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My family hails from southern Alberta, Tilley in fact, and as far back as I can remember, when someone talked about going hunting, pheasants was what came to mind.
My father was a diehard pheasant hunter and he directed considerable attention to hunting these birds every fall. I have a few memories of my early childhood in Tilley, the vision of our dog Red prancing in excitement when the old man pulled out his shotgun and gear is one of them. I also remember that first time, of the many times when he returned home from a day’s hunt, that I had really noticed how incredibly beautiful those birds are.
My old man’s passion for the birds started early in his life as a young boy from an immigrant family having come to Canada to start a new life. He told me that as a kid he would collect pheasant eggs to take to the pheasant hatchery in nearby Brooks. The details are sketchy, as it was many years ago when we talked about his early interest in pheasants, but the birds got into his blood and he hunted them most of his life.
Dad’s family were farmers and as the youngest brother, he was the first off the farm. For most of his working life, he was a penitentiary guard in Drumheller. I grew up in Drumheller and we were very often in Tilley on weekends. Dad liked to stay involved in the farm, especially helping with irrigating and with the harvest.
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The author hunting with Dory, Bandit
and the Ithaca Model 37 Featherlight. |
When pheasant season started, he was always planning to get into the field. As the farm was smack in the middle of some of the best pheasant hunting in the province, he did not have far to go to get into the birds. There was plenty of cover with the extensive network of irrigation ditches and he would walk miles alone with his dog.
We always had a bird dog in the household. They were either Irish setters or Llewellin setters. The Irish setters were always named Red and the Llewellins’ were Champ. There was a certain utility to the naming I suppose. The dog that I remember the most fondly was the first Red I knew, the dog that I shot my first pheasant over.
I don’t remember the first time my dad took me out on a pheasant hunt, but I do recall that I just followed him around up and down irrigation ditches. I was too young to actually hunt, but not too young to get out to see what the excitement was all about. I marveled at how Red would go into a set over a pheasant and would flush the bird on command. I was amazed at how fast the pheasant would take off and fly and how my old man was able to drop the bird out of the sky for Red to retrieve. I was hooked. These were some of the glory days of pheasant hunting in Alberta, the Brooks pheasant hatchery was releasing birds, and there was quite a bit of habit to support a naturalized population of wild and wily pheasants.
My old man had a few pheasant hunting axioms; “you don’t want to be out there without a bird dog” was one of them. “A good dog will put you on more of those cagey birds than you would be able to kick up on your own,” was another. He told me that you could almost step on one of those wild birds and they will just sit tight to see if you will just keep going. This surprised me but I came to know this was true because it happened to me once.
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| Rob with Bandit and birds. |
There I was, looking at my feet, picking my way through a soggy spot next to an irrigation ditch when I had a double take, and sure enough, a ring-neck was looking up at me! I moved my foot two inches and nudged the bird; it took two more firm nudges to get it to fly. Makes me wonder how many times I walked by birds over the years.
My first true hunting season saw me in the field with a single shot CIL .410 shotgun that belonged to my grandfather. It was a challenge to cock the hammer and shoulder the gun for a shot before the pheasant got out of range. I finally did get a pheasant that year with that .410 and I can still picture that shot to this day. My dad was ecstatic and so was I.
The next year my father purchased a new Beretta autoloader and he gave me his old Ithaca Model 37 Featherlight, 12-gauge pump that I still have today. I remember how excited I was to get that shotgun that had downed so many birds in my father’s hands. I was really in the game now!
My approach to pheasant hunting took on a completely new dimension, as the topics of firearm safety and hunting ethics entered my mind. My father imparted the significant responsibility of safe gun handling being the primary activity we undertook as we went into the field. Everyone and every dog getting home safely at the end of the day was the first order of business. I realized how much was riding on my decision-making and being aware of everything I was doing. I believe it had a positive impact on how I approach life in general.
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| The author’s brother Dean with a nice pheasant. |
As I fast-forwarded over the years, when the pheasants took a backseat to school and career, there were times that I believed I would never hunt pheasants again. My father had passed and he had always been the driving force for me to get out hunting. I had drifted, the better part of 20 years, before I rediscovered my passion for those birds. It started with me getting a bird dog, a Clumber spaniel named Dory. A year later, I was “adopted” by a stray crossbreed named Bandit, who also really took to going after pheasants.
These days I hunt the Alberta Conservation Association (ACA) pheasant release sites with my good friend Rob. I cannot say enough good things about the ACA regarding their stewardship and commitment to making the Alberta provincial pheasant release program such a success for the past six years.
I have attended the ACA’s Taber Pheasant Festival twice and the Stettler Pheasant Festival since its inauguration six years ago. My brother Dean, who lives in Minnesota, has been coming up to hunt with me at the Stettler festival for the past five years. It has been great hunting with him. The Stettler Board of Trade has also done an excellent job delivering pheasant hunting opportunities.
I have been very fortunate to rediscover pheasant hunting. There is the rush of flushing birds in the field that never gets old and the pure joy of working with dogs that share the same passion. There is also much more. A reconnection with some the best memories that I have of my father and a reconnection with a remarkable bird that, through the pursuit of which, I have learned many life lessons. ■
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