Saturday and Sunday, September 24th and 25th I was privileged to take part as a volunteer in the annual youth pheasant hunt on Fort Lewis. This is my second year working with the pheasant release volunteers and I still had fresh memories of smiling faces and excited kids from last year’s hunt.
Kaia also volunteered! Together we worked to hunt up the birds that had been released in the field early that morning. Another volunteer from Pheasants Forever kept track of the kids who needed dogs and paired them up with volunteers who had bird hunting dogs.
Kaia and I were paired up with a young man named Dawson. Dawson’s Dad and Granddad were also coming along to observe. When the hunt started at 8:00 AM we began working our way through the knolls and the briars that dot this section of prairie. With a big chunk of ground to ourselves, we worked from West to East allowing a light southerly breeze to carry the pheasant perfume to Kaia’s sensitive nose.
Kaia was working around a thick patch of blackberries when we watched her shove her way into the middle of the briars. “Watch the dog”, I said to Dawson, “There’s gotta be one in there or she wouldn’t be plowing in like that!” Dawson could have been boring holes through the bramble with his eyes. His form was perfect; he was locked into a level of focus and attention that we seldom see in kids these days.
“He should come up out of the briars and you’ll be clear to shoot in that direction Dawson.” The boy nodded and remained focused on the bush where Kaia was thrashing. The bird was holding tight and time was holding even tighter as a few slow seconds ticked by punctuated only by the rattle of blackberry vines as Kaia pushed deeper into the berry patch trying to get whatever was hiding there.
When the rooster flushed we could see immediately that he was a nice, big, pheasant cock. His long tail wobbled in the characteristic fashion of a rooster that is scratching for altitude as fast as he can get it. Dad and Grandpa, who had been trying their best to keep quiet and allow me to steer the hunt, could not resist shouting, “There he is, Dawson, there! There!
Dawson mounted his shotgun and swung on the bird. I couldn’t help but wonder how much of the instruction he’d received was flying through his mind at the moment, “don’t shoot until the bird’s higher than a man’s height, pay attention to your background, don’t release the safety until you’re ready to shoot, remember the gun has two triggers, keep both eyes open, keep the gun swinging, be prepared for a follow up shot if necessary”, and a bunch of other stuff that he’d heard at least a thousand times.
Kids tend to listen when you teach them about guns. There’s something about the rare combination of excitement, responsibility and the absolute need to pay attention that seems to help them focus and learn. Dawson was no exception, and I took my eyes off the bird and the dog just long enough to see him pause as the bird rocketed upwards and finally leveled off at about 25 feet off the ground. The big rooster was kicking in the afterburners and headed away from us on a slight right to left angle.
Dawson fired and the big rooster folded immediately, plummeting earthward and landing in a small patch of brush near a fir tree. Kaia froze and her gaze was locked on me, awaiting my instruction. Dawson was grinning from here to ear, his Dad and Grandpa let out a big cheer as Dawson pressed the button that returned the shotgun to the safe position.
I shouted, “Kaia!” and the yellow lab launched like a rocket toward the bush where the pheasant had fallen. We watched as she crashed into the brush and disappeared, her tail spinning behind her like a single-bladed propeller. She emerged a minute later with the bird in her mouth and ran towards the group of three men and a young boy who was basking in the glory of his first successful pheasant hunt.
Kaia delivered the bird to my hand and I passed the brightly colored rooster to the smiling kid who had earned it. I recalled Dawson from his Hunter Education class where I volunteered as an instructor. He’s a bright young kid who is attentive and respectful. I congratulated him and told him that he had done a fine job. “Dawson, you are welcome in my hunting party any time”.
Later that morning the crew from Pheasants Forever sponsored a tasty lunch with hamburgers and hotdogs. I watched Dawson munching his burger, his thoughts were obviously miles away or maybe just a few hundred yards away in the field where he had just crossed over the threshold into a space that only hunters occupy.
I hope Dawson kept a tail feather from that bird and I hope he’ll remember the hunt as long as I will.
