It is not uncommon during Colorado’s upland bird season for me to drive over 450 miles and walk 13 in a single day. I am usually up just before 4 am, and out the door no later than 4:45 am. The trip to the eastern corridor of the state is long, but I am fueled by both adrenaline & caffeine. Upon arrival in bird country, my heart starts to race as I anticipate the day’s adventure. Once I am out of the truck, I expect that every shelterbelt, plum thicket and CRP field that I walk is loaded with exquisite pheasants. The reality is that I generally walk for many miles before raising my shotgun at a crafty rooster. There are days that can be bleak, and exhausting when no birds reveal themselves for hours on end. Upland hunting can be even more exasperating when erratic shooting undermines limited opportunities.
It takes someone with comparable DNA to want to prowl the prairie with you. They possess the same commitment, passion and unadulterated love for the chase. Your hunting partner embraces the grind, and he does not need an explanation when you want to hit one more spot late in the day before the long journey home. They don’t have to be a colleague at work, a college roommate or even your best friend. They just need to bring the same level of intensity to the sometimes-complex, arduous process of hunting the uplands. I value those people that pursue birds with me. I enjoy talking strategy with them, and learning from their divergent experiences in the field. They know when they can chide me for missed shots, but they are also aware when silence is golden. It takes time to create the mutual trust to want to begin hunting together. Once the required commonalities are satisfied, a unique respect between people is born.
My hope is that both of my teenage sons evolve to become zealous wingshooters. I know that I cannot force them to love it, and that there is an opportunity cost associated with hunting with their dad. That said, my boys would be my ideal hunting partners.