A Self-Proclaimed Existence

Wow, I'm tired.

So the amount of sleep I've recieved has been minimal since Tuesday night. That's how it's supposed to be during this weekend. Lots of cards have been played, and I mean LOTS. Steve showed up and the card games began. We went and played poker until 3:15. Of course I didn't get to bed before 4:30. I woke up about 8 and tossed and turned for about half an hour.
Thursday night we played cards until 2, well, I played cards until 2. I went hunting so I went to bed about 2:30 and got up at 5:30. I did manage to sneak an hour nap in from 3:30 til 4:30 but then stayed up long enough for my alarm to go off like it did the night before. I slept until 8, but fell back asleep about 9 and woke up about 11. Oh well. that's how it goes for thanksgiving weekend here.

posted by Rusty @ 1:02 AM Comments: 0

Turkey Day.

It's Turkey Day.
Turkey, dressing, smashed taters, ham (yes, we have ham at our thankgiving too) 30 close friends and family, salads, that peach jello shit that all the kids (myself included) pass on and all that laughter, handshakes and hugs that go with Thanksgiving.
Following the meal the number game will be played. My grandfather picks a number between 1-1000 and we go around the table cutting it down until one person ends up with the number. The poor bastard who ends up picking the number has to clear the table. That's a lot of work when you have 30-35 people for thanksgiving dinner. Of course the person who gets the number, picks a helper and then the helper picks a helper, so there are 3 people clearing the table.
Cards will be played, both at my grandparents and then back at home til the cows come home. That could suck since we're getting up to go hunt tomorrow morning.
I need to special order sleep.

posted by Rusty @ 8:39 AM Comments: 2

This white stuff?

What is this white stuff falling from the sky? Could it be a frozen form of precipitation? Could my phone ring tomorrow as the G-man suddenly comes down with stomach flu, only to miracously recover after he hangs up from work? Could my father actually accompany us on a trek into the wilderness to hunt the ever elusive quarry we hunt? Could we call soy milk soy juice? (Sorry, I couldn't resist)

posted by Rusty @ 9:47 PM Comments: 0

I feel a nap coming on.

I'm worn out. It's been a busy week.
I just got home from hunting with G-squared. Originally our plan was to assemble a group and spend most of the day hunting. Unfortunately, all our hunters had disappeared for this weekend. Coach was at practice, Rod the Bod went home and Nikolai was at work. The Import wanted to go, but his son was sick so he was ruled out. Not a big deal as the G-man and I decided to go out anyways. Our line of thinking was that we could at least chase quail for half of the morning. And that's exactly what we did.
I blamed the three beers I had last night for my inexcusable shooting. I sucked. The only thing I killed at first was air. In fact, if I had been a lumberjack, the only thing safe in the forest would have been the trees.
I did remedy the fact by ended up shooting 4 quail. The G-man shot 4 as well.
Not a bad morning's work.

posted by Rusty @ 1:27 PM Comments: 0

The weekend endeth

The greatest weekend in Kansas is over.
As predicted, I was a basketcase on Friday. I could barely contain myself. However, I did manage to actually retire for the evening at about midnight and somwhow I was able to get around four hours of sleep. My alarm popped on at 4:15. At 4:15:03, my feet hit the floor. My next order of business was to turn the coffee pot on. After all, every hunter needs coffee in the morning.
Once the coffee was brewing, I finished dressing. It felt good to put on my shooting shirt and my hunting jeans. It had only been about 9 months since I had worn them. Dad milled around for a little but eventually got all his stuff together, even though it had been laid out. We put some Cokes in a small cooler to take, while also filling a water jug. By this time, I was really jacked up to go. I'm worse than a child at Christmas when it comes to this. Donny came and picked us up and away we went.
We got to Joe's about 5:30. There were already some guys in the courtyard area, some were sipping on coffee in the brisk air, others were making adjustments to guns, while even a few stayed in the warm confines of the truck. I introduced myself to some people that I hadn't met before. After a short wait, Danny showed up with the Killer Van and the boxes that hold the birds. I didn't really know what to expect, but I had visions of a wooden box with air holes. Actually, the boxes were made out of wire mesh with doors that could be slid open by pulley. Danny also passed out some miner's headlamps, while others handed out goggles.
Inside the flight pen, there were probably 100 birds in the catch pen. Danny and three others went inside the catch pen to catch the birds. Joe stood outside and took the birds handed from the guys inside. Two others cut blinders off and banded them with orange wire ties around one leg. I was busy opening the door, while dad was counting birds. We ended up with 74 roosters.
I bet the whole process took about 30 minutes. The sky was just beginning to lighten in the east when we finished up. Danny, Dennis, Duck and I loaded up a box of 20 birds into the back of the Killer Van, then deposited the box back at Danny's. We drove back to Joe's which is only about two miles from Danny's. By now I was chomping at the bit to get going. I think at that point, my leg could have been severed, but I would have still been walking that first field. After what seemed like an eternity, we loaded up to get going. A couple of people, including my father stayed behind to block.
We drove the half mile and worked the patch from the south to the north, against the wind. For some reason I ended up on the east end of the patch, between Rick and Dennis. The party started moving slowly and the hunt was on.
We must not have been more than 30 yards into the patch when the first rooster broke about 65 yards in front of us. By the size, I guessed that it was an actual wild one. Soon, I had my first shot at a rooster, which I missed. However, my next shot hit the sucker, along with the other two guys that shot. I chalked it up as a team kill. I knocked my first rooster out of the sky when it flushed in front of me. The next rooster I shot, came at me. I shot and the bird's momentum almost carried it to my feet. I swear all I would have had to do was step up and catch it. The third bird I shot, I had to shoot it on the ground as it tried to run away.
Now during all this time, the line had somehow shifted and suddenly Rick and I had to cover about 75 yards between the two of us. That was no mean feat, considering that the CRP grass was bordering on being over my head. I know that the birds were running around us even though we were doing the best we could to cover the ground. The fourth rooster I shot was one that wouldn't fly. He kept looking at me while trying to slink away. Finally, one of the guys yelled to shoot it. So I did. I didn't shoot another one in Danny's or the second time around in Joe's.
The final numbers for Saturday were that our party of 18 shot 46 roosters. HOWEVER, only 31 were banded. that means there are 43 still out there. We ate half of the birds right then and they were wonderful. Russ was wondering why he didn't knock any down, but we came to find out that he was shooting 8's. I laughed incredibly hard when I found this out. I also told him "No, wonder. You're effectively just spitting on the bird."
We got home about 2:30. Around 3, Dad and I got a wild hair and we ran out to walk one more patch. We ended up shooting another rooster apiece.
Sunday brought 7 of us and more of a normal hunt. I shot 3 more to bring my total to 8 for the weekend. Not a bad weekend by personal standards.

posted by Rusty @ 10:55 PM Comments: 4

Part two of the story

Remember, this is true.
So I thought nothing could top the 150 yard sprint that occured on opening day. I should know that whatever I think, can be out done.
There were seven of us. We started at daybreak in this little patch of CRP. On opening day, we were only allowed to hunt half of it. On Sunday, we were allowed to walk the whole thing. It was only about 200 yards wide by a mile long.
The theory we employ in big patches is to walk the edges. By walking the edges the group will push birds out from the middle into the lanes of fire. In this theory, the 2nd and 3rd corners are supposed to be where all the action is.
Anyways, we started and shot one rooster right away. We continued on and shot a couple more through the second corner. We approached the third corner with Tony on the outside edge, Butch, me, Gerb, Gyles, Jar, and Matt. We got to the third corner and had just barely started swinging when a rooster flushed and Tony knocked it down. Again another rooster flushed, and once again Tony knocked it down.
Except he didn't kill it.
The pheasant landed in the green wheat field next to the patch we were hunting. Just like the day before, it rolled and popped to its feet. From there on, he ran like he had stolen something. Tony took off after him and I joined chase. Tony tried to shoot it again but never got within enough range to successfully injure it to slow it down. I tried to hit it a couple of times but missed. It's really hard to shoot on the dead run.
Running perpendicular to the edge of our patch were telephone wires. Why? I'm not sure as there wasn't a homestead on the entire section. Around the base of each pole was a clump of grass. I saw the rooster go in the first patch of grass. Tony was about 40 yards ahead of me. He saw this too so he veered off towards the grass. As he got to the grass, I saw this bird come out of the other end of the grass like the Roadrunner. I think I even heard it "Meep Meep."
Tony didnt' see what I saw, but he snapped too when I started firing. A loud click told me that my gun was empty. Of course I'm still on the run at this point. Again the bird goes into the patch of grass, and runs out the other side. By now my only thought was to try to tackle the rooster. The rooster had a lead of about 65 yards on us and we were tiring. About 200 yards ahead there was a hedge row that ran off to the east. I knew that if the bird got in the trees, we wouldn't see it ever again. For a third straight time the bird goes by a telephone pole and we lose sight of it. Once more it comes out the other side. He's not running as fast, but then again neither are we. Remember, I've never claimed to be really fleet of foot. Somehow i managed to get within range now and perhaps even more amazing is that I managed to load my gun. Finally I pull up and blast away. The bird rolls, and starts to drag itself off. My thoughts are of "Holy shit, what is this bird made of?" It was like a really bad cartoon.
In what can only be described as move as graceful brutality, I managed to kind of flop on top of the rooster before it could get away. Tony and I started laughing between sucking oxygen in great gasping breaths. We both turned around to find out that we had run OVER 400 yards to catch this one determined bird. When we got back to the rest of the group, Jar was doubled over howling with laughter. Gerb looked at me and said "That was probably one of the uglilest things I've ever seen."
I couldn't respond because I was still sucking air.
In two days, I had ran over 550 yards after wounded pheasants. Unbelievable.

posted by Rusty @ 10:00 PM Comments: 2

The countdown lessens

We're getting closer and closer to my favorite day of the year. I mean that. Sure, Thanksgiving is always a blast and Christmas sure does rock, but I look forward to this day for 364 other days (365 in a leap year, but who's counting?).
The plan is set. Dad's only friend Don will pick us up somewhere between 5 and 5:15 that morning. We have to be to Danny's at 5:30. I'm sure that Danny will run his dog the two miles to Joe's. I guess Danny's dog has a little bit too much energy. We will hunt and eat like kings and then I'll probably go poke around somewhere for the rest of the day.
Sunday we're heading out west and that will be a busy day. Right now, it's going to be Gsquared, Havoc Chaos, Nik, Nik's buddy, Rod the Bod, the Franzinator, Bryce, and myself, plus maybe some of the 'Ta guys. We'll leave somewhere around 4 ish in the morning. I'm pushing for us to hunt a patch that we walked on opening day 2002.
This particular patch is shaped funny. It's three quarter sections that all have irrigation pivots spanning the majority of the fields. Now you're not supposed to hunt the areas where the pivots do not reach. The corners though are fair game. We walked into one of these triangular shaped corners and promptly shot 3 roosters out of this little patch. Deciding to move on we continued on the same path only this time, Tony and his Dad went ahead to block the point. The next patch was shaped much like the first one, only it was twice as big. Russ, Gsquared, Fudd, Jarr and myself decided to work it to the point.
Now I had a sudden insight since this patch was shaped like a triangle. Jar and I decided to walk out to the south point to see if we could push anything out while the other three continued west. We got close to the point and Jar looks at me and says "Why don't you go stomp around in that corner to see if anything is hiding there?" He said it in a half assed manner as if he wasn't expecting anything to be there. To tell the truth, I wasn't either.
I walked up to the point and all of the sudden I saw one hen come scuttling out, and then another. I motioned like a madman for Jar to get the hell up close as there could be a rooster hiding in this little corner. As he moved, a rooster did break out. I jerked my gun up to my shoulder and missed with my first shot, hit it with my second, but I didn't hit it really hard with my second blast, so I fired again and missed. The second blast was enough to knock the bird out of the air, but I had only winged it. It hit the ground, rolled twice and popped up running. I fired again to try to stop it but missed.
At that point, I did my best olympic sprinter imitation as I took off after the little bastard. I shot again and missed and now I was empty. I'm running and trying to load my gun and screaming for jar to shoot this little shit. "SHOOT HIM!! SHOOT HIM!!" Finally Jar shoots.
Did you know shotgun pellets make a very high pitched whistle when they go right by your ear? I learned that information that day. Kind of scary, but I trust Jar, I think. Again he fired and this bird was still off to the races. By now Jar is running with me, and we must have looked like Special Olympic Hunters running the relay. Finally Jar hits the bird with enough pellets to roll him over and I manage to get a shell in my gun and finish off what we started about 150 yards to the east.
I grab the pheasant by the neck and I turn to Jar. We look at each other and we both start to bust up laughing, which is hard to do when you're out of breath from a mad sprint down milo rows. He sticks the rooster in my gamebag all the while telling me his version of what he was thinking. I'm laughing trying to tell him my version of what I was thinking. We laugh the entire way back to the blockers.
We're greeted by the other five members of our party. They greet us with a simultaneous "What the hell happened?" Fudd looks at me making the remark of "I heard a shot. I looked up and saw you running off down the field. Suddenly Jar draws up on you and I'm thinking 'What the hell did Rust say this time?' Next thing we know Jar takes off after you and we couldn't see behind the hill but we heard shots."
We tell them what happened to a chorus of guffaws. Only the two of us would have something like this happen.
Or so I thought.

posted by Rusty @ 10:27 PM Comments: 1

It gets closer and closer

This desire to hunt is an itch that needs to be scratched. It's like the itch in the spot on your back that you can't quite reach, no matter which way you twist, turn and bend. I've got it bad, but honestly, I think it's no worse than normal. It's dominating every aspect of my thoughts. I can barely finish a complete thought without thinking about hunting.It's like this:
"Well, I need to get my oil changed in my explorer, take joey to the vet and I also need to do that assign-FUCK Saturday is almost here."
Mom and I were talking about how I decided to get up early at 7ish on Friday. My reasoning was that by getting up that early and running around all day, I would be tired round about 11 oclock and be able to get some sleep. Mom just laughed and said that there was no living way I could. I asked her why. Her reply was "Because that's exactly how I would be."
It's true. Last year, facing a two hour drive, all day spent in the field, and a two hour return trip, I went to bed with the intentions of getting several hours of sleep. My alarm was set for 3:30 a.m. I slept a grand total of 45 minutes. I think it's worse than any kid at Christmas. Amy calls it passion. I may agree, but I think I'm partially sick in the head.
At least on this year, there is no two hour drive looming on the horizon. Only a short jaunt of about 20 minutes. Too bad we have to be there at 5:00 a.m. I think i'll get an extra hour of sleep. Yeah, right. Dad and I did something different this year as we were "pressured" into joining up with the Moundridge boys into their pheasant club. See, about 3-4 years ago when the numbers were so bad around here, some guys Dad and I know got together with the idea of raising pheasants. So they set about and built a flight pen and a catch pen and all this other jazz. They buy 250 fresh hatched pheasants, hoping to get an even mix of genders. Then they are raised in a 40 by 100 foot flight pen with a net ceiling of about 15 -20 feet. On opening day, they half the birds into the catch pen. After they have divided the birds, they will catch the roosters and load them into two specially designed boxes. The way it was described to me was that the hens will be butchered immediately and put on ice for the feast later. The boxes will be placed in the field and emptied. The birds are allowed to run and fly free then. Then a couple hours later, we hunt them.
I know that it's not the most sporting thing, but they do have a chance. The patch we're putting them in is about 4-5 feet high and looks incredibly thick. They do two hunts like this, but also hunt a third time. It's sure to be a good time. We hunted with these guys on the last day of the season last year, but it was a normal hunt. Of course if those same kids are with this group, the roosters have a chance as none of them could hit the broad side of a barn.
Anyways, i'm wiped out and about to hit the sack.
More to come about opening day later.

posted by Rusty @ 10:22 PM Comments: 0

My days are numbered

The countdown to Saturday begins.
I did accomplish one thing and that was to purchase new hunting boots as my other ones were finally done in last year. I think they were on life support when I had my little problem last year.
A short summary: We had just completed a 1/2 mile walk where I shot two of the four roosters I killed on opening day. We had all loaded up in the back of Tony's truck and were driving back to where we had parked the other vehicles. As we were driving back, Tom said that he saw another rooster fly into the patch we had just hunted. About 5 of us jumped out of the back of the truck. By now I was catching hell for getting out because I had technically limited out. I didn't care and went to possibly shoot another rooster. My father, who can be a bit dim at times, managed to set my car alarm off. I ran back to shut it off and then decided that I could still catch the guys in the field. Back I took off at a dead run. I went to jump some grass beside a fence post so I could get in line with the rest of the guys.
Bad Idea.
You know, when people say "It was like slow motion" they really mean it. As I left the ground, I noticed that there was still barbed wire attached to the fence. In slow motion, I realized that I did not have near enough trajectory to clear the wire. There was nothing I could do as I became a slave to the laws of gravity and inertia. I hit the wire and everything became a close up of the grass I was jumping into. It was a pure and perfect faceplant.
My first thought was "Oh shit, did my gun go off? because it was pointed right in the direction of the guys i was trying to catch up to." Fortunately it hadn't. My next order of business was to pop off of the ground as fast as I had hit it just to make sure that no one had seen me.
Oops.
I popped up like a gopher coming out of his hole and tried to straighten my hat. As I bounced up, Bill started to laugh. He said "I heard you coming to catch up and all of the sudden I heard this WHUMP!! I looked back and all of the sudden you popped up out of the grass and your hat was all crooked." He was laughing so hard that he had to go back to the truck. Fortunately the rest of the guys didn't see it. But I did own up to it.
If you stop to think about it, it's really amazing that I haven't died yet.

posted by Rusty @ 10:30 PM Comments: 2