Not exactly a day afield, but a night awoods.
In Scotland some 20 years ago together with a pal I was invited on a woodcock moonflight by John our 'keeper friend as a bit of a reward for some work we'd done for him. We'd been walking up all day in typical west coast Scottish weather and I'd left my Springer in the vehicle all nicely rugged up, the poor old boy was pooped.
John stood us on a ride in a Christmas tree plantation; they were maybe 12 -15 feet tall. We waited for the flight to develop and it did so, but very slowly with just a few birds, not any numbers at all.
I did see birds, but they were too quick for me so I never had a shot, although chum Gordon did connect with one and dropped it behind him. I walked over.
"Where is it Gord?"
Pointing in the general area of Somewhere In A Galloway Forest, "Err .... well in that lot."
"Dead is it?'
"Not sure. Might be."
"Stay here, I'll get Chrissie out of the motor and see what he can make of it."
I guess it took 15 minutes to walk there and back, so when I cast him off the dog was looking for a bird at night, on a blind retrieve, that might have run anywhere, in the pitch dark of the Xmas tree understory. At first we could hear him moving about, but then we lost the sound, and had no idea where he was. After maybe ten or twelve minutes we heard him moving around once more, and he came out with a very much alive 'cock, looking fairly pleased with himself.
John came over and said "I think that's one of the finest bits of dog work I've ever seen, well done the pair of you."
"Nah, nothing to it me old china, he does that all the time!" Lying git.
In truth it really was a terrific performance and has never left my memory. So one of my very best days was just a single retrieve of probably no more than sixty yards. Wonderful.
Here's the great man himself, looking just as wise as he really was. My heart breaks.
Eug
