By Nick Simonson

In the first quarter mile of our walk into the grassy tree claim that my dog and I like to frequent when a weekday morning opens up in our schedule, he had put three roosters in the air in front of me, the bookends presenting very makeable shots and the middle bird being a bit rangy but probably hittable.  Having fanned twice on the easy-rising right-to-left angle of the first pheasant, and missed the going-away bird, the 10 shells I had tossed in my vest pocket for the short walk were quickly disappearing as my frustration mounted while I made my way grumbling behind my lab up the hill to the back side of the public access acres.

I’ve always clung to the Teddy Roosevelt saying that “I’m not a good shot, but I shoot often,” especially when I’m on the schneid, but I found little consolation in that or the mentalized sound of my wife’s sigh which I usually get when I return home with an o-fer report and her there-there, now manifested in her favorite: “sometimes the birds have to win.”

I tromped angrily through the brome to the top corner where Ole investigated the edge of the field grass at the fenceline and wound around the cut field at the southwest point of the property. Suddenly, he lunged and a rooster broke up from the grassy lobe of cover in a thundering right-to-left flush, and I heard another voice from the depths of my brain shout out, “swing through!”  

How many times had I given that advice to my brother, or a kid on the trap stand, or even myself as I attempted to override the adrenaline the pounding wings and squawking cackle sent through my veins on hundreds of previous flushes?  Without thought my gun moved through the bird and I pulled the trigger zipping the bottom salvo on my 20 gauge after him.  He was still cartwheeling into the cut gray stalks of the harvested sunflower field as my gun continued to move across the western horizon. An easy find in the open, my dog was on the bird and I breathed a sigh of relief, finally realizing my recent errors and correcting my motion to fix them.

I begged for another opportunity on the back half of the parcel with the rooster in tow along my hip. While a few broke cover on our way to the far edge, they were deep in the adjacent posted land by the time we were even with them and they took flight, and we watched the quartet sail out of sight down the draw.  The return to the parking lot was uneventful, and I regretted the multiple misses at the outset which would have made the day happily heavier.  I looked at the public-access land across the road and spied a small stretch of knee-high field grass that remained intact, as the rest of the parcel had been grazed to the nub. Deciding it was worth a hike, we wandered along the two-wheel track and into the five acres or so which allowed enough room  for a down-and-back march. 

Early on, Ole picked up a scent in the air and paused before returning to his fenceline trot.  As we made our way around, in about the same place, he began to turn on the after burners in an uphill and then downhill pursuit before slamming on the brakes at the edge of the grass.  I closed the gap to within five feet as he held his point and watched as a rooster scooted between us and then broke skyward to avoid his stare.  Tracing the line of its vertical flight, I whispered: “swing up” and as my barrel touched his blue head in my line of sight. I fired and sent him tumbling to the far side of the grassy area as my muzzle went skyward.  A quick retrieve, and a few steps later we were back at the truck.

Victories come in all shapes and sizes in the outdoors. An adjustment here leads to a bird or two more there, and the hard work of a dog is rewarded with excited shouts instead of muffled mutterings. Being able to take stock of what’s going wrong, what’s worked in the past, and those little mental reminders of how to fix a struggling form and get back in the swing of things – whether after one miss or a dozen – is part of the experience and a reminder that neither the action nor the motion of a shotgun should ever stop in the uplands.

Simonson is the lead writer and editor of Dakota Edge Outdoors.

Featured Photo: Two late.  The author bagged the final two roosters of a morning hunt after realizing he was stopping his gun as he fired on the first few birds.  Success came late by swinging through and firing when on the bird with continued motion after the shot. Simonson Photo.