sj
Staff member
Northwest Arkansas
The Crew
It was a summer like evening just a few weeks ago in the northern most reaches of South Dakota. In fact, if you threw a rock you could hit North Dakota - that is you could if you weren't so tired from chasing pheasants all day long in the tall grass.
A group of twelve or so hunters and our local guide had driven five or six miles from home base to do a final late afternoon ambush of the cunning ring necked rooster. Much excitement ensued, birds everywhere, adrenaline pumping, and finally, the group settles down for the trip back to the command post. But wait. Where is our local guide? There is his van, but where is he? Didn't someone say he had had heart trouble? Where is his dog? Would he not let us know if he were wandering off? We don't know this guy, but certainly we need to find out what has become of him.
The hunters take action quickly as the sun is sinking fast, painting the corn and CRP with a pinkish glow. They load into a Chevy dually and an old Suburban and search a couple of the fields where the guide was last seen - spotters stationed on top of one vehicle to see above the high grass, and into the low lying areas. There is no sign of the guide.
A idea is born instantly. Someone should run back and search the area with a Super Cub. There is little time left as the light is fading fast and the makeshift airstrip at the hunting lodge is not lighted and does have a powerline or two to avoid. Others have landed at night, but it is not a recommeded approach proceedure.
The pilot and spotter race to the site, a second group leaps into the Suburban equipped with sat phone, first aid kit, and an anxious, uncomfortable feeling that this may all end badly.
As the driver of the Suburban, I can attest to the tension. We saw the plane circle in the distance. We quietly and quickly drove the few miles of gravel and blacktop toward the site.
Suddenly, the Super Cub headed toward us. It circled, it waggled, it bobbed, but we kept on course toward the last location we had seen our guide. Suddenly, the skilled pilot brought the Super Cub right above the left side of the Suburban. The right wing over the top of the car. It was close enough that the spotter could talk to us as we were going sixty miles an hour down the road. Close enough that with a camera, we could have seen the leftover gunpowered on their cheeks from the day's hunting, close enough that we all looked for the cameras that we had forgotten in the excitement to rescue the guide.
For good measure, the Super Cub pilot did a touch and go on the road in front of us and then broke off toward home base in the last fading moments of sunset. We watched as our guide's green van passed us going the other direction - a second signal that we could now relax.
We turned around and headed for our temporary home and another evening of telling stories and dreaming dreams - with one more great story in our pockets.
sj
P.S. 99.67777% True
:lol:
Among his other dead-eye shots I witnessed Pat dropping 3 roosters in a 10 second period. Way ta go Pat (your prize is on the way)
at 70+ yd. shots. I can personally confirm one downed bird as Sophie ( my lab) sniffed it out in ankle deep water. Gunny received a boresnake........fitting prize as there was a heap 'o lead to clean out of his barrel.
