Sunday, February 19, 2006
Quail Hunt
Made the Tuesday hunt before the season was over on Wednesday. Took four birds that were found, which is 400% more than I got the first time out last month.
After a slow period between 8:30 and 10:00, we were into birds all day long. One covey was amazing, in that we had shit popping up for about 25 minutes. As there was only 2 of us, we would basically take shots at 360 degrees, as long as the distance was verified.
As it's lighter later, we didn't quit until almost 6:00. Needless to say, it kicked the shit out of me. I tripped and ate shit once. Later, I was climbing a barbed wire fence and caught my jeans on the barbs. The post I had chosen to use was noticeably small and the top of it broke off in my hands as I once again tumbled to meet the earth.
I'm still not quite recovered from the "no longer 18 years old, but eating shit" symptoms that have plagued me since.
Prepping for Boomershoot, and generally spending as much time as I do with a rifle, I sometimes fuck up. I can't seem to get it through my head that 40 yards is a decent shotgun range. If you push it, you may be unnecessarily crippling a bird you can't recover. Last time out, I did just that. This time, I took a similiar shot and was plain lucky that I found the bird. The reason he was found is that he was thrashing about, given the lack of shot to anything vital. I had to shake his poor ass to death.
On another occasion, I figured I could pivot 180 degrees to take a shot on a bird. I did so, but failed to fully shoulder the gun. Instead I took the shot with the stock 1 and 1/2 inches off of my upper arm.
This is what happens.
After a slow period between 8:30 and 10:00, we were into birds all day long. One covey was amazing, in that we had shit popping up for about 25 minutes. As there was only 2 of us, we would basically take shots at 360 degrees, as long as the distance was verified.
As it's lighter later, we didn't quit until almost 6:00. Needless to say, it kicked the shit out of me. I tripped and ate shit once. Later, I was climbing a barbed wire fence and caught my jeans on the barbs. The post I had chosen to use was noticeably small and the top of it broke off in my hands as I once again tumbled to meet the earth.
I'm still not quite recovered from the "no longer 18 years old, but eating shit" symptoms that have plagued me since.
Prepping for Boomershoot, and generally spending as much time as I do with a rifle, I sometimes fuck up. I can't seem to get it through my head that 40 yards is a decent shotgun range. If you push it, you may be unnecessarily crippling a bird you can't recover. Last time out, I did just that. This time, I took a similiar shot and was plain lucky that I found the bird. The reason he was found is that he was thrashing about, given the lack of shot to anything vital. I had to shake his poor ass to death.
On another occasion, I figured I could pivot 180 degrees to take a shot on a bird. I did so, but failed to fully shoulder the gun. Instead I took the shot with the stock 1 and 1/2 inches off of my upper arm.
This is what happens.
