Gary Greene’s Memories from an Old Hunter…….#34
In 1980, Iowa was king of the pheasant hunting world harvesting nearly 1.4 million pheasants. After researching 1980, I was wondering when pheasants were at their peak. I found that 1945 South Dakota had the highest harvest year on record with 7.5 million pheasants in the bag. This happened, after the conclusion of World War II with many farm fields idol and the nesting cover was at its highest level. Then our boys came home from the war and they returned to the fields, hunting those record numbers.
In 1981 Iowa, Lynn Cutsforth and his Brittany Frisky, and Greene with Don Mahony's lab Buck. Don took this picture with a real camera.
Iowa’s most recent hay days were 1980 and 1981, which corresponds with my first two years hunting near Searsboro, Iowa. Sadly, 2013 was the lowest harvest on record due to several consecutive years of poor weather conditions during both winter and spring, combined with recent farming practices. There currently appears to be a comeback trend of pheasants to the Hawkeye state.
I had a teaching friend, who happened to mention, that when he was attending an Iowa college, he shot high numbers of pheasants at his roommate’s farm. Well, in 1980, I requested the name of that college roommate/farmer and made the contact. Robin said yes, I could come. That fall, hunting partner, Lynn Cutsforth and I made our first trip to Iowa. The closest city with lodging happened to be Grinnell. For that November hunt, I had to make a room reservation in January. The entire Grinnell, Motel 8 was full of hunters and dogs, I was fortunate to get a room. 2007 was our last year at the same Motel 8, and it was nearly vacant. That time, there were the usual truck drivers, and only two old hunters, who could barely walk and us. They had been coming there for over 25 years, and said this would be their last: “Because there just ain’t any pheasants anymore!” That same year, my chocolate lab Hershey (five months old) was so young and still learning, that every time she left the motel room, she felt her first step in the hallway was the ladies’ room. I was really glad no one ever saw her on her mission.
Between chores, one afternoon, Robin, the land owner, hunted with us and used the oldest, rustiest barreled, side by side, shotgun with a stock that was absent of a finish. With that ancient gun, he shot at and dropped three birds in three shots. He did far better than Lynn and I using our pump and semi-automatic shotguns. We had a creek to cross, so Robin pulled out an old trash bag from his pocket. He crawled into the bag and walked across that creek. I never saw that again, until years later as I attempted that same technique, I immediately slipped, and completely submerged below the water with gun in hand.
In 1981, Don Mahony joined Lynn and I on our Iowa hunt. We were determined to know who actually shot each bird so we all used different size loads......4’s, 5’s, and 6’s. Back at the motel, on the table in the room, we would dissect each bird and compare the shot size. It gave us something to do and seemed like a good idea at the time. I do recall hearty conversations around the table, especially, when the hunter that swore he hit the bird, did not
I always thought of Iowa as a flat countryside, but it really is beautiful country with rolling hills and numerous streams. I remember Don, sporting a new pair of boots, slowly walking up and down those Iowa hills and Lynn missing a pheasant perched in a tree. I have never let him forget that shot. Granted, the tree was a mature Oak, but hey, he missed!
One year, Lynn and I had some hunting success, but we met a man in the local bar that said his grass was greener for pheasants. This was before computers and cell phones, and while he was intoxicatingly nice to us, he drew a map on a cocktail napkin. That night it snowed. The next morning, as we attempted to follow the scribbled, napkin map, my un-four wheel drive truck slid sideways nearly 300 yards, down a hill on a snow covered, dirt road and stopped with the engine side up in the ditch. Not knowing where we were, I ran about a mile to the nearest farm house and found no one home. I was desperate, as I walked into the unlocked kitchen, and searched the drawers for a phone book and found it. For their unknown kindness, I left a note and five dollars on the table and a little mud on the floor. I called one farmer in the book, whose name I recognized. I kind of described where we were and he came to pull us out. I must note that he brought the entire family, his wife and their three girls, to view the dumb hunters from Wisconsin. This was entertainment and he made $50 cash. There was a street sign at the top of the hill, but as we drove in, it was covered with snow. When we were towed back up the hill, the sign, now visibly read: “CAUTION: MINUMUM MAINTENACE ROAD - LEVEL B SERVICE, ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK!”
Sadly, since 1981, the restaurants in the little towns, in and around Searsboro, have all closed down. There was one open in 2007, but I could find no record that it still exists. We really enjoyed eating in the charming, little establishments, and talking with the locals about the weather, crops, habitat and birds. Evenings in Grinnell, we would go to the same bar that served food and many of the same men that were sitting at the counter in 1980, were there in 2006. One patron said: “Aren’t you two those (blank) teachers from Wisconsin? “ We hadn’t been there for six years, but we must have made an impression. 2007, our last year there, the humorous man, who sat with his leg curled under him on the bar stool, was not at his usual seat. We inquired as to where he was and the bartender replied, “Oh, he’s dead!” After a few beverages, we felt that he had gone the way of the Iowa pheasant.