The Shot

Week five of the hunting season has settled in, and with the end in sight, I was pushing harder for a strong finish. I'm fortunate to have friends and areas to hunt scattered across the New England region. So many memorable sounds, sights, and smells are experienced when wild bird hunting—the things that no video or photo can truly capture. The shot of the season is one of them.

My fourth straight day out brought in a good friend and his wonderful dog for a single, hard-charging push. We were chasing the tail end of the woodcock flight in familiar New England covers, where success is always a hit or miss. The leaves were mostly down now, which offered fun shooting opportunities. The simple, timeless lesson of “move, mount, and shoot” echoed in my mind.

W. H. Foster, in his classic New England Grouse Shooting, writes about the explosive flush and the importance of being prepared and properly positioned. Following his teachings—and borrowing from his term "Mark"—my companions and I try hard to shout "Bird!" or "Bird up!" the moment a bird flushes. As any seasoned hunter knows, the wild bird's flight can be dubious, and that simple yell gives your partner a fighting chance at a shot.

I hope I've set the scene for something that can only be understood by those who are or have been out there.

We were on the edge of an expansive cover, logged about six years ago, amongst a stand of lethargic apple trees. Suddenly, a woodcock exploded out—it couldn't escape the dog's pursuit or the field-lining stone wall. My only possible shot coincided with me announcing the flush. I watched the bird climb higher and faster, heading straight toward my partner. This wasn't a cerebral, meandering climb out of the cover; it was a fuel-injected fighter jet ascent, part wood duck, part dove.

The mere sound of that bird's explosion and my own half-mounted, missed shot would have been satisfactory enough. The thrill of the flush, as they say. But to watch that challenging bird succumb to a second shot in that specific setting was the highlight of my season so far.

The bird was marked down, and the dog advanced into the thick cover. There were genuine smiles and congratulatory talk that ended with the GPS collar marking a distance we usually only discuss when shooting difficult sporting clays presentations.

It was the second shot on a flight bird in a traditional New England woodlot cover. A perfect moment, precisely where it should have happened. Hmmm, I may need to rename that cover...