Old

The following story is not a recent one, but I wanted to share it anyways.



Growing up in a non-hunting part of Pennsylvania was an interesting start to life for me. In my home town owning a gun is almost considered a crime in the eyes of some. Not to mention hunting and harvesting game are activities that should never, under any circumstance ever, never ever ever be done. But remember, it is ok to buy poultry that lived in a tiny cage, fed steroids and then packaged and put on the shelves of the local grocery store.

On the other hand I also grew up listening to my grandfather’s tales of hunting elk, whitetail and muleys in Wyoming and the mountains of Colorado. His stories kept me on the edge of my seat as a kid and are always a camp fire favorite for a few of my friends.

At the age of 18, in my first year of college and after years of shooting shotguns with my father, we decided it was time I made some hunting stories of my own and we booked my very first hunt. Pheasant.

Pheasants originated in Asia and were first introduced to the US in the 1800s. Ringneck Pheasants, like the ones on the hunt, can now be found across the globe due to their readiness to breed in captivity and the fact they can adapt to numerous climates.

The male Pheasant, also known as a rooster, is larger and far more colorful than its female counterpart. He sports a long tail that when fully matured nearly doubles the length of his body. His head is primarily dark green with bright red around the eyes and beak. The body is a combination of browns and brilliant shades of gold.

An unfortunate sports accident a few weeks before the fall hunt had blown out my ACL and meniscus of my right knee. I was absolutely heartbroken, thinking I was going to have to miss my first hunt and wait six months after the surgery before it would be possible to go on another hunt.

But we Schrecks are stubborn people.

I got the surgery done and a week later I hopped on my crutches and we went off to the hunt. Being on crutches complicates even the simplest of tasks, so I knew I was in for a challenge. Nevertheless, I was not going to let anything stand in the way.
Our guide Robby and his German shorthaired pointer, Doc, were sympathetic of my situation because one of his other dogs had knocked him over several years ago and blown out his knee. The instant I heard that I knew that there was no better guide in the world for me!

The plan was for me, my father and Robby (who carried my 12 gauge over and under) to follow Doc and wait for him to go on point. The rainy weather had made an absolute mess of the fields and my crutches sank several inches into the mud with every step and the holes they left would instantly fill up with the left over ground water. This made my progress somewhat slower than our hyper active bird dog hot on a scent.
Apart from the poor ground conditions, the scenery was a picturesque mid-November day at the M and M Hunting Preserve in New Jersey. Beautiful blue and grey clouds covered the late fall sun, only allowing the occasional rays to shine through. All the trees had shed their leaves for the inevitable approaching winter and the cold air nipped at our bare faces in a refreshing way.

This is what I had envisioned for the hunt.

Doc soon had a bird cornered at the end of a waist high plot of corn stubble and went on a picture-perfect point, like the kind you would see in the old Winchester posters. With adrenaline pumping through my veins, I crutched with all my strength to catch up to the others at the point. Robby traded me the shotgun for the crutches and I snapped the breach of the Browning ULTRA XS shut with two shells loaded. I completely forgot the state of my leg and assumed my shooting stance which had become second nature.

Time came to an utter stand still as I watched the tip of Doc’s muzzle for where the bird would burst out of the brush. Doc held the point for a solid minute before I arrived, a very impressive feat. He never flinched until he heard the call.

“Flush’em!”

The racket a rooster pheasant makes as he beats his wings to get out of thick brush is quite a thing! I let him fly for bit, watching this beautiful creature in motion before I swung over him and squeezed the trigger. First shot, first bird! What a feeling!

Without any hesitation Doc was on the bird and before I could stop shaking from excitement Doc brought the bird back and placed it gently in the hands of his master. Who, in turn, handed me my first bird. I could feel the warmth of the bird through my gloves and his distinct scent filled my nose. If you have never seen a pheasant up close you must add it to your list. These are in my opinion the prettiest of all birds.

M and M Hunting Preserve works extremely hard to make sure the birds have plenty of natural habitats on the preserve and maintains them to perfection. They are a true model of sustainable hunting.

After the hunt we brined one of the pheasants with sautéed onions, white wine and a few spices. Then we let it marinate for a few hours before roasting it. What a fantastic way to end the day!

So, despite being on crutches I went on my first hunt with my father and it could not have been any better! Now I have my own hunting story (and hopefully many more!) to tell my grandchildren someday.