On Minnesota pheasant opener, the hike is good but the birds are elusive

Into one of the latter at 9 a.m. Saturday, opening day of the pheasant season, Denny Lien, Willy Smith and I high-stepped, looking for roosters. The temperature was 34 degrees, the sky blue.

Perfect for a morning hike.

I had brought two Labradors, Griz and Rizzo, and as Denny, Willy and I fanned out into the grassy area, the dogs half-frolicked and half-sprinted ahead, uncertain of the occasion. But soon enough the shotguns the three of us toted tipped off the trusty canines that they were working, not playing, and they scoured the ground for scent.

"Watch Griz,'' I said only minutes later. "He might be on something.''

The 5-year-old black Lab's tail had taken on a Roto-Rooter-like action and his step had quickened. Soon, he put one bird to wing, a smallish hen, then another and another and another, each also a diminutive hen.

Then, 10 steps adjacent to these, Willy flushed a bird whose larger size suggested it was a rooster. But its coloring was muted, providing no positive identification until the bird was safely out of range.

"I think that was a young rooster,'' Willy said. "But I couldn't be sure.''

We would be teased again a half-hour later when another barely plumed cock bird set its wings in our direction. Someone on the other end of the public area apparently had fired at it and missed, and now, as the young rooster angled toward us, we crouched, hoping for easy pickings, driven-bird style.

Juvenile but not dumb, the pheasant spotted Willy, Denny and me in plenty of time to file an alternate flight plan, and diverted safely to a landing area 100 yards distant.

Romping ahead, Griz and Rizzo suggested with their eagerness that they just knew a veritable flock of pheasants lay ahead, waiting to be found.

Downing a large gulp of the same Kool-Aid, in my mind's eye I played highlight reels from past hunts over and over, seeing in living color chromatic long tails jump into azure skies and hearing them cackle.

If I could envision it, I was certain, I could make it happen. But it wasn't to be. A couple of hours on that first stroll yielded two more hens but no opportunities to touch a trigger.

So it went. Then the dogs started to drag, and we did, too. This was at 3 Saturday afternoon. In total, we had kicked up six hens and three roosters, none of the latter presenting a shot.