Upland

I strongly feel that most archers have ability to become quite proficient with aerial targets and harvesting birds on the wing.  I am, however, concerned that many are not prepared mentally to handle the additional challenges of wingshooting with a bow.  I enjoy the difficulty of the sport as much as I like killing birds.  If that weren’t the case, I think I would quickly lose my resolve and reach for some other much more effective weapon. 

It is hard to hike the hills and sit in the blind as your buddies pile up the birds without it getting to you and affecting your concentration.  You better be mentally prepared to handle the extra pressure you’ll probably put on yourself or this will simply be a passing fad in your long hunting history.  Much of this is because we are so competitive and we don’t want to be outdone.  We don’t want to come home empty handed and we put so much time and effort trying be successful that it can get discouraging.  I don’t care how much you practice, the odds are stacked against you, and you know that is the reason is it so alluring. 

It doesn’t seem fair when your perfectly timed and placed flu flu narrowly misses a mallard that rolled from danger at the last second.  Oh it happens and when it does, you need to be satisfied that you made a “perfect shot” and get ready for the next bird.  You can’t beat yourself up over stuff that you have no control over.  Sometimes a hunting companion (shotgun or bow) will hit the bird just before your arrow connects.  This is all just part of the game.

In a recent post, I had a picture of a little pile of feathers that a quail left after my arrow collided with him.  Obviously the bird got away or I wouldn’t be taking pictures of the main ingredient in feather soup.  I should be and was very happy about the close call.  I feel bad for anyone that is unable to enjoy the success of that close call. 

Now I don’t want anyone to get confused, with every shot, my hope is to kill the bird.  I want to take him home and eat him, but my enjoyment doesn’t hinge upon the kill.  If you are having one of those days where you just want to pile up the birds, take a shotgun.  Trust me though, when you and your friends finally see your trophy crash to the ground with your bright flu flu solidly anchored in the bird,  you won’t care how many piles of birds you could have shot with a shotgun.

Derrick Oxnam

Last weekend I had the chance to go chasing chukars and huns with my dad, Curt, and brother, Cameron.  We hunted for several hours before we finally got on a some covey’s that didn’t flush wild.  No chukars ever showed themselves, so I guess it was a Hun hunt.  We eventually circled back and got into several birds right by the truck.  Some of the birds held well and I was quick enough to get a few harmless flu flus in the air.  If I am going to be successful, need to get the clay thrower back out to work on those fast fleeing shots.  Hopefully I can do better this weekend.  I can’t complain because the weather was perfect and no extra layers of clothing were required.  I like the earlier part of the season because I don’t have to worry about the bulky layers I end up wearing when the snow flies.

If you are not familiar with Hungarian partridges, the are a small upland game bird whose size falls between a large quail and a chukar.  Unlike their buddies the devil birds (chukars), they have dark meat and prefer flatter country like rolling hills and stubble grain fields.   Here is a picture of one:

(courtesy HunterCourse.com)

Josie added nicely to the beautiful arid terrain.

Derrick Oxnam

I went out with Zack, my loyal german shorthaired pointer, on the opening day of quail season. We had covered several miles before Zack finally locked down a small covey of California quail. As I cautiously approached his point, I could hear quail on the move between him and myself. I froze as their little chirps got closer. With no warning, a single exploded from the tall sagebrush and crossed in front of me. I simultaneously drew as I tried to catch up the the fleeing bird. The string slipped from my fingers and launched the flourescent orange flu flu confirming that my lead had been short. I managed to nock another arrow before a second bird re-created the same previous scenario. I instictively swung past the bird and released without thinking. This time the arrow was on what appeared to be a better course. My heart lept as the arrow collided with the swift quail and sent feathers flying, but then sank as the bird managed to maintain flight. I watched him, seemingly unscathed, continue out of sight. Even though I was a little disppointed, I was still proud of the little pile of feathers I managed to steal.