What a day for an adventure.
Woke up to what turned out to be the coldest morning of the season so far, a blustery north wind rattling the trees outside of my window. I wasted no time, arriving at Nick’s to meet up for our 4-day adventure across the state of Kansas, accounting for the first half of our annual 9-day Thanksgiving Grind.
To watch me transfer the “necessary” accoutrements and gear from my Jeep to his Titan would likely lead the casual observer to conclude that I had either been kicked out of my house – or in the very least was planning to travel for the entire nine days. Be sure, we Outdoorsmen refuse to be caught unprepared for anything…
A light chatter – the unmistakable chuckle of a mallard – had me reaching for my phone in my pocket – my ringtone for all close friends and family, as well as a “blind safe” way to keep my ringer on in the blind when necessary. Nope, nothing. I glance up and catch, in the early dawn light, 5 mallards, a mere 60-70 yards up over us in Nick’s driveway.
A fitting start to what would certainly be a grand day. A grand week.
On the way to Manhattan, KS, where we’d kick-off our trip with a KSU Football game, every pond and puddle of any kind was packed with ducks and geese, and the dismal, wintry sky, north winds bullying us about the interstate, only served to build excitement.
But the waterfowl would have to wait one day. With plans to make our way to Dodge City for the Outdoor Writers of Kansas conference, we made plans to meet my old college buddy, and walk some of our old college stomping grounds – where I chased pheasant, quail, deer and turkey twenty years ago. Our parties converged to enjoy a short, but amazing hunt following one of the most dramatic KSU football wins in the history of their program.
The story of this hunt was fantastic. I had “talked” my son into letting me borrow what was my late grandfather’s old semi-auto Ithaca 12 gauge. I’d never shot it, and it was handed down from my dad to my son. My son was not so excited for me to take it, but reluctantly agreed. Moments into the first draw, a rooster rose. Grandpa’s Ithaca spoke, and at around 40 yards, the rooster dropped dead. The gun felt amazing, almost like it was doing the work for me. Shortly after a covey of quail rose, with more birds down.
By the end of a relatively short draw – maybe 1/2 mile long, if that, we’d busted 3 separate coveys of quail, all between 20-40 birds, killing 17, and 2 roosters. I dropped the first 5-6 shots I took with this gun.
We took another sunset walk down another old and familiar draw, and got to watch geese dump in on a feed lot as the sun went down – just as I’d done before, 20-something years before. An outstanding day – the game, grandpa’s gun, the drive down those old roads from days long gone, dear old friends, and a few new ones. And so much promise for tomorrow.
