Monday, January 10, 2011

The closer

Well, the 2010 upland season is over. Sadly, it was without a doubt my worst season ever. I guess it is ironic that I decided to start a blog this season. My last day out was particularly memorable, and not in a good way.

My friend Jeff and I had talked about heading north to hunt grouse that day. The nearest grouse country is about two hours north of us. There was more than a foot of snow on the ground and the temps were low. Hunting in those conditions can be pretty rough, and both man and dog can fatigue quickly when you are breaking trail through that much snow. We decided to chase pheasants closer to home, rather than drive two hours north to be turned back by conditions. Call me a wimp if you'd like.

When we pulled up to my local hot spot, we discovered some deer hunters beat us there. I thought all the deer seasons were over, but here in Wisconsin it can be hard to keep track with muzzle loader, doe-only, CWD zones and a variety of seasons other outside the more traditional season. I suggested we try some lowlands surrounded by cattails near by. Big mistake.

The going was tough with deep, drifted snow interspersed by as-of-yet unfrozen sink holes. The first leg of our exploration proved fruitless, save for a couple snipe that the dogs showed only passing interest in. We decided to cross a creek to reach some desirable bird cover. We looked for a natural crossing, and failing that, decided to jump at the narrowest spot. I unloaded my double and lept across, boot tip just dragging in the muck. Jeff followed me and missed the landing, sinking to his chest almost instantly. Jeff scrambled out of the creek with a little assistance from me. It was time to get the heck out there, as the temps were well below freezing. Hypothermia is one of the big killers in the outdoors. We were not that far from the truck, but neither Jeff nor I had any interest in taking a soak on the way back. We followed the creek for a while until we found a downed tree wtih some hand holds we could cross. I tossed my empty gun into a snow bank on the other side and carefully crosed. Jeff followed, this time staying out of the water. From there, we high-tailed it back to the truck.

Once safely in the truck, heat set on high, I realized that even semi-frozen creek muck still smells. Bad. Being a bird hunter is like being a Cubs fan sometimes. Even when you got nothing but lose, you can always hope for next season.

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