Trash on the Fly

My father-in-law introduced me to wing shooting.  Since my own father didn’t hunt I never tried it when I was younger.  I have always been an outdoorsman, and always been surrounded by people that hunt but never thought I’d get involved in it.  A lot of  people that I took carp fishing would comment that stalking carp has a lot of parallels with the sport, so when my father-in-law invited me to walk with him during a Thanksgiving visit a few years ago I decided I’d at least go for the company.

That first walk we took behind his german shorthair was electric.  We never did flush a bird but when the dog pointed a meadowlark or got excited in the corn stalks I could feel the same excitement as spotting a tailing carp.  I signed on to that deal, immediately.  When I got back home I pestered him with questions over the phone and became the proud owner of a 20ga 870 Express.  It wasn’t a fancy shotgun, but, it went boom, and I prepared for my first hunting trip over the year by shooting some clays at the local gun range.

When the time came to return for a real hunt, I was pumped.  We hunted three days, and each experience added to the electricity.  The first day we raised a large covey of quail, and I shot one, all right, in my mind, but the safety I’d failed to disengage on the gun kept the bird safe.  My father-in-law asked “Why didn’t you shoot?”  Oh, I did, just a little problem with the trigger, that’s all. 

On the second day we flushed two hens early and when dad called out “hen!” I knew I wasn’t supposed to shoot but I was so confused: I thought only the roosters had the long tail.  I knew exactly what a pheasant tail looked like from fly tying, of course.  We drove on to an old honey hole of his and flushed a lot of birds, including about 6 or 7 roosters, but, they all flushed 70 or more yards in front of us or the dog.

Dad was a little frustrated with the weather, it was a little too warm and we were having a hard time getting close to a bird.  He wanted me to get some shots in at least, so we went slumming.  Anybody reading this who caught their first fish in life dead drifting a dry fly on a current seam with a cane rod can close their browser window at this point.  Since most of us caught our first fish under a bobber on a piece of worm, I’m not embarassed to say that I shot my first pheasant on a put-and-take preserve.

I hit three birds that day.  Dad and I shot almost simultaneously on the first two birds and both got a piece of them.  I was having a great time, and we were on our last pass knowing that there should be two more birds in the field unless they snuck off the edges while we weren’t looking.  The dog went on point and when the rooster flew dad’s gun jammed.  I shot and missed once, added some lead, missed again, swung way out in front of the bird and dropped it with the third shot.  It was a long shot by the time I connected and dad yelled out “yes!” and we high fived and went to retrieve my bird.

When I got back to Texas, I made the best meal I’ve ever cooked, pheasant breast with vanilla and pears.  The meal took 2 hours and 5 pans to cook and required two different sauces… a masterpiece.  A friend showed me how to preserve the skins for fly tying.  These two pictures are of carp flies I tied with the pheasant feathers. 

I have now caught carp on a fly tied from the feathers of a bird I’ve shot, tied to a home made leader, using a rod I built.  It’s a good feeling.  I haven’t yet eaten one of the carp from this little circle of life, but, I suppose there is always more time.