Gone Hunting

My Dad goes on one pheasant hunting trip a year. Years past we have always headed to South Dakota (dad likes to see lots of birds). Because of my school schedule this week made better sense to head out looking for pheasants so we are heading to North Dakota. I know you're probably thinking "that is a stinking long drive", or that "the bird numbers are way down this year in North Dakota." That is okay with us. If we see a handful of pheasants that will be more than we have at home in the great state of Utah.

We have some private ground lined up to hunt on and we are pretty darn excited. Years past we have hunted with neighbors, uncles, and cousins. This year it will just be Dad and me. It should be a great opportunity to spend some quality time together.

I almost forgot our dog Lady will be with us too.

If I can I'll update you throughout the week.

Hopefully we see a lot of this...

In Search of Grouse, Trout, and Autumn Leaves

September is about as glorious as could be. I've spent some days Dove hunting, Grouse hunting, Trout fishing, water skiing, working at my job, and also attending classes and doing school work. Hence my lack of posts on this blog.

My roommate pointed me in the direction of some Grouse "right out the back door of my parents cabin." Is what he said. So I scoured the hills for hours and no grouse. Later that day he called me and said he shot two with his bow in the front yard of his cabin. I guess I was just too ambitious and hiked up the mountain behind the cabin. Grouse were a bust but take a look at the view of where I started hunting.


Last friday I had the day off so I spent the afternoon chasing cutthroat trout up the canyon. Holy Cow! They were hungry for my fly. My fly was a mixture of a Beetle and an Ant with a green stripe down it's body. The fishing was incredible almost every other cast they would try to attack the poor thing. Just as I thought to myself "it couldn't get any better...", and I was right. At that moment I lost my half Beetle half Ant fly in a tree. So I tied on the next best thing an Ant. I spent the next hour flogging the stream with no luck! Here is a pic of the fly that didn't catch any fish!


For our last official Saturday of summer J and I took a ride up to Jackson Lake hoping for some Autumn leaves. We found a few leaves, but we couldn't believe how great the weather was sunny and eighty degrees. We laid a blanket out on the rocky shore and soaked up summers last rays of sun. Then we snuggled up and watched, as an afternoon thundershower bounced it's way over the Tetons. When the rain came we left, otherwise we just might have stayed in that spot and time forever.


Tonight starts the Utah Muzzleloader Deer hunt, wish me luck!

My Newest Addiction

As we drove home I told my friends, "I think I was born to be a Turkey Hunter. I can even gobble like them and they gobble back!"

My friend Landon quickly replied, "That is because you are a Turkey."

I am addicted to turkey hunting. The past few days might have been one of the most fun hunts I've ever been on, and I wasn't even hunting.

Thursday night was the highlight of the trip. Landon and I were hiking down an old abandoned logging road and every couple hundred yards we would do a hen call. Then we heard it, "gobble gobble." We immediately froze and ducked for cover. We hen called a few more times and the gobbler kept gobbling back, but he wasn't getting any closer. So I stayed put with the hen call and Landon put the sneak on the Gobbler. Every couple minutes I would hen call and the gobbler would gobble back, all the while Landon would sneak closer and closer. The whole event took about forty minutes, but finally the Gobbler decided to come in. He was strutting around and thought he was coming to get a new girl friend, but it was just us.

We saw a bunch of Turkeys over the three days. I even had a few Gobblers gobble back at me when I gobbled. I can't wait to put in for the turkey hunt next year.

Dream Girl!

It all started when I read this article and saw this picture.

The other thing that had me thinking about this topic was my Cousin Andy's post titled "Dream Crushers".

After reading the above two articles I was driving with my friend and I thought it would be interesting to get her opinions on a few things. The conversation started something like this, "Tell me if you think I'm crazy or asking too much?"

As we chatted I joked about a contract I want to ask my future wife to sign before we seal the deal. I hope you enjoy it. It is okay if you laugh uncontrollably, everyone else I told did.

1. I don't want a big house.
2. I don't want a big yard. (Things I enjoy more than yard work: I would rather be hunting, fishing, or water skiing.)
2. I want to spend our money on family vacations. (FYI vacations generally include a beach, a boat, or water of some sort.)
3. We will own horses and keep the cowboy traditions running.
4. A boat for water skiing.
5. Always keep a bird dog around.
6. HUNTING: Originally I thought I wanted four days in September, four days in October, and four days in November for hunting. A total of twelve days out of town and no limit on day trips. (But then I thought I would ask for twenty days out of town so if it gets down to a negotiation I have some wiggle room. Pretty smart right?)

My friend laughed and wished me luck on the hunting part of the contract.

If you know any girls like the one in the picture above and that will sign this contract send them my way! Also if you think I need to add anything to my contract let me know.

Addicted or Committed?

Classes missed: 2 weeks of classroom missed
Days afield hunting: One month (give or take a day or two that I forgot to add)
Miles put on trucks: 7,000
Dollars spent on Licenses: $632.00 (now I know why I don't ever have money for text books)
Money spent all together: I don't know where to start, suffice us to say a lot.

This afternoon I tried to figure out what my addiction looks like in numbers because last week I was on a date, with a cute girl. We were on a ride up the canyon. As we winded our way we chatted about life and some of our hobbies. She likes camping, loves to go fishing with her dad, and even has a few horses that she rides once in awhile. "I thought great! A girl that appreciates the outdoors." She also asked what I like to do?

I replied that "I love all of those activities." But I had one more to add to the list, hunting! I asked if she had ever been hunting she said "no, but I'm not opposed to it". She then asked me "what do you hunt?".

I went through the list as my head recalled the past fall, chronologically. I told her about my Cow Elk hunt in early September in the high country of Wyoming. I told her about grouse hunting the pines in September. Then I told her about the Utah mule deer hunt in October. I couldn't forget our annual pheasant hunt in Montana every October. And in November my Dad and I have our annual South Dakota pheasant hunt. Oh and when the snow starts to come we head for the west desert to chase chukars for a couple months. Oh and I also mentioned that my Cousin Andy and I tried to go on a January Quail hunt, but our car broke down.

Wow, I was out of breath.

At that precise moment I noticed the scared look in her eyes. I interpreted the look in her eyes as "I feel bad for your future wife!". Then it occurred to me that I am a total addict.

Since adding up my hunting addiction, I didn't dare add up my fly fishing trips, the days I spend training my dog, my horse pack trips, all the other camping trips, skiing, water skiing, and the days I spend day dreaming about doing all of this outside stuff!

I am grateful for a good and flexible job to keep my addiction going. Oh and a special "shout out" to all my professors that believed I had work commitments. Sometimes hunting is work, and I am committed.

Here are a few pictures of the past year. It was a great one!

This is a past deer camp when it snowed on us, but it was also our elk camp in early September. (just imagine no snow)


The montana wheat stubble. Below a Big Sky Sunset.



The South Dakota Blizzard. Dad and I never told mom we got her truck stuck.

Women In the Outdoors

This post is in response to an article I read in The American Spectator, you can read it here.

Basically the article reads that hunters are men that drink hard alcohol and shoot stuff and it is not a sport to be shared with women. The worst part is that the writer is supposedly one of our own, a hunter, but I highly doubt that. So I thought I would rant for a minute about women in the outdoors.

I am proud to say that it was a past girl friend who introduced me to deer hunting. She got a buck, gutted it herself, and then she fried the heart up on the coleman stove with some potatoes. She is one of the prettiest girls I know. Her willingness to hunt and her willingness to let me hunt only makes her more attractive.

When I was young one of my favorite things was fishing with my dad and brothers. But I have to say I do recall even better times and that was when my mom and sisters came along. I dare say my sisters could out fish most men out there.

I can also say one of the best dog handlers I know is my Aunt Jill. She shoots a lot starter then me too.

I strongly believe women and men have an equal place in the outdoors. We need all of us (women and men) to help our current world recognize that hunting is needed and an American Family Tradition.

You better believe my daughters will be my hunting and fishing buddies. I'd rather go with them than some drunkard man.

There is a cool site built for helping us Outdoor Bloggers unite our voices together. Check it out here.

Start of My Addiction

At the butt crack of dawn I was drug out of bed, at the prepubescent age of thirteen. We were heading out on my first wild Chukar hunt in the West Desert of Utah. This would be the day that would change my future passions forever.
The new kid in the neighborhood invited me to go on a chukar hunt with his dad and him. I replied “Chukar what?” He then proceeded to tell me that a chukar is a bird you hunt just like pheasants and grouse. I loved hunting pheasants and grouse so I quickly agreed to the invitation.
I slipped out the door with unlaced boots and shotgun in hand. It was a late December Saturday. The ground was dusted with a hint of dry Utah powder. I slid into position in the little, rusty, beat up pickup. The pickup was so small and full of guns that I only had one position and that was squished. I didn’t mind though I was thirteen and going to hopefully kill something.
“Birds really live out here?” I asked. I thought for sure we would drive over the next hill into a valley of grain fields, irrigation canals, tree lines, and in the middle of it all would be a big red barn. That is the type of terrain I had hunted pheasants in. I couldn’t imagine anything living where we were going. As we drove the ground kept getting more barren and naked, but we just kept following that two-track dirt road as we slowly approached the rocky desert peaks on the horizon.
When I saw the Utah West Desert for the first time I must have felt as the pioneers did when they first saw the barren Salt Lake Valley. I saw complete desolation and I felt very unenthused. The only difference being I knew I was going home at the end of the day. The pioneers were in the desert for the long haul.
The engine stopped and all I saw was my version of hell. Hell included a steep mountain, scattered with juniper trees, sagebrush, cactus, and all kinds of nasty cliff outcroppings.
That’s when we let the dogs out, a big German Shorthair, and the other a little Brittney Spaniel we called Boss Hog the Wonder Dog.
That’s when my head really started spinning. My new friends were heading straight into the thick of it. We were hoofing it up, and I mean up, the mountain. If I had learned anything in my few years of hunting it was to keep my mouth shut and just follow the guy who knows what he is doing. I bit my tongue and followed.
About one minute into the whole mountain climbing expedition I thought my lungs would burst. I kept thinking ‘I should have lived at base camp for a few weeks to get used to the elevation,’ but then I remembered that only happens when you are preparing to climb Mount Everest. It didn’t matter that it was a cold Utah day my coat was too damn hot. As we climbed the snow got a little less patchy and a bit deeper. Deep enough we could spot chukar tracks heading up hill ahead of us.
Boss Hog the Wonder Dog got birdy first and the big German Shorthair was only a second later. My hunting buddies started running straight up the mountain after the dogs. My friend’s dad kept saying, “Hurry! They’ll be birds at the top of this ridge, we got to hurry though.” We scrambled faster then anyone ever could have up that mountain. Any normal person would have thought there was gold at the top.
When we reached the top I witnessed the most beautiful sight. Both dogs looked as though they had been struck by lightening and cast into stone. That was the first I ever saw a dog on point, and it won’t be soon forgotten. It has been burned into my memory as something perfect.
As we sucked for breath, a chukar covey took to the air. I fired three shots from my Browning shotgun at the feathery torpedoes. Not a single feather drifted to the earth. I didn’t feel like to big of a rookie though my pals didn’t draw any blood either.


We spent all day, on what seemed to be the top of the world, chasing chukars. The chukar Gods must have known I needed to see lots of birds on my first hunt to get me addicted. That first hunt we say covey after covey and point after point. I finally did connect with one of the little chukar torpedoes. It could have been running on the ground, I can’t remember. After all how sporting does a thirteen year old have to be.
I remember driving home from that first chukar hunt late in the evening. My legs felt twisted, jumbled, and just plain pooped. I had never run and up and down hill so much in one day. I think I smiled the whole way home. In fact I think I smiled all night because I had dreams of dogs on point. When I woke up I was still smiling.
Since my first chukar chasing experience I have been chasing my passion of bird hunting with good bird dogs every since. I continually have a yearning in the pit of my stomach to see a dog on point. A year or so after that first trip I brought home my own bird dog a Brittney Spaniel/ German Shorthair mutt. That’s another story for another day. I will say that I have honed my shooting skills and I only miss most of the chukars I shoot at, not all of them. Thank goodness for pioneers of every kind.