There is just something thrilling about opening day pheasant season. Before noon the town is filled with pickups and men in orange vests and hats. The gas station is filled with those picking up water, pop and beer (for relaxation after the hunt I'm sure) dogs in the back eager to go.
I went out with my guys today, donned a bright orange hat and vest. We walked thru tall grasses that swayed in the wind. The breaking of twigs beneath our feet. The ground muted greens and tans. A bird would take flight, so beautiful to watch as it's wings are parallel to the ground searching for a safe place to land. Holding my breath waiting for the popping sound with hopes the bird will fall, knowing the thrill it would bring to my son.
Riding in the pickup I am a spotter, watching where they fly up and where they land. Three fly from the ditch we stop so Cole can walk in the weeds. One flies up and though Cole shot it is a miss. As we drive further on another is spotted. Lyle shoots this one and Carter runs to retrieve. The pheasant is twisting and turning doing a wild sort of dance. Carter waits to grab it and soon it is still. The colors on the bird are magnificent, the browns, golds, greens and blues. The guys went out again this time without mom...Cole got his bird and is estatic...another great fall day in SD