The shot not taken
By Nick Simonson
The eastern bank of clouds meant that my friends on the far side of the state likely would not see much hunting action as my dog and I traversed the gravel roads south and west of town away from the shadow of the frontal boundary. The sun slowly climbed over the gray bank and dawn was delayed by the extended horizon, but we would be spared the ownpours that cancelled their grouse openers. Here and there on the blacktop and dirt, stretches of dampness marked those places where light rains had fallen before the start of
the first day of the upland season, but it wasn’t enough to hinder our efforts. Pulling into the quarter section of PLOTS I lamented the recent baling of late-summer grasses that often held the gurgling gray birds we planned on pursuing, but the rolling hillsides rising steeply from the western edge of the ancient river valley were still well covered and looked to be worth a walk as I recalled fond memories of recent seasons. With light winds slowly shifting to the west, I pulled into the approach and planned the usual loop through the public access parcel that often held sharpies and the occasional pheasant.
