10/30/2023
It was a morning. My excitement had built all afternoon the day before. I saw the full moon as it was rising, and the wind was shifting from southwest to northwest which explained some of my excitement.
I found it difficult to fall asleep, looking forward to the morning. I had a dream of woodc**k flight birds having come to Northern Indiana. Sadly, I woke from the dream to realize it was only a dream. An unwanted alarm clock woke both my wife and I earlier than we desired, but we got up and started our Saturday. She sat down to her coffee, while I had my breakfast and made a small lunch.
The tools of the hunt had been in the back of truck for 2 weeks, quietly waiting to be used, since the last trip a week before. The day held a lot of promise and compromise; Do I take the 20 gauge or the 16 gauge? Where will I start? Do I pursue this game or that? You see, it is opening day for ducks and geese in Northern Indiana, woodc**k season has been open for 2 weeks and deer season has been open for a month. With a shift in the weather, there has been more activity in the past few days.
I checked in at the Station, reviewed a few things and decided to start to the East and work my way to the West side of the property. Waterfowl hunters were plying their trade at various points of the compass, whilst I stumbled through the grass and brush in pursuit of the prince. A flush and horrible handling on my part, "The prince of gamebirds evaded capture." Time to go West, young man!
The dog (October, a liver and white Britt) was crated and the few miles traveled brought us back to the scene of the previous week, only this time, my wife was away on her own business. October slammed into a point 100 yards from the truck at the very edge of a hardwood stand. I questioned his behavior, but chose to move in ahead of him and follow up on his point. A large bush a few feet in front of my hunched form blocked the prince as he jumped up, turned north and evaded capture, once again, without even a salute.
A little slice of heaven in the area drew October and I through its gates of chest high grasses. A mere 35 feet in, woodc**k started to flush. The first coming high, left to right towards the sun, obscuring the view of my shot. A few more feet and another bird flushed, followed a few feet later by another: all accompanied by poor shooting. Finally, 1 was brought to bag, followed by 2 reflushes, a shell with a bad primer, a click and the left barrel firing and a 2nd bird. October was settling in and pointing but was frustrated by my poor efforts. As I reached for more cartridges to feed the Flues, I discovered only 1 remained. A short walk of shame back to the truck produced more cartridges.
As I reflected on my prior poor performances, we reentered the aspen run and October had pinned another woodc**k. I was determined to bear down and be sure to bring the Flues all the way to my cheek and make a better effort. As the bird broke cover, I turned slightly, planted my feet, tracked the escaping prince, shouldered and watched a puff of feathers as the he fell back to Earth.
