cent strip of milo separated from the main field.  Jericho was suddenly transformed into a 2 year old dog as he raced off, made the retrieve, delivered it to hand and then proceeded to bounce up and down to get a better look at what I was holding in my hand. 

Ken and Harold decided to head back to the lodge for a little rest and Pat went along as well to grab a drink before meeting up with me again.  Pat recommended I work my way over to a knoll about a 1/2 mile from the milo field where he thought we might find some birds.  I decided to follow one of the heaviest ditches on the property as my route to our rendezevous point.  I've always had luck finding birds along ditches rather than out in the middle of feature-less fields.  As luck would have it, two birds did come up for me as  I made my way along the ditch, however both were hens so I let them fly, much to Jericho's dismay. 

Our rendezevous point was a dry grassy knoll with a seam of scrub brush winding its way through it.  We worked our way along the seam with Jericho starting to hunt with the motivation that I had seen in him at the end of last year's season, quartering back and forth within shotgun range and checking back with Pat and I occasionally to make sure we were coming along.  We hit pay dirt about halfway through the field when Jericho ran a hen into flight and then after about another 50 yards a big rooster came up and Pat dropped him.  We decided to call it quits for the morning and headed on back to the lodge.

Lunchtime at Limit Out requires a short drive to a local casual restaurant known as La Villa.  Why make sandwiches when when reasonably priced, great-tasting Mexican food is near at hand.  The rustic atmosphere of La Villa's stucco walls and wood floors makes you feel welcome even if you are only marginally cleaned up from the morning hunt.

In the afternoon of the first day, I ended up out on my own with Jericho in a field of tall Bermuda grass interspersed with cockle-burr patches and bordered by a large black-berry hedge.  Not a friendly place for a long-haired dog, but as it turned out a great place for a large wild rooster to hide out.  Jericho got on his trail and then nuzzled into the Bermuda a few yards away from where the rooster eventually launched out of.   My first shot started him tumbling but I followed it up with a second just before he hit the Bermuda, just in case.   Jericho marked the fall well and had the bird back after a tight little hunt around and through a cockle-burr bush.  After that it was back to the lodge to clean birds, pull out cockle-burrs, and wash Jericho.  A small price to pay for a great day.

After two more days of hunting and fine dining I had forgotten about much of my normal life in Southern California.  I was about ready to offer my services as  field-hand, house-maid, or whatever it would take to earn the right to sleep in the garage and continue hunting, but a little self-talk brought me back to my senses and I reconciled myself to the fact that it time to start thinking about heading home.

The trip yielded a couple of  "firsts" for me.   I shot my first pheasant double.  Jericho only saw the second bird go down, but he and I finally did locate the memory bird of the pair and I was pretty pleased with that.  I also saw my first black pheasant, shot on the weekend by our host.  This strain of pheasant is called a malinistic.  The coloring is a beautiful purplish-black color.  The local younger-crowd of hunters at Limit Out have nick-named these birds the "Purple Nurples".  Bagging one of these is a big deal for there are only a few on the property.

Jericho was moving a little slow after 3 days of hard hunting and that made it a little easier to pack up and head south.  But what a great trip it was.  Spoil me like this too often and I may start getting picky about the hunts I go on.