SO UNCIVILIZED!

Many years ago, Steve, a friend from New York City, visited my home in Washington state.

- By Alan Liere

He was intent on experiencing the western pheasant hunting I had been bragging about because, “We don’t have wild ringnecks where I come from,” he said.

The morning after he arrived, Steve and I and Mark, a friend of mine from Idaho, headed south toward one of my favorite hunting spots in Whitman County. On the drive, Steve explained that the only pheasants he had ever “hunted” were on a game preserve where the shooters walked on paths and the dogs worked the cover to each side. When a point was made, one of the hunters would nod at the other and politely say, “I believe this is your shot.”

I could feel Mark grinning from the back seat. “Well, that’s not exactly the way we do it here,” he said. “There’s a lot of walking, and we spend a fair amount of time trying to keep up with the dog.”

We eventually left the blacktop and wound down a series of gravel roads and then turned onto a dirt track that snaked upward along a field of wheat stubble where a green and white Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife sign said, “Free to Hunt.” Just as we parked the truck and started getting out, three cock pheasants sprinted across the stubble and disappeared into the tall wheat grass at the fringe. Quickly exiting the car, I yelled, “Get out and load up!”