My Dad passed away, but my brother-in-law remained bound and determined to bag a Cape Lookout pheasant. So determined that on our last trip there together he brought a new Browning 725 over-and-under 20-gauge shotgun. It was a beautiful gun with great balance, but his friends and I teased him that it wasn’t going to up his game, so to speak.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t any game to speak of. We must have walked miles through the dunes and scrub, but none of us saw or heard any sign of a pheasant that long weekend. Our dreams of roasting up a pheasant at the fishing camp were apparently going to come to naught.
The fishing, though, proved fruitful, with our late afternoon catches of sea trout making up for those long-distance morning walkabouts with nary a sign of pheasant. While our #6 shotgun shells remained unspent, our MirrOlures and Gotcha plugs got a workout.
Nevertheless, our thoughts remained on pheasant, and my brother-in-law was particularly keen on showing off his hunting prowess with his new shotgun. And after our last futile walkabout on that Monday, he did fire off a few of shells, going five for eight on sand-weighted conch shells flung out over the surf.