I remember the first time I traveled through this small town I now call home several years ago. It stood out from other small prairie towns I'd been through as we traveled through the western plains states. It was neat. Clean. Irrigated lawns kept the grass green into the fall and the streets were wide and void of much traffic. As you walked down the business main street you could hear country western music playing from speakers outside the local hardware store. A feeling and moment in time that could have easily been 40 or 50 years ago.
After I had retired I was drawn back to this place and moved into a house that could have been where "Leave It To Beaver" was filmed. A front porch. Dormers on the front and back with a nice yard and single car garage. It wasn't long before I got to know the routine of the town and how things worked in this culture of Russian German heritage. Each week has it's routine. Of course the school two blocks away creates the usual bus traffic and kids walking to and from. The Sale barn on the edge of town has sales on Thursdays so cattle are delivered on Wednesday then heard in a constant drone till hauled out again on Friday. The train usually comes through twice a week sounding it's whistle as it stops to pick up grain from the towers looming along the tracks in the heart of town. Garbage pickup is Mondays and Wednesdays with street sweeping going on constantly it seems. The Catholic church rings the bells daily at mid day I'm not quite sure why but it's a pleasant sound drifting through the neighborhoods. There are several active civic clubs that meet regularly and a Golden Age club that serves senior meals twice a week as well. There are the usual coffee clutches at the local cafe and many Pinochle games played somewhere everyday. For a town of about 750 people it seems like a lot of activity but in a sparsely populated area these are the opportunities for social interaction. I laugh at this because it's the same people at every event. Many people serve on multiple boards and organizations attending lots of meetings. Always the meetings. But they do it to keep this community alive and a place they're proud to live and raise their families.
So once I'd been here for awhile it didn't take long to notice something very special at least to me. Sundays. As I sat out on my front porch with a cup of coffee one morning I noted the specific feel of Sunday. No traffic on main street. No buses running. The cattle gone from the sale barn left just the calling of occasional geese flying overhead. All the routine of the week comes to a standstill on this day casting a silent spell over this little town. A time to reflect and enjoy what is small town life. I remembered the same feeling as a kid in the small town I grew up in. Even though I'm retired and can do as I choose on any day I still cherish the feel of Sundays as a time to pause. A time to look around and wonder about things.
In 2012 it was the second day of the Sharptail season on one of these Sunday's with sunny skies and little wind that I decided to load up the Setters for a run in a hilly pasture adjacent to a hay field. We headed out early before the temperature started to rise hoping to get in 2 or 3 hours of hunting in the mild weather we'd been having. As we traveled several miles we didn't pass another vehicle then turned onto a secondary road alone again a couple miles until we came to a section line road. Basically a field road. We headed north a mile and parked the Jeep planning to skirt the alfalfa and then work back east through the pasture. We had located several coveys in this area scouting during August so I knew these sections held at least 4 to 5 dozen Sharptail in addition to Pheasants that use the area as well.
As soon as I released the Setter's I noted the feeling of this morning. It was still with only the sound of the meadowlarks calling. A beautiful blue sky as a backdrop to the prairie and hills in front of us. We headed to the west and the Setters fanned out into the alfalfa. The birds had been very tough to hunt the previous day with windy conditions. You would think with the cover of wind you'd have an advantage but it's just the opposite. The birds are easier to hunt when it's still. They must feel more secure as they occupy the high ground using their eyes to watch for predators approaching. So today I had hopes we'd get a nice point on a covey. The pups circled around to me with tails wagging and continued casting about the alfalfa hitting all the likely places we'd seen birds here before but after 3/4 of a mile no cigar. As I scanned the area to the west now as we approached the pasture I suspected the birds were occupying the high ground there. They were here somewhere. This pasture is one that hadn't been over grazed which in this year was the exception having been so hot and dry. It has a spine so to speak down the center that is a favorite area for the birds here. I suspect some of the flat areas on top are used as dancing grounds with this population staying in close proximity to where they breed and raise their broods.
We cross the fence and enter the pasture from the west end working back towards the Jeep a mile away. Within seconds a covey of sharptail busts wild a couple hundred yards ahead and I worry about a repeat of the previous days difficulty getting within shooting range. It's just a gorgeous morning to be out for a walk anyway so I relax and continue watching the Setters work the area ahead as we climb the hills of the spine. There are plenty of bowls within these hills offering refuge to the birds. Now into the hills I watch as Beau and Mick get birdy slowing up on a rise with Beau to Micks left with head high into the wind. Birds ahead! Mick stops first with Beau going a few more steps not seeing Micks point taking in scent himself. Molly is to my right as I focus on these two coming to point on this rise. I'm 75 feet behind as I climb cautiously to the edge of the rise. I look to my right one more time to check on Molly and she's birdy as well. For a split second I debate whether to follow her or proceed to Mick and Beau a little farther away. I keep heading towards them slowly. Half the distance to them birds start flushing. Not just ahead of them but all around them! Within a couple seconds at least 20 birds have taken flight. I pick out a bird flying to the south at 35 yards and fire. Bird down. Then I quickly look back towards Molly and she's on point just down the west side of the rise to my right! Often times there are delayed flushes with Sharptail catching you off guard but with multiple pointing dogs you have some advantage anyway. I knew the first bird was dead and both Mick and Beau had marked the bird so I proceeded towards Molly's point not taking time to reload the first shell. No time. I'd just have to shoot well! So laughing to myself I remembered my Dad teaching me to hunt with a single shot 410 "You've got one shot make it count!." So I made my approach with Molly just rock solid with her eyes fixed at a point about 5 feet in front of her. I got within 10 yards and a Sharptail exploded from the grass straight away to the west falling with the report from my 20 gauge. What a relief I felt indeed having made that shot count shooting the bird for Molly. She was quick to move ahead to recover her bird and as she picked it up I turned to look back and here comes Mick not to be out done with his bird in his mouth followed by Beau joining Molly and myself. What a moment. Water all around!
After a good drink with all tails wagging approval we continued west through the pasture. The Setters crossed back into a section of the hay field and worked some moving birds culminating in a point with all 3 strung out in a line headed by Beau in the lead. This turned out to be a brood of young Pheasants with the roosters just starting to show good color. Regardless of whether a shot is fired it's a joy to watch the show. It's hard to relate to someone what hunting with multiple pointing dogs is like but it adds an incredible dimension to the experience. It's well worth the time and expense required when you watch these moments come together before your eyes.
A quarter mile from the Jeep we're still in the hills when I check my Garmin to locate Mick and he's out 150 yards east and I spot him as I come to the top of a rise. He's on point at the base of the next hill. Characteristic of Mick he turns his head towards me to see where I'm at. He's the only one that does this. And when he spots me he wags his tail slightly turning back into the scent as if to say "OK game on!" I've a ways to go so I hustle up weighted down by the two birds in my shoulder bag. Once the other two dogs see my pace quicken they look ahead and spot the action. Hunting as a pack the Setters pick up on any nuances that indicate somebody's found birds myself included. We all then converge on Mick's point with Molly and Beau honoring from a good distance away. I'm skeptical of whether or not this is a Sharpatil since the bird was holding so well but I came closer and closer now within 15 yards of Mick. He straightened his tail as I approached another Mick attribute. He was looking down into the pasture grass a few feet ahead and I walked right past him with the other dogs watching intently to my right. Nothing flushed as I moved ahead so I looked back at where Micks eyes were focused and followed the line kicking the grass. Sure enough a Sharptail burst out of the grass to the north slightly to my left and fell to the ground with my shot. I had just tipped it over with a wing shot and Mick did his best to secure the flopping bird holding it with his paw till I got there. Mick is a very smart hunter so not to be fooled by his somewhat laid back style at times. He's a little slower yes but his methodical approach has foiled the best wild birds time and again.
What a difference a day makes I thought. A total change in how the birds had behaved in 24 hours time. We made our way to the Jeep feeling the heat starting to rise slightly. We had captured the best hours of the day. Mission accomplished. Another beautiful September Sunday morning.
