Yes, that is a tied fly! – Somerset Fly Fishing Show Jan. 2012

One of the biggest parts of the Somerset Fly Fishing show we just returned from is the rows of professional tiers.  They are different than professional tiers in China who produce all our day to day trout fare.  Those offshore worker’s skills are extreme speed and consistency at the vise. The American and European tiers are creators who specialty is quality and innovation.  They are the concept cars of the industry and their work pushes the envelope.

Many of the tiers I saw at the show were pushing the ultra realistic theme that has been the dominant revolution in tying the last 10 years.  They want to fly to look exactly like the insect or baitfish that is present in the system that the trout is feeding on. Some of the results are spectacular.  The trend in synthetic materials and their advancement has helped immensely in achieving this goal.

I was chatting with a celebrity tier recently about his patterns and his favorite story was after a trip to a tying show in Europe an American Customs agent confiscated  all his flies upon entry back into the U.S.

The story went like this -

Customs  - “Please open your bag sir, and what are bringing into the country?.”

Celebrity Tier – “I am bringing back my flies from a show in Germany”

Customs – “Flies?  I hope you know we don’t allow any import of foreign insects in the U.S.”

CT -”No sir.  These are flies I tied”

CT opened up his bag of ultra realistic patterns and the look of suspicion on the Customs officer went immediately to code level red.

Customs -”You tied dead insects to hook?”

CT – “No, I use different materials and bring them together”

Customs – “You are telling me you cut up real insects and glued them to a hook?  Just because you are using insect parts put together doesn’t get around our ban.  They still can harbor viruses and parasites.”

CT – “No, I take different animal parts from birds, bears, elk, and deer along with nylon products to  craft these flies in a vise. There not real flies.”

Customs – “You cut up birds and other mammals, cover them in nylons, and sqeeze them in a vice with glue to make these things.  Do you really expect me to believe that works in creating these things that look exactly like a real insect? Really?”

CT – “Yes, that is the whole idea of fly tying.  I have some of my magazines and books I have been published in to prove it.”

CT shows the Customs official some of his published work.

Customs -”Ok, that just proves there are more of you that engage in this behavior why would do this?”

CT – “We use them to catch fish.”

At this point the customs guy starts laughing hysterically at the premise. And picks up the bag full of flies closely inspecting each one and shaking his head.

Customs  - “I learned long ago in the border business to believe your eyes first.  These look like insects, not nylon clad animal parts on a hook, and you can’t bring them into the country. Sorry.  If you want to appeal my decision you can file form 10Z-56-789 with Customs and appeal this confiscation.”

At this point CT realized the story was going to do far more for his fly career than a fight over a few flies, so he let it go.

As CT walked off laughing himself he thought  ”If only trout were were as easy to fool.”

A great deal of fly fishing shows are about watching some of the best fly tiers in the world show their talent.

I don’t know if their flies catch more fish that a plain old parachute Adams, but they are cool as hell.

Brooks Jessen getting the Trout Message out in Somerset New Jersey

Brooks and I are back from the Somerset Fly Fishing Show in New Jersey after 5 days on the road in hotels and airports.

It was a strange, but good show.  I will break down the days in a blog later in the week.

The Somerset show is a nice snapshot of the current makeup of the fly fishing industry so I always take periodic strolls through the floor and check out which vendors do pay the fare and participate.

In the early days this show was awash with travel destinations and fly tiers.  Alaska, Montana, Canada, Mongolia,and Belize were everywhere.    Over the years we have seen a great deal of those travel operators disappear from the floor.  One year there were only three Montana lodges there, where 10 years ago it would have been fifteen. In place of those I now see a great deal more start up product manufacturers and east coast local guide services and fly shops.  I would guess the considerable cost of doing the show outweighed the sales generated for travel destinations and they opted out.  Whereas, the local guides have about 60% less cost in the show and are not chasing the same sales volume to overcome the upfront ticket to participate.

There has been a massive shift in makeup and volume of the show attendees at the show over the last decade.  In the early days it was easy to put together large groups of new anglers looking for their first trip to Montana. You just showed up, handed out brochures and like magic you were booked. That there were 15 other destinations there competing didn’t matter.  Now you have a whole class of travelling anglers that has been educated by their experiences – some very good fishing trips where they found a home and some very poor when they were burned by a bad outfitter.  Either way today’s trade show travelling angler is far more educated (the rise of internet bookings that have extensive information contributed greatly as well).  The sales we make now are with anglers that do their homework.  This trend has helped us at A Classic Journey immensely as our organization, infrastructure, and honesty lends itself greatly to providing a sound pre-trip experience.  In my earlier post I joked about T.B.S and guaranteeing two foot long trout on every cast.  The truth is if you show up at A Classic Journey’s booth we will rationally explain our area, our facilities, the season, and my honest best guess at what conditions you will expect.  When you arrive our guides will show up on time, organized with a plan, serve a great lunch, and work hard for you.  Yes, you will get a bunch on the river TBS because were are anglers after all, but we won’t waste your valuable vacation time in justification of it.  We are fun bunch, but in the end focused on fishing and giving it our best effort every day in exceptional dry fly fishing grounds.

Gone are the days of “Hey Buddy, come to Montana, have a beer, and we will just go fishing.  Now can I have your deposit, I only take cash.  Do you have some cash?  I need some money to make it back home.  Ha Ha.  No, really can you make a deposit today.”  Those rock and roll guides were in their heyday long ago, thus colorful character trout travel operators have diminished in favor of full color brochures and power point presentations.  The hotel bars in the early days were a blast with these cowboy style guides putting on show much like you can find in the small bars in Montana filled with after shift trout bums blowing off the steam of the river life.  You would see a long morning lines of young red streak eyed guides in sandals at the coffee stand laughing about last night’s shenanigans and praying for the the sales day to go quickly to shake off the hangover.

I am not saying this shift was good, as I greatly enjoy sharing some of the trout war stories with my colleagues, but a more sedate professional is currently what seems to be the makeup now of the vendors.

Or maybe its just Brooks and I getting older.  We found ourselves ordering in Pizza and having a few cocktails in the room watching TV before an early bed time, rather than running into New York City to chase the sun up.

But, I had hair back then too.

I guess we are still young, just not as young.

The Trek to the East

Brooks and I are headed east again to Somerset New Jersey on Thursday this week to the biggest fly fishing show in the Business. Always it is a culture shock for two native Montana boys when the human crush hits us on the ground at Newark airport. The speed and the hustle of the Eastern city culture is an impressive machine compared to easy roll of the trout life in Montana.

Despite the speed adjustment it is always a fun trip as we see many great fishing friends that make their annual trek the other way to Montana each year to fish with us.

The Somerset show is the pretty much the super bowl of shows. At almost 200 exhibitors ist twice as big as the closest other venues. The luminaries of fly fishing celebrity will be in attendance. You won’t see women hurling their under clothes at them, but they do put on some cool seminars and casting demonstrations. Its a good group.

This is my tenth year on the trade show circuit and they seem to follow about the same itinerary -

Thursday – Set up and catch up with exhibitor friends. The main question everyone is asking around nervously is  ”How is your season looking? Sales Up?”

Friday – Slow morning of foot traffic and the bargain hunters work the retail fly shop guys hard. By the afternoon the after work crowd is meandering through looking for a trip or two. The hotel bar lights up a little after close, but its sedate as everyone is saving energy for the hopeful Saturday blitz.

Saturday – On a good Saturday the doors open and it is game on with lots of prospective clients keeping a steady stream. Usually 11 – 3 is the peak. I have had Saturdays when you run out of brochures, you can’t walk up the aisles, and your voice gets hoarse from the sales pitch.  I have also had a few stinkers that you could have rolled bowling balls down the isles and not nicked an angler.  If Saturday is good the hotel bar will jam with hopeful exhibitors.  If it is poor then the hotel bar with jam with exhibitors drowning their sorrows.  I usually opt out of the bar scene for the  impromtu band jam on the 2nd floor lobby with one of the exhibitors who sets a small stage and invites all comers to grab a guitar or sing.  When its good its as close to a river campfire sing along as you can get in a New Jersey Hotel.  Trout people are never rich, but they are fun bunch.

Sunday – This is the wild card day.  Sometimes Sunday is the best of all the days as trip decisions are being made and booked, sometimes is a lost day on weather or sports events that keep attendance too low.  Those slow Sundays get you itching for the door and the long Monday morning flight back to Montana.  Either way Brooks and I will have sore knees from standing on concrete for three days and giving the “We are the Greatest Fly Fishing Trip the Universe has ever known” sales pitch.

So, I will be working on my fly fishing sales stories all week of two foot long trout that always inhale the big dry on every cast – guaranteed- yeah, even on the drag.  No really guaranteed, don’t leave, come back in my booth and lets find some dates.  Did I mention the sun shines everyday in Montana and the water is always perfect.

Brooks and I will be in Somerset, if you are there please stop by for some T.B.S.  (The T is for trout and you will be able to smell the rest.)

Summer Wadefishing the Bitterroot, So Far Away Today

We are in the winter slop right now with rain pouring in over the snow dump we received over the last few days in Missoula.  They still haven’t got the City Plow Trucks to our side street so I have been in 4wd drive to get out the main arteries.  This winter had been dry and warm and now we look like a ski town.

During the Summer I will get asked regularly by a guest what the winter in Missoula is like.  It is usually a husband’s question that comes after a great day of fishing and dreams of retirement on a river in Montana are circling his smiling mind.  But Really the question is – Will my wife tolerate the winters?

Here’s some Retirement Winter Weather Thoughts to Ponder -

- Winter weather usually starts with the first big storms in late November.  That snow will be gone quick, but you will be going from sweaters to coats pretty quickly.

- The Missoula winter isn’t really that bad from a cold weather standpoint.  Most days are in some range of the 30′s and on the valley floor the snow comes and  goes.  We generally don’t get those minus 10 degree runs you see in Eastern MT.  You will have to shovel now and then, but not everyday and sometimes not every week.  The weather break is at around 4500 ft.  Above that is definitely winter, but Missoula is at 3200 ft so it seems to swing.

- What makes a Missoula Winter hard is the lack of sun.  We are always cloudy or have an inverted weather pattern.  It is a sick joke that the news station has a camera on top of Mount Jumbo that is at 5000 ft and above the socked in valley floor.  In the evening the news weather guesser tells us it will be another dark foggy day, but “Hey look, on top of the Mountain its bright happy sun over the grimy grey Missoula valley cloud bank.”

- March really kicks off the Spring with many days up in the 50s which clears out our clouds.  Those warm sunny March days are like a new baptism and everyone in Missoula will be out finding something to be active in.  I prefer Skwalas.  We may still get a snow until June, yes June, but that is a rare storm.

Missoula is a dark winter with moderate temperatures and come and go valley snow.

So your wife shouldn’t mind it here as there is plenty of time for you to teach her how to tie flies, and help organize your fishing gear.  Besides, its only three months of grey foggy darkness and then its time to go fishing.   Learning how to row a boat is another great skill to have and there will be plenty of time for her to learn that when you fish all summer.

Yeah, your wife will love here in Montana.

Kona Bridge in the Snow on the Clark Fork – January 18th

We are buckling down for a monster winter storm here in Missoula.  It has been a relatively easy winter so far, but this front is going to put down a foot on the valley floor and multiple feet up top in the Mountains.

I don’t enjoy shoveling my driveway twice a day, but I do like to see some ground gained on what was so far a  below average snowpack year.  The Weather guessers are claiming this storm should bring us back up to normal snow pack after it finally passes through.  Hard to say if that is what will shake out, but I know right now there probably won’t  be a hatch and winter trout pods today.

But, I have been proven wrong on the slush ice call before.  About 9 years ago we were on our annual fishing buddy Rock Creek first week of March trip and was greeted the first morning with a barely open ice choked river.  I quickly informed my friends of our grim fish less fate and that I the all knowing professional guide recommended we head back to the cabin for cards, naps, guitars, whiskey, and try again tomorrow.  As I was giving my completely accurate diagnosis of the river the one newbie in our group tied on some flies and started flogging the water in between the sheets of ice breaking off and flowing by.  As I turned to say goodbye to Rock Creek and hope for warmer weather tomorrow I saw him bent up on a  good fish.  He released it, and caught another.  My friends rolled their eyes at my assessment of water conditions and plowed into what ever moving water they could find and started to catch fish.

I acknowledged defeat and jumped in with them hopscotching up Rock Creek having a great day of fishing.

Cold fingers meant less than catching fish then, but today it looks like snow shoes will be a better fit than wading boots so I will leave today’s fishing to the hands of younger hard core U of M students that are dodging class and going fishing anyway.

You can poorly photoshop out the scenery, but you can’t photoshop in the smiles

I asked my buddy what he was doing as his massive “fly” rig crashed down in the river like a body falling from the active logging bridge we were fishing under.  The picture gives it away the our lead guide Brooks is our mysterious steelhead guru from the first two episodes.

Brooks – I am fly fishing for steelfaces.

Joe – That doesn’t look like fly fishing it looks like lead plopping.

Brooks – Whatever, I have a fly rod in my hand and soon a steelface to net.

Joe – But you aren’t back casting, you are kind of just hurling towards the middle of the river.

Brooks – Exactly, but if you want to back cast go ahead.  Let me know how that goes for you.  I rigged you up, got all my stuff on, and protected the run while you were whining about a few logging truck fumes.  Go fishing and quit thinking about it.

I looked down and sure enough my buddy had set me up with a rig I hadn’t ever seen before.  It was a long leader of 20 lb test tied to a three way swivel.  Off that swivel was a large egg fly  and underneath that was tied a slinky lead.  I started to dry heave a little and my chest got tight as my anxiety over this rig’s detrimental effects on my ethics sunk deeply in.

Brooks noticed my attitude and rolled his eyes.

Brooks – It’s either that or watch me whack some big fish.  Now suck in the logging truck fumes, man up, and huck some lead.

I figured the only thing worse then throwing this rig and catching a fish would be sitting on the bank not fishing and watching someone else do it.  So I waded out in the run, stripped off some slack, and let the current build up the water load on the fly line for the forward cast.  Between the swift current, the  egg fly draped swivel, and slinky my rod was bent and jumping as if I already had hooked up on a steelhead.  Just before I started my forward cast I noticed Brooks had one eye on me with a smirk on his face.

I knew I had to generate bunch of line speed to clear the surface tension of the river and plop this bowling ball rig in the right upstream water lay so I put the wood to my 8 weight.  I feel the line lift and start airborne.  The only  things I remember next was hearing a swivel whistle by my ear, stars, and Brooks laughing.  The slinky had missed its mark of the river and instead found the back of my head.  Imagine someone standing three feet from your head and hucking a spark plug full windup at your ear.  My slinky sparkplug caught me good enough to bring mist to my eyes and a little nausea to my stomach.

Brooks guffaws back at me  - Don’t forget to duck! Ha, Ha, Ha.

For whatever reason I took this fishing rig’s insolence personally and vowed to catch a Steelhead on this trip.  I relaxed, wiped the pain tear from my eye, let some line out and ducked as the rig whistled by to find the river.  This wasn’t going to be waking huge dry flies on the Dean River in British Columbia to chromer steelhead, this was bar fight under a bridge in Stites Idaho.

After two more days of nascar racing around Stites on little sleep followed by the frantic casting romance of whistle, duck, plop fishing I did finally catch a steel face.  And I must say they are an exceptional creature to battle.  After holding him in the net all the head lumps and moral conundrums seemed to fade away with a smile.

I did end up hitting a road sign on the trip racing a group of anglers to the Sawmill hole.  The bent old red haired sign seemed to smile and nod approval.

Brooks just said – You might be a steelheader yet.

But don’t tell anybody and wading without boots on isn’t that bad.

The Joy of hooked up behind Metal Buildings and stacks of pipes

At the beginning of any fishing trip to new water there is a level of anticipation of  simply what the river looks like.  So as soon as we got rolling towards the river with our double bags of leaded flies, I was quickly asking my steelhead guru friend to take me to the river just to see it.  We were currently navigating the dirty streets of a town whose richest member must either be a bar owner or the guy that buys and sells used single wide trailers, so I thought we would have to drive a bit out of town to get to the nice water.  My friend’s response was a quick right turn through a stop sign whose long history of being hit had left it bent like stumbling drunk old red haired man.  As we swung down a dirt road I noticed two other traffic signs in the same condition.

I asked – “How come all the signs are laid down?”

My friend responded -”Anglers.”

Me- “Anglers!!??”

Buddy – “Let’s just say steelheaders here are either fishing, drinking, or driving quickly to the next spot in search of a epic fish battle on little sleep.  Their navigation skills are mostly impaired or distracted.”

Me – “That sounds dangerous.”

Buddy – “You learn to keep an eye out, Rookie.  Now do you want to fish or not?”

My friend stopped his truck on the other side of a bridge that spanned at what would best be described as an oversized ditch running by the leaning outdoor decks of trailers on one side and an old but still functioning sawmill that was constantly reminding you of its existence by the caravan of logging rigs thumping over the bridge.

Me – How far to the river?

Buddy – This is it.

Me – Right, but really how far to the river? We can probably get a few casts in before dark.

Buddy – Get out Rookie and gear up.

As we were putting on our waders I noticed my friend working frantically to get his waders on and get his rod put together and then I hear him mutter – “Those sons of bitches” – and start sprinting down the bank in full gear.

Sprinting in a set of waders is awkward, sweaty, falling down, endeavor that the Simms product was never meant to withstand.  Although my friend was keeping his feet below his head I could tell by his steady winces and curses that his ankles were on the losing end.  When I heard a tear I hoped it was gore-tex and not a hamstring.  He hit the water hard, but still on his feet, and started screaming “MY WATER. YOU KNOW THE RULES. MY WATER!!”

It seemed his barks were falling on a bush at the head of the run.  But as he got closer I picked out two anglers hid in the branches scrambling to put on their waders in much the same manner and speed in which my friend had displayed.  The other two anglers forlornly acknowledged his enforcement of river rights and started to limp off.  As I saw them move up the bank I noticed they were walking tenderly lacking the wading boots to protect their stocking foot waders.  They had rods, but no shoes.

I finally made it up to my friend to ask what that was all about.

Buddy – “They tried the old no shoe trick”

Me – “What?”

Buddy – “We beat them into the run, but as you know wading boots take the longest time to get on when it is cold like this. They were going to cut that step out and get in the water first and kick us out.”

Me – “Guys will wade in stocking feet?  That would hurt.  Have you ever done it?”

Buddy – “Yes, it is an old trick, but it cuts time and can work.”

Me – “That doesn’t sound like fun at all.”

Buddy – “Rookie, I am not sure you are cut out for steelheading.”

At that moment three other trucks with rods strapped to the hoods and packed with crazed rag tag anglers made a lap on the bridge. When they saw us in the river their disappointment was made evident when the back truck in the line rolled down its window and flipped us off.

My sweaty friend smiled and started fishing in a manner in which I was unaccustomed to seeing fly anglers engage in and I had no idea how to replicate.

This trip was going to have further levels of education that were starting to look more like descent rather than enlightenment.

Steelhead Ethics?

One of our steelhead junkies sent us this video.  Most of it is funny and the end has a little swearing.  Ah yes, the steelhead debate.

One of the rules of fishing is that the bigger the fish is the more leeway anglers find in their decision making process of catching them.

I am not a steelhead angler, as I have caught only two in eight days of fishing.  I swung for two days on the Grand Ronde, Nymphed for three days on the Methow, and did something I am not really sure was fly fishing on the Clearwater.

A friend of mine had convinced us that Wadefishing the South Fork of the Clearwater was awesome and consistently gave up monster steelhead.  I saw the pictures of the big fish he was catching so we put a group together and headed to Idaho.

As we were coming into the small town we were staying at I noticed a distinct change in scenery from the beautiful drive over the pass.  The random rural home tucked on a beautiful wooded nob gave way to rows of older single wide trailers that apparently didn’t have trash service as they chose rather to stack it what I would assume was once a yard.

As we pulled in to get our licenses at a tackle shop/gun store/beer depot, my friend asked if I brought any slinky lead.  As I didn’t know what that was I answered to the negative and he muttered “Rookie.”  He informed that they should have plenty of weight here and I should get some.

My friend quickly began a conversation with the proprietor of the tackle store who was happy to share which of his products that were coincidently for sale was getting all the monster steelhead to eat.  After learning that a slinky was a piece tubing that you fill with mini lead canon balls I surmised the owners dental makeup probably rooted its downward trajectory in assembling leaded slinky setups with his teeth.  None the less,  he was a nice fellow who seemed knowledgeable, so my friend recommended I spend some money buying his various recommendations on jig headed hooks, swivels, and lead.  When  I asked them if they were flies he said “Sure”.   I picked up the bag of “flies”, but the bag quickly broke a seam from the weight and scattered the steelhead magic across the floor.  My Friend muttered “Rookie” again and informed me you always double bag the purchases from this shop.  I picked up my gear, double bagged, but I believe I strained part of my back carrying it all out.  As we got to his truck I swung the bag trying to gain enough momemtum to clear the tailgate and land it in his truck bed.  My Friend grabbed my arm before I released it and informed me to set it in nicely as it would dent his rig and muttered again “Rookie”

This was the beginning of an illuminating trip into the bowels of steelhead fishing.

Brooks just misses a big one in little water on the Bitterroot

Its a fishing winter year so far. We have had nice weather on the valley floors, which produced another warm day so Brooks, Patch, and I headed out to do some side channel fishing on the Bitterroot.

Winter fishing here in Missoula can be very productive but you need to time it right. Any day with sun and air temp over 34 degrees without wind and you are in the game. The standard issue answer to winter cathcing is going to be the nymphing game, but you don’t have to stick to grinding bead heads on the bottom to to catch them. We get some excellent dry fly fishing in the right habitat along with some big fish skinny water dropper fishing. My top choice is the lower Bitterroot on the warmest afternoons which will produce pods just like  our summer fish for about 3 hours in the afternoon.  Capnia winter stones can give the head hunter a nice size 16 dry fly to put through the pods rather than having to play the perfect headache size 22 on a dead drift midge presentation.

We opted for the side channel game to see if we could get some toads to hand.  It was an all or nothing gamble because it is a popular spot on a winter day and the water around it doesn’t cold water fish well from your feet.  We lost that card play, due to the fact that one of my favorite side channels was taken by a couple hard core University of Montana students wade fishing.  They were in way early and already in the cream run when we pulled up.  I did that alot when I was skipping class on warm winter Fridays in January – good show young anglers. So we opted for a lesser piece of water but still managed to nick the rim on a couple big ones.  However the only fish we actually landed was a small rainbow that ate a dry.

We took turns on the rod but by the time we got into some mediocre dry fly water we quickly realized they were barely picking at a light hatch and no stoneflies.  We knew we had lost the best habitat to some professor dodging students, but were trying to get lucky.  Winter fishing is the last frontier and I have been shocked many times with what a January hike would produce.  This wasn’t one of those afternoons of happy risers, so it turned into a B.S. session with three fishing guides prognosticating about snowpack, steelhead, and new boats.

It’s a cliche, but you don’t have to catch them to have a nice day fishing.  Friday was a good hike in nice weather.  Just getting out keeps you sane.

Now go back to class and get an education you U of M slackers, if you aren’t careful you might end up being a fishing guide.

Working the Cattails – January 2012

I finished the State of Montana Fishing outfitter report and Missoula saw 50 degree temps so we went hunting again.

I am not a good bird hunter, but apparently a lucky one.  Brooks and Josh, my hunting companions for the last week are skilled.  When the bird goes up they anticipate it well, track and swing, and knock it down with a good shot.  So when we go I try not to shoot more than a couple times, therefore if my lack of skill rears its ugly head I can’t go on long streaks that end in nicknames like “No-hit-them-ever Joe” “Ofer to many birds Joe” and “Are you kidding me you suck Joe”.  I try to get some nice pictures and keep my shotgun safely pointed away from humans or flying birds.  On our first hunt I shot twice and knocked down a bird, not bad.  On our second hunt I shot only once and got one, even better.

That’s not bad shooting but the second hunt had some moving parts that merit telling.

It so happened that the owner of the pheasant ranch decided to tag along.  These are planted birds by him, so lets just say his instincts on their location are quite acute.  Although that was helpful he added a level of pressure that I rarely am on the client end of.  I set the long reach cast shots on feeding trout and my client is on the performance hot seat.  The ranch owner sees hunters every day that have the best dogs on the planet and can shoot the eye out of a hawk, yet somehow still can’t find or shoot the planted birds he set out.  He also sees the real deal hunters and that experience naturally helps him gauge how far to stay back from a swinging shotgun.  In my the fishing business knowing when a tailing loop is going to crash on your head with a hook is a necessary skill, but the stakes are that much higher with firearms.

When it was my turn to walk up on Brooks’ dog Griffy pointing a bird I noticed everyone took more that 10 steps backward.

As I walked up on the Griffy I thought -

-Man I hope this is a fat, slow, dumb, suicidal, rooster

- Don’t shoot the dog, when he gets up

As I got closer the bird still hadn’t got up.

- Where is this thing going to fly to???? Come on suicidal rooster with a bum wing

- Remember don’t shoot Griffy

- These guys know I am not doing this right

- Why are they stumbling backward? Is Josh laying down?

Then the bird erupts up in the air and at this point I am supposed to go into a calm shot cycle and focus with a swift methodical trigger pull.

Instead I think -

- Find the flapping blur, yank and hope.

- Don’t shoot Griffy

My technique worked to perfection and I dumped the bird in one shot.

The look on my companions face was not of appreciation or admiration, it was more like the slack jawed shock from the crowd when the 5 year old at the baskeball halftime show swishes a half court shot granny style to win the $10,000 jackpot followed by utter relief I didn’t swing a loaded shotgun towards them, but I don’t think they were ever in danger as their pre-shot retreat put them well out of range of the BBs.

Either way they can now call me “One Shot”.  My techniques rely on luck and seem to work once a day, but I don’t like to push it past a single bird.  My companions can only handle admiring me for so long and know better than to ask me what my secret is. Just ask the professional at Rooster Ridge Pheasant Farm, he knows who “One Shot” is, and knows exactly when to retreat to a safe distance.