Halloween misses give spooked hunters fond remembrances
The radiant heat of the old gas burner feels good on this early winter’s morning. The first cup of coffee tasted pretty good so I reached for another. Coffee is the perfect medium for slipping back in time. As I peer out over the sparkling snow covered ground I am transported back to a Halloween morning when I was a younger man. A morning which I’ll remember and cherish for the rest of my life.
It was well after dark when I received the phone call from a friend who may or may not have worked for the Pennsylvania Game Commission. He was so excited that he could barely get his words out but the gist of the story was that a stocking truck had broken down en route to deliver pheasants to the local SGL (State Game Lands). Because the repairs to the truck were not made until late, there was barely enough time to get the birds off-loaded before dusk. In other words, numerous birds would be planted 12 hours in advance with no hunting pressure and John Q. Public would assume the stocking never took place since the truck was late upon arrival. What’s more, the impending snowfall would force the birds to bed down for the night and sit tight, in order to stay warm. Perfect storm kind of stuff.
I had a young German Shorthair at the time, my first, and Gertrude the Wonder Dog had not entirely embarrassed her master on the previous Saturday morning. As I rounded the bend in front of Dick Kerr’s house shortly after sunrise, I saw his kitchen light on and veered off the road and up the snow-covered drive. He answered the door in his pajamas and was caught off guard at receiving company at that early hour. I shared details with him and he excused himself to retrieve his shotgun. He was back quickly and we were off in the direction of the game lands in a matter of minutes.
As we pulled into the parking area, we were shocked to find the lot empty. Not a soul in sight with the whole place to ourselves. We disembarked, I slipped Gert’s bell onto her collar and off we headed towards the adjacent stream bank. Before clearing the cattails in front of us, maybe 25 yards, Gert locked up on point. Although this was the first time Dick and I had ever hunted together, he moved in behind her like we had done this a thousand times. Gert held steady and as the gracious host, I instructed Dick to walk in deliberately. The bird catapulted from the deep snow and burst into the air not 10 yards beyond Dick’s muzzle. He swung on the bird and promptly missed the “gimmie” opportunity. Now Dick is a pretty good trap shooter so this surprised me greatly. I shouted, encouragingly, “No worries, plenty more where that one came from!”
We advanced to the creek bank maybe 50 yards ahead and Gert registered her second point in as many minutes.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
Dick flushed his second bird and missed it too.
We worked our way to the end of the field, hugging the stream bank and as we neared the distant corner, again, Gert stiffened. Her nose was at ground level and her butt remained high, tail stiff and pointed skyward; the signs of a most solid point. Dick insisted that I take the shot whereas I walked directly in from the side, confidently kicked the grassy knoll and was almost bowled over by the erupting pheasant. And I missed. With both barrels.
This nonsense went on for some time with Dick and I taking turns at missing. Gert surely was thinking of going union on us for our poor shooting. Somewhere in the vicinity of 10 o’clock Dick decided to get serious and dropped a pheasant at what I recall to be a ridiculously long shot. Trap shooters showing off.
I did my part to solidify my deteriorating reputation as a bird guide but the damage was done. By morning’s end we each had a bird in the bag, a healthy dose of humble pie to enjoy with our coffee and a jack o’lantern full of memories to take home with us.
I run into Dick at church every once in a while and we exchange a knowing wink and a smile and we remember, together, that Halloween morning when we both forgot how to shoot.
Dave Bates writes a weekly outdoors column for the Observer-Reporter. He can be reached at alphaomegashootingsolutions@gmail.com