I just got back into the office after working last week at the Game and Fish Department Outdoor Skills Park at the North Dakota State Fair, which means I’ve had my fix of fair food and unjamming pellet guns for the year.
Summer has flown by and it's unofficially time to start counting down to hunting season. As I write this, we’re down to just 11 days to North Dakota’s early Canada goose season, one I don’t always partake in but welcome as the kickoff to what follows. We occasionally sneak in a hot, muggy morning in the layout blinds, but if we do, it’s mostly just to appease Finley.
Of greater interest to me is the September 1 dove opener, where I’ll gladly welcome a few casual evenings aside the decoys to brush up on my wing shooting and get some of that pent-up anxiety out of Fins. This will be shortly followed by the archery openers, an activity I find myself committing a little less time to each year as those flawless bird points win my heart. Nevertheless, I think I’ll always find some time to wander the badlands or spend a peaceful sit in the stand simply for the excuse to be outside and decompress, even if my chances of a shot are slim. And this year, that opener will also come with a cheerful reminder that my brother will be here in October to chase mule deer with his bow and with any luck, I’ll be helping him pack a deer out of the farthest place he can find from any roads.
But if I had to pick just one date that has me daydreaming at my desk, it’d be September 11. Just 38 days away from the upland opener and hitting the grasslands in pursuit of sharp-tailed grouse and bonus partridge. With two September weddings to attend this year, I’ve held on tight to that weekend with all my might. Call me selfish, but it has quickly become perhaps my favorite tradition.
Camping in the grasslands, enjoying lazy mornings while the dew dries and the birds feed, and reliving the excitement of watching a bird dog work as if I’ve never seen it before. Wasting away days and miles in arguably some of the most beautiful country, all while hoping to get a rusty shot off at those grouse. Believe me, pheasants with their gaudy colors and sneaky tricks are right up there, but my hippy, nature-nerd-self finds extra joy in hunting birds native to this place.
From there things only get crazier; duck and regular goose opener, pronghorn opener (a long shot but fingers crossed anyways), pheasant opener and fall turkey opener will be pulling me in every direction in October. When you add in an out-of-state elk hunt and my brother’s North Dakota archery hunt, the deer gun season will be here before I know it. (And this year, I will not be one month into the job and sitting at my desk on Friday at noon while my husband sends me selfies with deer … true story.)
But while I sit here in pure anticipation, I know just as the snowy turkey season too quickly faded into this ridiculously hot summer, hunting season will come and go, and no matter how many times I avoid to-do lists or leave work early, it won’t be enough. It’s one of the hardest things to explain to a nonhunter. Frankly, sometimes I can’t put into words why we so adamantly plan schedules and life around fall. Sometimes I’m not even sure I know why I hunt beyond this innate sensation that this is who I am and this is where I feel most connected to something greater.
It’s been 186 days since I last harvested any game, admittedly a rival South Dakota rooster. A classic cattail, electronic collar beep signifying a dog point and a straight away shot that flew true for me. Fins had already had quite the 2020-21 upland season and I got to watch that same scenario play out countless times, but I had a feeling this bird would be the last one of the season and when those dots connect from habitat to bird to dog to me, it was indescribable, a tear rolled down my frozen cheek.
A tear.
That’s how much this lifestyle speaks to me. I played soccer for 15 years, I’ve run races, gardened, taken photos, traveled, hiked, camped, painted, drawn and wrote, and nothing else has made me cry out of unadulterated joy the way hunting can.
Only 38 more days.
