On my first pheasant trip in South Dakota I was designated as a "blocker". This was a totally foreign affair for me as I'd always been taught to not point a gun at another hunter and this "drivers and blockers" technique looked pretty much like a civil war skirmish. Four of us stood on one end of a strip of corn that seemed to stretch clear over to Massachusetts. The other 8 hunters started marching right toward us...shooting birds as they jumped up.
I was a corner blocker. My station was where the standing corn met the stubble where the rest had already been cut down. A few minutes had gone by and the "drivers" were in the corn. They'd occasionally have one jump up and we could hear shouts of "ROOSTER!" or "HEN!"
Sometimes a shot would ring out and sometimes 10 shots would erupt. At one point a big deer busted out of the corn and ran between two blockers! Holy mackerel...talk about a surprise! The anticipation really started welling up as the drivers drew closer. My heart beat faster the closer they got. The birds would run along the ground in the corn stalks to stay ahead of the drivers...but eventually they met us...standing at the edge of the corn.
Now we had a big rectangle boxing these birds in. It was like a human fence with pheasants in the middle. In a way it reminded me of an old west gun fight...who would flinch first? As these birds stared us down they had a choice to make...do they sit tight hoping nobody sees them? Or do they burst into the sky in a race for freedom?
There was a lot of chatter as the drivers grew close...it was people reminding each other not to shoot low...to be careful and mindful of the other hunters. Well soon enough those birds decided it was high time to get out of dodge and they started JUMPING up out of that corn. "ROOSTER! BOOM! BOOM! ROOSTER! BOOM!" Big brightly colored pheasant were leaping into the air on that South Dakota prairie and it was a sight to behold. Red heads gave way to purple iridescent rings that flowed into big orange and black bodies with powerful wings that faded away to impossibly-long, tiger-striped tail feathers. To a guy not used to seeing such creatures it was enough to temporarily freeze me.
It was raining feathers and birdshot under the biggest clearest blue sky you could ever imagine. Birds were falling, men were laughing, dogs were running...it was absolute mayhem. About the time it was slowing down, a rooster busted out the back door past the drivers on the far side of the box.
There was a lot of excitement as EVERYONE tried to clean up that last bird. Nobody could bring him down though, and now he had the wind at his back and was moving at roughly Mach 6. He took a big semi-circular pattern when he got out of the box and his path was leading him on a diagonal to my right. Everyone was screaming "SHOOT HIM!! SHOOT HIM!!!" I think I even heard one of the dogs screaming "CHOOT HIM BILLY!!! CHOOT HIM!"
I was the last line of defense. The bird was just above the tops of the corn and heading toward the next strip when I pulled my gun up. Time slowed down, the voices faded, I could see the dog screaming at me but could no longer hear the words coming out of his mouth...I had become one with the universe. My gun swung as if another person guided it. I remember watching my barrel overtake the bird from behind, passing RIGHT under him as if he were running on the barrel, as it passed through him the trigger broke. I don't remember the sound, but I will never forget watching that bird invert, lose power, and arc down to the fertile soil of the South Dakota plains 50 yards from where I stood. I watched him in slow motion as he slid across the earth and finally came to rest just shy of the cover he sought.
My hearing returned...people were hooting and hollering, the dogs went back to barking rather than talking, and I ran toward my dinner. If I live forever I hope I never forget that one simple memory. That one shot that is burned into my brain until the day my lights go out.
