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Jun 7th My First Pheasant

It all started when I got ripped off on a Browning Auto 5…

Years ago I was gifted a large amount of odds and ends from my great-uncle, including some firearms, such as, my .270win Steyr-Mannlicher and a Ruger M77 in .416 Rigby, just in case we ever get invaded by water buffalo or African elephants. Among the other odds and ends were a few cases of 3 1/2 inch 12 gauge buckshot. Originally they had been used for goose hunting, but due to regulation changes, lead shot had been banned making them nearly useless, especially in that volume. Buckshot it great for deer or bear defense, but I have rifles more suited to the task.

One day I got tired of looking at these boxes of buckshot and decided to try something. I posted one of them online for trade. Within a few hours I had someone saying they had a vintage Browning Auto-5 in 12 gauge, in pieces, they’d happily trade, but would need $100 cash on top. Being a sucker for the new A5, I went for it. Later that day I was met in my apartment parking lot and did the exchange. I didn’t get a chance to look closely at the shotgun before taking it in, its generally bad form to wave a shotgun around downtown.

Once inside I realized I may have been swindled. It appeared to be all there, technically. The wood stock appeared to be for a current A5 and perhaps chewed down to fit? or poorly chiseled? There was welding spatter on the side of the receiver and the magazine tube had been welded. There was also some chicken wire to replace a bolt on the side. I didnt love it, but I had to admit, it had character. With a heavy sigh, I stripped it down and did an inventory. It was missing a few retaining screws on the side and some friction rings (split rings that go over the tube and compress when fired to create drag as the barrel comes back). For another $100 I ordered these parts and put the gun back together. I was now looking at it like a rescue dog, it deserved to live again despite the horrible past that had been thrust upon it. Once assembled, thoroughly cleaned, and inspected, I felt comfortable-ish test firing it.

I crossed myself, got a witness nearby, in an area with cell service and….. click. My mind drew a blank, it was all there, what had I missed? For a few years after, it sat in a closet in my gunroom taking up slightly less space than a case of buckshot. During this time I considered converting it into a lamp, but that just didn’t feel right. Finally, this summer, in a fit of ambition, I decided it had to be something in the firing pin, either it wasn’t getting hit hard enough, or as I had seen in other shotguns, it was too short. After getting the firing pin out, I was able to cross reference it with some pictures online and determine it had been trimmed down by about 1/2 of an inch. So someone intentionally deactivated this gun, and the clean cut and bevel of the firing pin and returning it into the bolt was the only decent craftsmanship the Browning had seen since leaving the factory. It didn’t make sense, but logic and the firearms world dont always coincide, ask any collector or handloader. Luckily a friend of mine in Saskatchewan who does some work as a gunsmith had a spare kicking around, so for another $75, I had another part for a gun I was already too deep into.

I got the part into the gun, got another witness with first aid training, and took aim. Recoil never felt so good. Nothing broke, nothing flew off, the gun and I were both intact. Now I had another old, lead-shot-only, shotgun to add to the growing pile…

Come to October and I found I had a day off work and an idea. Being the romantic old fool that I am, I’m a sucker for old hunting posters, adverts, and magazine covers… and one thing that’s bored itself into my brain, is pheasants. An introduced game species that sure do look fun and nostalgic. They call to mind a time when hand drawn art was more common than photographs in magazines and posters, when a wool suit was hunting attire, and the family station wagon doubled as a hunting rig. I had decided that my old browning, manufactured in 1967, according to the serial number, was appropriate for this task for no reason other than it felt right.

The energy people put into pheasants with clubs like Pheasants Forever, or even just training flushing dogs told me there had to be something there. For years I had been aware of pheasant release sites operated by Alberta Conservation Association, but didn’t know much about how to actually use them. Turns out it really is as simple as getting a license and showing up (some areas require additional permits available online as they are owned by companies kind enough to allow hunters onto the property). I got up early and drove to the Daysland Pheasant Release Site. I drove to the far south west corner far away from the two vehicles I had seen on the east side. My fear was bumping into other hunters and causing them grief. I got out of the truck, crossed the fence and loaded my shotgun.

My little bit of research told me to walk slow and keep an eye out for the edges of fields and in brush, its unlikely they’ll be out in the open. I wandered to and fro, pushed bush, jumped creeks, and bumped into friendly fellow hunters, none were having luck but claimed to have had luck the week before. To me it looked like they were just taking their dogs for exercise, I checked my map and decided to do a big counter-clockwise loop and then call it a day. There were other people here and I was starting to question if pheasants were even real. Towards the most northerly part of my loop, in the distance, in an open field, was a pheasant. I dropped low and pulled up my binos, I could see a green head and ring around the neck, confirming it was a male, its illegal to shoot females, they look a lot like a grouse. In an awkward low crouch I closed the distance as my quarry walked perpendicular to me. Eventually I was spotted and as he trotted and gained flight, I raised my old A5 and fired. The bird tumbled and flopped onto the ground, success always feels good, and it was extra sweet with a shotgun I had brought back from the dead. Much like my old scattergun, the bird must have had a hard life… aside from being shot at the end of it. His beautiful long tail feathers that pheasants are known for, were missing. He’d had a close call with someone or something before I came across him. After the few obligatory photos, I tied him to my belt with paracord, and immediately decided that for the next hunt I would bring a backpack. Shockingly, walking with a bird on your hip results in a bird bouncing off your leg as you walk, which feels undignified for both parties. I opted to carry the bird in one hand and the shotgun in the other. A few hundred yards later I bumped into another hunter and had a quick chat about what all I had seen that day, in this case, one bird, which I would prefer he didn’t shoot as I was currently holding it and planning on eating it later. He told me he had some luck the week before, as is tradition it would seem. The walk back to the truck was nice, but uneventful.

Once at the truck I realized I wasn’t sure how to clean a pheasant, so I just did my best leaving evidence of sex and species attached and put it in a cooler. My day had run a little late and I had to go directly to my brothers house for a dinner I had been invited to. As an appetizer I grilled pheasant breast, coated with a bit of olive oil and spiced with paprika and some cayenne pepper. My fellow guests weren’t as excited as I was, I found it like a lean chicken, though I must admit a man would grow quite thin on a diet of pheasant as they seem to have less meat on them than a grouse.

The following week, work was still slow, so I went out again. This time to the Capital Power Pheasant Release site. I didn’t have any luck, but did run into another hunter who I reassured by letting them know I had some luck the week before…

Its nice to know these kinds of sites exist thanks to dedicated volunteers. For the last few months anytime someone asks me about getting into hunting, I tell them this is the place to start, all you need is a shotgun, license, and comfortable shoes, and the biggest hurdle is already handled because you know exactly where to hunt, no need to scout around or get permissions. Just show up, show respect, and maybe donate a little to the clubs that make it possible, if so inclined.

Posted in Hunting and tagged Alberta, alberta hunting, hunting, Outdoors, pheasant, pheasant huntingwith 1 comment.