Time to remember the shots I made

Hunting season must be over. I unplugged the boot dryer last night.

For four months I’ve been carrying a loaded weapon more days than not, my finger on the safety, ready to raise the gun and fire. I shot a lot of rounds, killed more than a few birds, and wore out a pair of boots.

I opened the season hunting ruffed grouse in the Beartooths, not knowing what awaited me back home on the prairie. I soon found out. For the rest of September, I hunted earlier and faster than I ever had before in a vain effort to stay a step ahead of the swarms of mosquitoes that dogged me.

I’d make a quick loop from the truck and back, not even bothering with any birds that weren’t on my route. But the August rainstorm that prompted the late summer mosquito infestation also filled every oxbow and low spot on the prairie. There was water everywhere and consequently ducks and geese in great numbers.

October brought little relief from the bugs. It wasn’t until a winter storm blew in on Nov. 9 that the mosquitoes disappeared. The storm brought with it below-zero temperatures, half a foot of snow, and biting wind. It looked like winter was here to stay.

But while the country remained locked in ice, the snow had pretty much disappeared by the time December arrived. On Jan. 1, the final day of the season, it was well above freezing and the ground was bare. A single bird in the bag is plenty for me any day, and while I did bring home one last rooster, I also experienced a rare trifecta. On that last day of hunting until next September, following four months of sharpening my shooting skills on all kinds of flying targets, I missed shots at Hungarian partridge, pheasant and sharptail grouse. I’m half expecting a commendation from PETA.

For the next eight months I’ll try to remember the shots I made and not dwell on those I missed. I’ll make an effort to get out with the dogs, but probably won’t. It’s not as much fun if I can’t shoot something and watch them bring it back. I’ll try to stay in hunting season shape, but will likely return to my slothful ways, which I’ve convinced myself I deserve.

It may be time for a nap. After all, in less than eight months it will be hunting season again.

Parker Heinlein is at

[email protected]