunt a piece of land that we had not hit too many times over the last few years. The cows had not been let into both the north and southwest corners, so the cover circling the corn field was dense enough to hold birds. The wind was blowing over 10 mph from the northeast, so we started our walk from the opposite corner. Echo and I took a circuitous route to the end of the southwest corner so we hopefully would catch a pheasant napping. Once we got 20 yards out from the combination of grass and tumbleweeds, Echo started to get birdy. While I knew that we were in business, I was feeling a bit groggy from the long drive. When the rooster busted 15 yards to my right, I struggled to square up to the speedy bird. Two shots later, Echo paused her run as she realized that I had missed. My apology was heard, and we continued our work along the edge of the corn field. Echo will point when a bird freezes, and just moments after my failure, she stopped in her tracks. When she suddenly popped up, it caused the rooster to take flight. One shot of HEVI-METAL #4 knocked the bird out of the air.

With a bird in the vest, we continued our walk north into the next corner. There is tumbleweed filled ditches that surround this part of the field. Many times, the birds will evade our pursuit by carefully navigating these channels. About halfway through the middle of the northwest corner, Echo started to move with a purpose. While no birds took flight, I believed that she was pursuing more than one of the targeted species. As we approached the four rung barbed wire fence that abutted a ditch, Echo elevated into beast mode. Fueled by the scent of our quarry, my dog exploded through the bottom rung, but she caught a buckle of her chest protector on a single barb. That contact caused the entire vest to tear off her body. Once I put the fragments of the material in my pack, we started to work both sides of the ditch heading east. Echo remained hot but were not able to get the runners to fly.

My friend Oneal finally arrived, and he and Marley took the north side of the tree line that paralleled the two ditches we had just been hunting. As we walked west, Echo became excited as the northeast wind told her that birds were still present. Once Echo stopped and turned to our right, a rooster got up from the ditch and flew across the road. My first shot was behind the bird, but my next round knocked the bird to the ground. Unfortunately, the long shot was not lethal, and the speedy cock ran through the ditch and under the first fence. Echo was in full stride as she circumvented the lowest wire. She tore across the northwest corner just a few yards behind the bird. As the pheasant cut left it went under a second and then a third barbed wire fence. Echo tackled the bird, and headed back to me with the rooster in her mouth. After grabbing the bird, I noticed that my hand was covered in blood. It only took a few seconds to realize that Echo’s ear was split in half, and blood was gushing everywhere. It took me 30 minutes to slow the bleeding, and make the decision to head home. Almost 4 hours later, we arrived at the veterinarian, and Echo was stitched up.

This was the first major injury Echo suffered in all of our days spent in the field. Unfortunately, it would not be the last. On our first hunting trip after her ear had healed, Echo tore her knee open at some point during the day. The wounds Echo suffered shook me up. I thought I was prepared for handling my dog’s in-field ordeals. I wasn’t, and I am not sure how I am going improve my veterinarian skills.

Family, Hunting

Cage Ranch

About 100 miles southeast of Denver, Colorado there is a large tract of land that symbolizes the spectacular prairie of the western United States. The property bisects route 94, and rests in an unincorporated village called Wild Horse . For over 70 years, the Cage family has raised cattle on nearly 50,000 acres of sage, yucca and switchgrass. They are responsible land owners as well as astute custodians of this ground. Fortunately, the Cages are kind and generous people who allow some of us to experience their stunning piece of American history.

The first time I visited the Cage Ranch I was awestruck at the incredible size of the property, as well as the many species of animals that call the eastern plains of Colorado their home. While I eventually adapted to the vastness, I will always be captivated by the variety of prairie critters. In the early days, I could not tell where I was without a compass. Additionally, it took me a while to learn how to unlock and relock a barbed wire fence gate. I was appreciative when Bob installed a few cheater-bar-latches around the opening to the pastures that I frequented. Navigating the roads around the ranch took time to learn. My sense of direction is poor when the streets have no names. To that point, the more ranch driving I did, the more comfortable I became transitioning from one pasture to the next. It has taken years, but I can now successfully maneuver without oversight. My attempts at branding calves each spring had the hired cowboys mocking my unrefined methods. I persevered, and I eventually learned how to execute my menial yet fun role. When fall arrived, hunting season started. We harvested our fair share of pronghorn, deer and even an occasional duck.

On January 1, 2021, the Cage Ranch will change hands, and formally end a glorious era. There are so many things that I will miss about the ranch; the long drive from the highway to headquarters. The two golden eagles that always seem to appear when I enter The George pasture. The remarkable sunrises and sunsets that light up the golden grasses.

Bob, thank you for extending yourself beyond our friendship. You gave up your time to teach me about many things ranch related. You rarely mocked me for the many mistakes I made, and you were patient when I asked you the same questions multiple times. As you stated, I will continue to use the many things I learned on the ranch for the rest of my life.

Hunting

Wild Birds

Season four with Echo had many memorable highlights. While birds in Eastern Colorado were not as abundant as in past years, she and I managed to get it done more often than not. There was one specific day in December that proved to be the most incredible I have ever witnessed in my years in the field.

Greg and I rolled into Yuma just after 8 am. The night before I received permission to hunt a fantastic half section of native grass just south of town. I hunted this property throughout the early part of the season, and I had taken a few roosters while seeing many more. The dogs hit the field with excitement as we made our way to the initial edge of the thigh-high cover. Not dissimilar to previous walks, there were birds present, but they all flushed wild. Seventy-five minutes later, and with no shots taken, Greg and I regrouped at the truck to debate what we would do next.

I have additional private access just west of town, and there are some good WIAs within minutes of our location. Taking a calculated risk, we made the decision to travel an hour east in order to hunt an exquisite farm just north of Wray. As we entered town, we noticed a blanket of fresh snow covering the ground. The newly discovered conditions brought great anticipation for the day ahead. As we drove to my favorite spot in Colorado, we pulled over to evaluate a corner where we have access. I noticed a hen sitting on a plum thicket branch about two feet above the snowy ground. She got fidgety and took off. An unseen rooster followed her, and then forty birds exploded from their hidden positions. Greg and I looked at one another and smiled.

We quietly approached the half section of CRP with a realistic expectation to find a lot of birds. Two cornfields border the 320 acres of tall grass, making this property an ideal environment for housing wild pheasants. As we walked north towards a perfectly designed shelterbelt, birds suddenly started to appear in every direction. Echo and I were still seventy-five yards from the trees when the action began. Literally two hundred pheasants took flight in groups of twenty. Picking up the pace Echo and I finally made it to the east side of the pines. As birds continued to fly in waves from their hiding spots, they veered away from me once they noticed my conspicuous location. I took a futile shot at a rooster that briefly appeared before vanishing from my vantage point. Echo remained focused as her senses were sharp given the number of birds that had been present. She and I made our way around to the backside of the windbreak, and a hen busted followed by a rooster. I mounted my shotgun and followed the bird to my right. One shot crumpled him, and Echo made a quick retrieve.

Echo and I limited out in less than an hour. We saw more wild pheasants on this one day then during ten trips combined last season. It was good to see these magnificent animals flourishing in ideal habitat.

A Colorado Pheasant Hunt – December 15, 2019

Family

One of the best

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Everyone has demons. All of us spend time battling their evil presence. We work to suppress the disturbing thoughts and emotions that they unearth. These tormentors are unyielding for some, and kept at bay by others. Their persistence can break us down, and put our mind in dark places. They inflict fear, uncertainty and doubt as they painfully whittle away at our soul.

This past week my friend took his life. I don’t know the reasons for his fateful decision, but it was shocking to all of us that love him. He leaves a wonderful family and loyal friends behind. He was a smart, insightful, selfless and thoughtful man. His humor, wittiness and gregarious personality commanded every room that he walked into. If you were dealing with a complex issue, he took time to provide caring analysis and direction. He helped people that were not in a position to help themselves. While he was short in stature, he played life big; never backing down from a difficult situation.

I will miss him. While we did not see one another every day, or even talk regularly, I knew he was accessible. If I showed up to an event, and he was there, everything was better. I can hear his voice in my mind and that is comforting. Three weeks ago, we played golf together. We shared a cart, and talked openly about our lives. He did not demonstrate signs that the demons were gaining an advantage. Unfortunately, the monsters were present, and they were breaking him down. I wish I could have helped him fight them off. Our friendship will continue, and we will see each other again.

Hunting

Hunting Partner

It is not uncommon during Colorado’s upland bird season for me to drive over 450 miles and walk 13 in a single day.  I am usually up just before 4 am, and out the door no later than 4:45 am.  The trip to the eastern corridor of the state is long, but I am fueled by both adrenaline & caffeine.  Upon arrival in bird country, my heart starts to race as I anticipate the day’s adventure. Once I am out of the truck, I expect that every shelterbelt, plum thicket and CRP field that I walk is loaded with exquisite pheasants.  The reality is that I generally walk for many miles before raising my shotgun at a crafty rooster.  There are days that can be bleak, and exhausting when no birds reveal themselves for hours on end. Upland hunting can be even more exasperating when erratic shooting undermines limited opportunities.

It takes someone with comparable DNA to want to prowl the prairie with you. They possess the same commitment, passion and unadulterated love for the chase. Your hunting partner embraces the grind, and he does not need an explanation when you want to hit one more spot late in the day before the long journey home. They don’t have to be a colleague at work, a college roommate or even your best friend. They just need to bring the same level of intensity to the sometimes-complex, arduous process of hunting the uplands. I value those people that pursue birds with me. I enjoy talking strategy with them, and learning from their divergent experiences in the field. They know when they can chide me for missed shots, but they are also aware when silence is golden. It takes time to create the mutual trust to want to begin hunting together. Once the required commonalities are satisfied, a unique respect between people is born.

My hope is that both of my teenage sons evolve to become zealous wingshooters. I know that I cannot force them to love it, and that there is an opportunity cost associated with hunting with their dad. That said, my boys would be my ideal hunting partners.

A Colorado Pheasant Hunt – December 15, 2019 – The Video