EASTERN MONTANA PHEASANT OPENER

I WAS CAMPED....

outside a 3 star upscale oil-patch hotel built during  the recent BAKKEN boom. Although, those days are temporarily gone,  my hunting companions had suites with kitchenette. The comfortable lodging was quiet until the hunters from Pennsylvania arrived... More on that later.
Beside our hunt master another couple to added to the hunt party's stratosphere.

The two hammer gun guys who shot a WC Scott Premier and a James Woodward

Another Alpha male, he loved hunting birds and is afflicted with the need for fine weaponry like a tidy Woodward Hammergun. He was an Agriculturist and later each day he always had two or three birds tails protruding from his vest. His love for all thing Teutonic especially short hairs with names out Hansel and Gretel often forced me to think why I did not hunt with my Linders' What I really liked though was his immediate field dressing.

Pheasant ala picatta served over angel hair pasta

His wife is an artist with a passion for the sublime and could inhabit a world few of us scientists and engineer types can phantom. She seemed to peer sometimes into those multi-universes that only those living in the present can achieve. Their enthusiasms combined well to make the hunting party rival anything I had experienced on the Scottish grouse moors.

Opening morning  and I was unprepared to the long drive to the shooting fields as I usually camp within a few miles of our hunting grounds. The price of gas was astounding compare to my Nevada/California petro station.  We drove through several small towns that were clones of those in Saskatchewan. I felt at home. I understood people in these town maybe from the tales my mother would speak of about her South Dakota youth. He tales were always about the character that lived there. They came to life whenever I visited  a Prairie town.

Ahead the black suburban taillights stayed on. We were in the middle of nothing and I was comforted by my Labs moaning. She knew what was coming.  The hunt master got out of the cartel suburban and told us the nearby Russian Olive bush  usually held birds. He was right. 

The Swede and the Irishman both with English pre1900 doubles

Unprepared again, I walked to the bush and without a loaded gun. I sent the lab and a covey of partridge flushed, a single sharptail followed and finally two cock pheasants. It was a Moses bush and I had disobeyed the  1st commandment, "to always carry a loaded gun." I would get another crack at them later that week.

The Agriculturist and the Artist

My lab,Tess, came to heel looked up at me and almost pissed on Meindl boot.  We loaded and drove to the next coulee where I watched a dozen pheasants run from the wheat stubble into the grass. These birds were totally wild and had their Ph.D.'s from bird hunters.  And so we started the chase up the erosion patch with several Russian olives and native prairie grasses. I took the outside and kept the lab within 20 yards while the shorthair moved ahead. I could see birds running ahead about 200 yard and the cocks wildly flushed  ahead. While the  shorthair worked ahead I let the lab loose and she immediately flushed a cock a perfect right to left.  I was awed by the powerful wing beats and a tail that flopped and waved at me as the pheasant caught the breeze. I was caught with my head up bird watching, again. The gorgeous bull cock flew to its freedom. And then the lab spun around scented another trail. As I turned around she flushed another cock.  This time the hammer went down and Lab had feathers in her mouth and gingerly brought dinner to hand

The 1876 W&C Scott and Son Premiere Grade Dolphin head hammergun

ON THE FIRST DAY, GOD CREATED HUNTING DOGS. ON THE SECOND DAY HE MADE MONTANA

How my hunting grounds came to be

The Inland sea that made the Prairies

Beneath the short grass Prairies hills and coulees that I have walked and hunted for over 55 years,  were several thousand meters of layered alluvial sediment formed by inland sea that is rich in acrbon fuel known as "THE BAKKEN." This ancient formation often called the Western Interior Seaway formed 75 million years ago. Today it is a peaceful short grass praire that supports cattle, winter wheat and deep oil wells when the price is right. It is also where we hunt with dogs, campers, fine smooth bores and and great nimrods. 

The Dually 7.3 litre Diesel, Lance camper with slide and the Grand Cherokee

How blessed I've been to retire young and for the last 30 years able to manage my board of directors and tech companies from afar we yanked the three children from elementary to home school six weeks in the fall and 3 months in spring. Usually this annual camping Safari started in the Red Deer Valley Alberta, moved east to Saskatchewan ending up near the Cumberland House before descending to  North Dakota and Montana .

The children are past the age of homeschooling but the prairies are embedded in their blood. The prairie magic that camping, hunting and renewing friendships in small towns give us  enough joy to last until our return next year. 

Boone the Wirehair ..One of the most curious dogs I've hunted with

Time was in short supply this year so I decided the Montana pheasant opener would challenge my lab in prep for the partridge and later ruffed grouse Besides this would be a perfect way to open the travel season which usually ends up somewhere in the back country of Arizona or the Beaches of Mexico .  

F.C. Tess the superdog

The Hunting party

I was invited by a friend and his wife to join them for their annual Montana pheasant hunt that they had been committed to for over 15 years. Many years ago, I had the pleasure to introduced this man, a gentle Swede to Saskatchewan. His was a true sportsman and traveled the world with his high school sweetheart. They are well rounded and always filled with tales.  He and his fun loving college buddies hunted together since his ruckus filled college days as an civil engineering student at the great Iowa State in Ames. These days he focuses on dogs, engineered hand made doubles smooth bore and vintage wines. His wife, a math teacher brainiac, is a great facilitator and logistics support who enables their travels.  My wife and I felt at ease with their analytically grounded behavior, being well- read and well traveled couple of Midwestern heritage combined, He enthusiam for with fine pre-war English and continental hammer and hammerless guns and a great collection and knowledge of American double guns, jilted my jaded blood to accept and hunt in the lower 48 once again. Of course, the chance to try good wines , watch dogs work and shoot handmade smooth bores  and enough sense not to speak of American politics had a lot to try eastern Montana again. My wife was to join us. With me out of the house for six weeks she decided to choose a carpet and install over 400 yards. She regretted not hunting but upon my return I was delighted not going through the turmoil

My 20 bore back action Greener hammergun

   

AS I GET OLDER IT IS MORE ABOUT THE FRIENDS

Southwest Montana and in particular is special place for the summer. 
 
True, Montana has become Tony but one must slide between the poser and the layers of wanting to be there to find the special gift only the humble can sense. The Salmon Fly Hatch has become a mythical part of the allure that bring fly fisher to the Madison River. The hatch is something to behold with these big bugs hovering over the water swarming the willows  and then they go away but the trout are looking up. And that bug brings the fish and the fisher from all over the world to the Madison.

The Homeless Joe"s from California and Oregon staying at eh Animal House

I decided to set up a visiting camp this year to treat a few friends to Montana before it disappears.

The three amigos enjoyed the camping but realized they must pay their tribute to the Madison and extreme pocket water fishing. Then came the "Dean" of the Madison River, Don Prentiss of Tucson who still thought of the Madison as the only river. He ate food like there was not tomorrow not bad for an 86 year old solitary fisher

Fishing friends for over 40 years on the Madison. Patrick Maxon Don Prentiss(86) Ken McCubbin and Pat