When there are a lot of pheasants around, there’s generally enough shooting for everyone. But in a year like this when bird numbers are down, guys tend to jump at the chance to burn a little gunpowder. This happened a few weeks ago.
We’d been walking all day with nothing to show for our efforts but a few dozen hens, when suddenly a lone rooster crowed into flight at the end of a wheat field. He flushed between all three of us and since no one had fired a shot all day, we all opened fire. What sounded like one, loud shot was actually three, all fired simultaneously. The bird didn’t fare too well. A quick discussion confirmed that we’d all fired.
On the way back to the hotel in the evening, we made one final stop at a patch of fireweed. As we cleared the thickest tangle, two roosters launched at the same time. One flew left and Scott shot it. The other flew to the right and Dennis and I teamed up to bring it down.
Eight hours of hard walking had yielded a single bird. Three minutes in a patch the size of a swimming pool produced a brace.
As we were carrying the big, January birds back to the truck, there were smiles all around and it was Dennis who figured it out first…
“Today we learned a lesson in bird hunter’s math. By my count we each shot two birds today. Sure we only have three in the back of the truck, but true as the day is long, we each killed two.”
“When you look at it that way, Dennis, it was a great day of bird hunting!” I responded.