This is it. The eve of the 2012 pheasant season in North Dakota. The day the big rigs pull into town. I mean the fancy pickups with the custom dog boxes and trailers. The Cadillac Escalades that do double duty as the status vehicle at home and on the prairie.
As the crews get settled in they'll head out to scout the surrounding sections. Except this year it's all different. The grass is gone. The CRP has vanished and they'll be stunned at how bare and stark a landscape it is. Dry. Unfamiliar. Where will we hunt they'll ask. Where are the birds?
The majority of the crews hunt in gangs. The lab is the common breed of dog they use many of which haven't seen a day in the field in quite a while. But they'll be expected to perform miracles tommorow. How successful they'll be I can't say. There's no taking turns shooting with these crews. The mission is take no prisoners. Bird up and everyone shoots. Several times usually. Those tales will be told in the bars tommorow evening.
However I'm flattered by their presence knowing I live in a place bird hunters from all over the country deem a worthwhile destination. The average age goes up every year as this isn't a sport that seems to be drawing young people as time goes on among the traveling crowd anyway. Most of these guys will wonder after this season what happened. How could habitat and bird numbers change so dramatically year to year. Maybe this is it they'll think. A turning point. Maybe not worth coming next year.
As with any circus the costumes mask the true person underneath. So it is with these people. Behind the fancy rigs and gear you may or may not meet a true sportsman. You may or may not meet someone who has respect for fellow hunters and landowners let alone their dog's. I look for the older guys that travel in pairs. They're not loud but polite and don't display like peacocks with patches from this and that all over they're clothes. These are the guys that have real stories to tell and something to learn from if you can get them to talk because you see they've got no one to impress. That's not what it's about for them. On the other hand these days a field with their dog's and hunting partner mean the world to them. They respect the opportunity and any hospitality that's extended to them. I can spot them from quite a ways away.
The date I now wait for is the beginning of the North Dakota deer season. All the out of state traffic comes to a standstill and the local hunters then gas up their pickups and drive around trying to spot deer. This leaves the fields and pastures open. A feeling of solitude once again. Uninterrupted. Any late harvested crops reveal new groups of birds unharmed by the previous 3 weeks onslaught of gangs and their militia's with the magnum high speed loads. I'll stop to pick up their garbage. Shot shells, candy wrappers and those plastic soda bottles our culture just can't seem to live without now. I will never understand the littering but accept the sudden solitude as a true reward for choosing to live here. As quickly as "The Circus Comes To Town" it's gone again as the Setters and I turn into the wind.....
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