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On The Wing

By Adam G.

I would wake up every morning waiting for the fall to come so I could go partridge hunting.  I had gone before but every time seems more special as the years go by.  But this day, was the day I was waiting for.  My sister and the rest of my family hopped in the truck for the three hour ride to my grandmothers house.  Once we were their I instantaneously remembered the smell of my grandmothers house as the memories of my father and I going bird hunting in the early morning swept through my mind.  We stayed the night.  

Then the next morning I was awoken by my father, I looked outside and it was still dark. I wanted to sleep but got up; through on my hunting pants, and shirt.  We grabbed our shotguns on the way out of the door, and hopped into the truck.  Of course my father had to stop for his coffee.  We drove to one place I had been before called Philips brook.  We got out  loaded our shotguns and started to walk the logging trail.  It was a perfect place for partridge, thick woods invaded by spruce trees, and brush up to your armpits.  As my father and I walked with our guns at our sides and it was a cold day, so I threw on my wool shirt.  We eventually split going into the woods to try and flush some birds while the other stayed on the road, but their was no success.  And my hands were scraped from the sharp thorns growing in clusters.  We kept looking after some time passed, today was an unusual day, no partridge in a whole day of hunting?  This was unusual.  But we stuck with it.  I looked through the bushes trying to find the panicking birds bring up their neck to observe and then fly away.  And yet no success.  Finally we started to head back to the truck when we saw one.  "Over there I said".  We both took aim at the birds.  blam blam.  "Reload!" "Reload!" my father said as I would often forget to, after shooting.

Luckily I loaded my shotgun fast enough pushing in the 20 gauge shells from my vest I was wearing, and I saw another bird.  It went to go off onto the dirt logging trail and back into the other side of the woods. I could hear it's noise coming from it's wings the flush of noise from it. I pulled up my gun took aim, and hit it, I followed through with the shot. We slowly approached the birds looking for others but their were no more to be seen.

So we took them to the truck and then cleaned the birds.  Ii couldn't wait to go back and eat them, I always loved the taste of partridge.  It was my first partridge I ever shot on the 'wing'.  Wing is known to mean when it is flying.  I was very happy that day.  Later we went back to my grandmothers house and cooked them up.  They sure were good after all that walking.