Pheasant Hunting as a Hangover Cure

It didn't take long for it to become abundantly clear that killing my first pheasant wasn't going to be easy. Determined to better understand the behavior of these birds and hopefully bring one or two home for myself, I purchased a few tags for some state managed pheasants at nearby EE Wilson Wildlife Area. After a few unsuccessful hunts, fellow outdoor writer Troy Rodakowski offered to take me out to DK Wildlife Ranch just outside of Brownsville, Oregon. Hunting with us that day was Kevin Highland, a friend of Troy's who is manager of a local sporting goods store, and Porter, Troy's German short-haired pointer.

Troy advances while Porter stays on Point

While I was familiar with Troy, it would be my first time meeting Kevin, and I had told myself when I went out the night before that I wasn't going to party too hard because I wanted to make a good first impression. But it was Halloween weekend, and local country artist Junior Raimey was playing at the Meetn' Place in Philomath that night. Needless to say, I was living in the moment, and not concerned about our hunt, which wasn't until that Sunday afternoon. It had occurred to me that doing an extensive amount of walking would be a good way to burn off the empty calories from the beer I drank at the show, and sweat out the white lightning from Monroe that I had been nipping with some fishing buddies on the Alsea earlier in the day. I woke up early the next day after being out pretty late, then went to Interzone, my favorite local coffee spot, and waited for the fog of my inevitable hangover to slowly fade away.

As I met them in Brownsville, we ventured along the upper Calapooia, an area I had only been familiar with during the summer while fishing for rainbow trout. The fall colors were in full effect, and the river was alive with whitewater, a stark contrast to the low, clear, trickle that was more familiar to me during the summertime. The Crawfordsville covered bridge stood in the foreground of the natural landscape as we ventured past the Holley Market and further along rural backroads to an oasis of shooting ranges, ponds, and upland bird habitat at the ranch.

Troy explains team strategy for our hunt

As we stood outside our vehicles and geared up for the hunt, Porter began vocalizing his eagerness to begin hunting as I pulled my shotgun from it's case. At the age of 2, his seemingly infinite energy was worthy of admiration, especially considering that it didn't take much walking before I started to feel like I was sweating whiskey. My concerns about being hungover in mixed company quickly subsided when Kevin leaned over only 20 minutes or so into the hunt and upchucked the McGriddle he had on the way there that morning. Now, I would never recommend that anyone abstain from imbibing alcoholic beverages, but I think it's fair to say that eating fast food as a hangover cure is a roll of the dice. In spite of facing this adversity, we all continued on hunting, and it wasn't long before Porter got "birdy" and went on point. The first bird that flew was in close proximity to a residence, so we withheld a shot. It wasn't long before we got another chance, this time all three of us shot, nearly simultaneously. The bird never stood a chance, and we considered it a team effort and trekked on.

I spotted another bird on the move in some shorter grass, and it just didn't feel sporty to take a shot at it while it was on the ground. Troy, confident in his dog's abilities, pushed us up to where the bird had taken off into the taller grass and let Porter do his job finding it. Again, the bird flushed, multiple shots rang out, and b-b-bang, flop, we dropped it. It would be a while before we found another, and it was clearly evident that Kevin and I were in the same boat, paying for the night before. Luckily, the ranch has a few strategically placed lean-to's with gun racks and a cooler filled with bottled water that reminded me of trail magic left behind for hikers to enjoy. We rested on a bench and hydrated, swapped some stories from the weekend, then resumed hunting. Unfortunately for Kevin, either the water didn't agree with him, or his body used it as a vehicle to remove the remainder of his McGriddle from the morning. Luckily for me, my experience working on a charter boat made me pretty well conditioned to seeing other people vomiting, so it didn't become contagious. Porter put us on a bird shortly after, and in a scenario where we were sure it had no escape from us, it wound up flying behind the area we were pushing into, catching us all by surprise and not leaving us with a shot good enough to bring it down. Positioning and pushing into areas where the dog is throwing us hints, and the birds are throwing us misdirection fascinated me, and I felt like with every bird that flew, I was getting better at predicting their path, at least in a way that we could work as a team to make sure they didn't get far once they flushed.

Bird down

Of course, one of my favorite things about bird hunting any species is that just when you think you have them figured out, that's when they end up tricking you. We had walked an area along a creek, where Porter was picking up enough scent that it almost it difficult for him to pinpoint and locate a bird between a pile of brush, and the edge of the creek. Pacing back and fourth, the bird finally flew across the creek in the opposite direction of where we had set up to take a shot at it. Once it had passed through the treeline along the creek, we lost sight of it quickly, and Porter seemed as frustrated by the missed opportunity as we did. A young dog with lots of energy and enthusiasm, he probably put in twenty times the mileage running circles full steam ahead until he picked up a scent for us, but never showed any signs of letting up.

While walking around, we all took a short stop to snack on some apples from a tree in the field that was mainly there as a food source for deer. "These apples are delicious, man these deer are spoiled!" said Kevin. It wasn't long before Kevin was leaned over heaving again, making applesauce. In spite of not being able to keep anything down, he hung in there for the hunt. Walking nearly the length of the ranch, we doubled back towards the area where we began, and Troy spotted another bird running in the open near some of the ponds in the distance. We approached the ponds and spread out, pushing the bird towards the water. Porter went on point right near the edge of the water, and Kevin put just enough shot in the bird to let it cross the pond, where Porter finished the deed.

Part of my learning experience was comparing my knowledge of turkey behavior in relevance to water acting as a boundary for ground movement. With a well executed shot from a hunter that was struggling to feel a hundred percent, we decided it was picture time and maybe if we got home a little early, Troy could get in an evening deer hunt. But as we were snapping away, Troy picked up on the sound of a rooster not far away. After Porter posed for a few pictures with us, he went right back to work, and surprisingly enough pointed on the bird less than 50 feet from where we had stopped to take some snapshots. When the bird flew, Kevin and I shot simultaneously, and a cloud rained feathers from the sky for what seemed like several minutes, leaving feathers littered on the ground like confetti from a pheasant pinata. The well placed and well timed shots that Kevin and I shared seemed as sobering and energizing as a cup of coffee. Adding to our renewed enthusiasm, Troy heard another rooster in the distance, and agreeing there was no sense in leaving until we found it, we gave chase in it's direction.

This time, Porter caught scent in some thick brush in a ditch we had walked over, and we set up on both sides of it, ready for anything and not leaving any lane for it to escape. The bird flew up perfectly into my lane, and I swear I missed the first shot just because the beauty of it's colors in flight struck me with awe. Then I quickly gathered myself for a second shot that knocked it down. I was grateful for it being such a well intact bird, and started daydreaming of using it's hackle to tie flies and catch redband trout as we trekked back to the truck to give Porter his bacon rewards for putting us on birds all afternoon.

This article was published in the January 2018 issue of Northwest Sportsman Magazine