Anatomy of a slump

I am in a slump. A slump of grand porportions. I haven't seen a wild game bird in over two weeks. Worse yet, it is November 13th and I have yet to shoot a wild bird. My bird hunting journal tells me I've been 12 times this season to hunt wild birds and have nothing to show for it. I stand to lose what little credibility I have as a dedicated upland bird hunter.

The season started out well enough. We chased woodcock in late September and early October. We never got into the flights like we did last season, but put them up in one's and two's. Not all of them presented shots, and the ones that did were cleanly missed. I spent an absolutely lovely day in grouse country, but only put up one woodcock that my parnter missed. Pheasant season opened in mid-October. Conditions were far from ideal with many warm, dry days. Nonetheless, at first we were getting into birds, but never more than two on a given day. I can recall exactly three birds that were put up over solids points that offered reasonable shots. Missed them all. Now, we can't seem find birds anywhere, despite a record number of boots-on-the-ground hours.

I think part of the slump is the natural ebb and flow of bird season. In October, the birds are relatively naive and sometimes offer easier shooting. By November, the dumb ones are gone and the hard scrabble survivors are the only ones left. The weather has been mild, so the cover is still in excellent shape. Whit has pointed many a bird that has just run from us through acres of unbroken cover. When winter comes, the birds will concnetrate in the thicker cover and perhaps offer us better opportunities. Now, the odds are clearly tipped in their favor.

I've now been a serious upland hunter for about the past 6 years. I recognize there are plenty of guys (and gals) out there with way more experience than me. Regardless, I've been doing this long enough to learn a thing or two. I spent a lot of time at the gun club this past summer working on my shooting technique. By August, I was shooting much more consistently. My dog is 8 years old and true professional. I don't need to tell her what to do, I just let her loose and follow. I understand the habits of game birds, am knowledgeable of their habitat and understand how to use cover and wind to my advantage. Doesn't seem to be helping me out of the slump.

I told my wife I was going to sell all my guns and pick up a new hobby. She knew I was not serious. The affliction still burns. We'll be out again in two days. Maybe day number 13 will be the lucky one.

Whit and how she got here

A guy could stand to do a lot worse with his first birddog. The upland bird hunting bug bit me hard in my final year of specialty training. Shortly thereafter, we moved to Milwaukee. We had a very nice, 1920's era home, but it was under 1400 sq. feet and had a yard like a postage stamp. We also had a brand new baby and 70 pound lab-mix from the humane society. And I was just starting my career, needed to pass my boards and figure out the academic aspect of my career. My initial pleas to bring home a birddog fell on deaf ears.

After a while, my wife relented. She gave me some criteria, which if met, would mean I could get another dog. First, she was only interested in a Weimaraner. I had wanted a German Shorthair Pointer given their good looks and "out the box" hunting abilities. My wife was not keen on the breed. Noted author Tom Davis referred to Weimaraners as that are credible hunters as "kind of like bigfoot; I've heard of them but never seen one". She only wanted a female. She found the marking behavior of males annoying. Additionally, the dog needed to be at least two years old and professionally trained. Perhaps this part was wise. I didn't know the first thing about training a birddog and certainly didn't have an abundance of time to learn how.

I set about my search. This was in 2004. Many breeders did not have websites at that point. In fact, there are still some prominent breeders without websites. Googling "hunting weimaraners" didn't yield much useful information. I browsed the back of hunting magazines, and found small add for a breeder of Weimaraners from hunting stock. I emailed the breeder and told him what I was looking for: a two-year old or older, started female Weimaraner. Predictably, he emailed back something to the effect of "sorry, we have nothing of the sort". And then, the improbable happened. He emailed me back less than an hour later. The email was brief; "call me. I might have a dog for you".

That afternoon, one of his clients returned a two-year old female Weimaraner that had quite a bit of professional training. Seems he had to move out of state unexpectedly and could not accommodate a dog. The price was fair, and the dog checked all the boxes. My wife admitted that she thought she sent me on an impossible mission, but conceded that I had met the challenge. Now, I just needed to figure out how to make time to drive the 7 hours to the breeder in order to evaluate the dog. I sent a deposit and started looking for dates to make the drive.

Things then got even better. The breeder was driving to Madison, Wisconsin to buy some goats. Seems dogs were not the only animals he was breeding on his farm. He offered to let me look at the dog in Madison, which was only 90 minutes away. Deal.

We set out on snowy night in February to meet to the breeder and the dog. We walked into their hotel room and were greeter by an energetic, friendly Weim, not the "aloof" attitude they are often said to possess. My wife set down the car seat with our infant daughter snuggled inside. Whit gently sniffed her and then curled up beside the carrier. Sold.

I brought Whit out to the parking lot and opened the back glass on our small SUV. Whit leaped in, easily clearing the tail gate which was still in the upright position. Not everything went smoothly at first. Whit was very dominant with other dogs. She would mount our 6 year-old lab mix daily, just to show him who is the boss. She would not start fights with other dogs, but she was for damn sure not going to back down. I tried taking her on runs with me, but they did little to tire her. The only thing that seemed calm her was off-leash running.

In March, I had my first opportunity to take her hunting. The wild bird season had been closed since December, so my only choice was a game farm. I had no idea what she would do. I let her loose for the first time, not knowing if she would run off, hunt, point or do anything that a birddog is supposed to do. I was overwhelmed with joy when she went on point a few minutes later. I flushed the pheasant and shot it cleanly. She was on it moments and retrieved it to hand. Before I could tuck it in my game pouch, she was off hunting again. I couldn't believe my luck.

Whit and I have been partners now for over 6 years. She's an old pro now. She's not perfect, but we have a good working relationship. I forgive her her faults, and she mostly forgives me mine (I do get protests if I my shooting gets too poor). Given the circumstances under which I found her, I can't ask for much more.