A quiet walk

Layla had slowed a bit. The morning session had taken an edge off her youthful oompf, but as she hit bird scent there was no doubting her energy levels as her body language changed completely.

The dog and I had set out together post lunch, walking to our hunting point. With the M. bovis outbreak, our vehicles are now quarantined to the house area, and we'd cleaned our boots in bleach to ensure that we weren't going to put the farm's cattle at risk in any way. Walking suited me anyhow, as pheasants have great ears and I prefer a silent approach. My plan was to hunt the river bank to the back of the farm and get in a few hours to see if I could add a couple of roosters to the morning's bag. Earlier, Craig, Mick and I had hunted the farm centre with Axel, Jock and Layla in tow - or I should say, leading us. Our early flurry had been productive with Craig taking two early birds and Mick and I one each. We'd then swept a few gullys before circling around and working down towards the river before retiring for lunch with a nice bag.

Morning bird

As per the previous week's hunt, I bumped hen after hen. These things happen, but this year I seem to be a chick magnet! Layla was working her bum off. On one occasion in front of Craig she got super birdy and drove a magnificent cock bird from a gorse thicket. The angle and her close pursuit of the bird made a safe shot impossible for either of us; even so it was a neat bit of work.

After a 15 minute walk we entered the first paddock. The breeze wasn't ideal as it was on the back of my neck. Layla skirted the blackberry and flax fringe above the river while I kept her as close in as I could. The 2 cocks that burst away did so a ways out. The spooky buggers had watched us come in and with a leeward wind Layla hadn't been able to pick them up. We got to their launch point and she was crazy with birdyness. Moving another 50 metres we got to a thick patch of blackberry. The dog pushed in and began to crawl her way through. She exited, ran back down and got stuck in again - this time pushing a hen that rose with a clatter of wings in easy range.

It was some time later and several km further before we hit the next scent on the bush edge. Layla pushed into a ti tree thicket and drove a hen out; she curled back over me and would have presented a challenging shot if she had been a he. Several hundred metres on the dog lit up and drove into the native wood - out sailed yet another hen! We worked our way through likely spots, and arrived at a gorse thicket where the previous hunt I'd snaked a bird. Layla told me she was on a scent and got in. I positioned myself below the thicket - surely the bird would - before I'd even finished my thought "Cackle CACKLE!!" the rooster burst out at the far edge of the gorse and flew away over the nearest hill. I didn't even lay eyes on him. Layla grinned her way back to me. She'd chased the bird out and up the hill and was returning with a smile on her dial. She seems to not mind my foibles.

We sat for a rest and a couple of minutes contemplating the scenery. Its a beautiful part of the world and we're so lucky to be able to share it. There was another reason to take a rest. In the back of my mind I'd been aiming to hunt this part of the farm. Its just plain birdy; scrubby riverbank, with low cover backing into native timber. Re-energised, we got underway. The first cock bird wrong footed me and gave no chance for a shot. We worked through the scrub but it was damp underfoot and didn't seem to be holding. At the point of the peninsula we turned and worked the far side, which whilst drier underfoot wasn't holding either. Strange, this was really good territory. The next hillock has scant eaten out scrub and an overhead canopy - Layla hit a scent and boomed in on a bird but I was well behind and the rooster cackled away into the distance without being shot at. We pushed into a patch of fern and birds began to erupt  - hen after hen jumped and flew. At least half a dozen hens had gone - surely a rooster was in here? Layla pushed in and finally with a beat of wings and a crow a rooster jumped - his trajectory was limited by the kahikatea tree he launched from under so he tried to fly directly upwards and presented an easy shot. Layla brought him in and handed over a fine bird. A quick photo shoot. A drink. A pat for the dog. She lay on the ground rubbing her belly on the wet grass to cool down. Funny, funny little dog. 2 birds down, 1 to go.

Dad I got a mouff full of feathers

We crested the next rise and followed the bush edge down to where it intersected the river. The cock bird that launched from the far riverbank was pretty unlucky that my snap shot undid him. At 35m an ounce of #5 lead isn't a dense load and he was well in flight when I fired, but I saw his head snap back and he fluttered down to earth dead as a doornail. Layla leaped into the river, crossed and picked him up before fording the river back and delivering the gleaming bird to me. He was bigger than our released birds and upon checking him out I found no tags. A fine wild bird, not one of our releases - a real trophy.

Phew, take this damn thing!

With birds tucked away in my vest I slung the gun over my shoulder and noticed that my dodgy knee was sending out signals, little pain spikes with each step. I couldn't have cared less. Layla trotted along beside me, she'd had a big day and had worked like a demon. I decided on a less circuitous road home and took the old bridge. As we got closer to the morning's drop off point I saw Craig on top of a nearby rise and then a bird got up - both he and Mick fired as the cock shot away. 10 minutes later I'd caught them up. They'd hit the rooster and Jock had recovered it from a massive tangle of blackberry. By mutual agreement that had been our last act of the day. Drizzle set in as we headed back to the house, framing what had been a perfect day chasing long tails.

Flipping pheasants

As the cock bird wrangled with the size dominant turkey for presumably territory it really looked a David Vs Goliath battle - only Goliath on this occasion seemed to be making headway in a battle where the contestants jumped, flapped and flashed with raking claws. At one stage the rooster clean flipped over backwards and landed on his feet. He got back into the fray immediately, staunchly defending his patch. "Cocky" is his name, a favourite of Craig's dad and who as such has earned god like immunity from being hunted.  We drove on after watching for a few minutes; we had a decent bag to clean.

It was lunchtime of the second day of our annual 'pheasant opener'. We were done for the weekend with 35 odd birds in hand for the 7 of us and our assorted dogs. While driving I reflected about the trouble I'd had putting myself in a position to shoot cock birds during the Saturday morning session.  A succession of hens had been pushed by Layla and my only chances had been sharp momentary glimpses of rooster bum. Layla had at least got rooster taste in her mouth by whipping in and grabbing birds that Craig had shot; I was hunting with him and his new dog Jock and Jock was being out-experienced by Layla. He'll learn.

Craig had 2 birds aboard by the time the group split into smaller teams. He and I, Jock and Layla worked pockets of blackberry and gorse. Twice cock birds ran ahead of me and refused to fly. Twice I yelled out and they only increased their pace and outdistanced me. Finally a bird flushed my way and I took him, a really nice bird, with an overhead shot.  Layla retrieved the rooster and posed for a shot.

Near dusk Layla was pushing into a large gorse thicket. She was lit up and when the bird jumped I had time only for a snapshot. Feathers flew but so did the bird. My last sight of it was as it curled around some trees. Jethro was well above me and walked down to tell me that the bird had fallen stone dead 150m away. I took his directions and moved towards where he said the bird lay. Almost there, a shot rang from 100m away. I spun and a bird hurtled over my shoulder, I snapped a shot and the pheasant hit the ground then performed an almost perfect back flip - flipping pheasants indeed. 

It had been a memorable day in the field.

That evening we drank cold beer in front of a raging fire, which after a day's hunting is an unbeatable combination in my opinion.

Jock

My luck turned somewhat on Sunday morning. I killed a limit and a paradise duck in a mostly solo hunt. Back at base we hung the birds for the annual photo shoot and then set about cleaning them.

Job done.