Woodcock

I had it all set. October and November were carefully planned. I had a long stretch of time off at the end of October and early November. Prime time for pheasant and grouse hunting in Wisconsin and perhaps a road trip west. Never mind that I'd be working my tail off for the remainder of the four months in the schedule block. Then it happened. That heart to heart discussion with my wife, THE love of my life. My current job was not working for our family. Too much time away. Too much of my mental energy displaced to academic projects, meetings and duties, never mind the shifts in the emergency department. Something had to change.

I called one of my former partners who left academics to take a community job in Madison, Wisconsin. Turns out they were hiring, and they needed somebody yesterday. Making the decision to leave a stable job in this economy was not an easy one, but I had to do what was best for my family. My hunting season was scratched. Time would be scratched out around family life and working full time in the emergency department. The move date was October 1st, and after a few days off to settle in to the new place, I would start my new job. This year would not be the upland odyssey I had hoped for.

Yet, there is redemption.

I found a patch of public hunting land about 5 minutes from my new house. It didn't look real promising from the road, maybe the kind of place that state dumps a few pheasants to keep the locals happy, but really not much else. We worked some open fields on the front half of the property, curious about the possibility of pheasants. The season didn't open for another week and a half, but scouting never hurts. We found none. However, when we got over a small rise, I saw the glimmering yellow/green flutter of aspen leaves in a thick patch. I had decided to carry my 20g Franchi over and under that day. I knew there were some streams on the property and thought we might find a woodcock or two along the waterways. I had several boxes of steel #7 that I bought on clearance and wanted to use up. I thought they might make a nice load for woodcock. Within a minute of hitting the aspens, Whit, my six year old Weimaraner, got very birdy. I lost her in the thick stuff. All was silent for moment and then I saw the tan/brown flutter break through the trees. I took a desperate poke, and much to my surprise, Whit returned moments later with our first woodcock of the season in her mouth. Over the next half an hour, Whit moved fluidly from point to point. It was the kind of hunting I'd read about, but never experienced. The type of hunting pointing dog guys dream about. We flushed a total of 6 woodcock, five over points. The unpointed bird flushed to my right when whit was pointing one on my left. I had shots a four and brought home two. After shooting the second, I decided to leave. It is a pretty small covert, and I definitely didn't want to shoot it up. I also thought it would be pretty hard to improve upon from there.

I should mention that we were hunting in the rain. Not a sprinkle, but a deluge. And a Biblical one at that. Didn't matter. It was some of the most glorious, most sublime upland hunting I've ever experienced. All is well. Family life is again a priority, and it turns out the hunting season might not be so bad.