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Citori 16,

You had enough flushes to get a Grouse, great story I loved it! Glad you like hunting with your dog so much, for me it the only way I Grouse hunt. Watching a good dog work Grouse is the only way to Grouse hunt IMO. I have had many days like yours and it makes the Grouse a real prize when you have everything come together. A nice walk in the Grouse woods is better than any day at work!

Citori 16 you are welcome to Grouse hunt with me any time, and I do not extend that invite very often any more. Sir you are my kind of sportsman.

all the best,

Pine Creek/Dave
L.C. Smith/Westley Richards Man

Thanks Dave, I appreciate the offer, very kind of you.

This will likely be Zen’s last hurrah. She is 12, and my best guess is work will slow down enough for a long distance grouse hunt in 2028.

Porcupines. I’ve read about them, watched documentaries on them, seen some dead ones in CT, a live one in Maine, but never had a dog tango with one…until now. 30 years of serious grouse hunting and my number came up.

Yesterday started with a trip to Bay’s cover, an alder swale of good proportions. Its name used to be Hell, because it was hell to get to, maneuver through, and get out of. You’d start with a choice of traveling either through the spruce thicket or a knee high wet spot. Then you shimmy over to the left to a bump of land with another spruce thicket. That way you could see how big it was…burly, buxom and boisterous. In the far north corner there was a dead tree which gleamed white in the sun. Along the western edge the creek slowed and deepened, with deadfall’s, driftwood and beaver dams. Interspersed throughout the cover were bumps of land you could use to survey the area, but they were usually surrounded by vines. One quarter mile of Hell.

But, man, did it hold birds.

One year we caught the flight. Day after day we would get to the area, hide the truck, and chase doodles and grouse for the whole morning. I aimed to shake them off the roost, so early morning was best for grouse. You’d get one, maybe two chances at a grouse before the rest flushed out or slinked away. Then you’d go for woodcock till noon. The next day was Déjà vu, Groundhog Day or rewind central, however you wanted to call it. Then finally one year it grassed up hard, and stayed that way. The fun was over.

This was my setter Bayberry’s cover. Every where else she did my bidding quite well. But here, it was up to me to keep up. I would barely be through the wet spot when she would be on point.

Today, the spruce thicket has been cut, and there’s a beat down path to it. It has grown larger, maybe double in size. But it’s extremely walkable, almost pleasant. The alders seemed to have escaped whatever maelstrom knocked down other swales making them impassable. The white tree is gone, and so is the spruce bump. I took the Flues which has Bay’s portrait on it. It’s been 20 years since I’ve hunted with it. Mark Larson did a fantastic job painting, finishing and fitting a new stock for me. It’s a bit heavier than before, but the balance is right.

Damian, Zen and I headed in and got right to business bright and early just like the old days. Damian ranged a bit far and a grouse went up, unseen but headed west. The alders are taller, so there’s no bump that will help you see over them. We zigzagged all over most of that cover without a doodle flush. At the edge of the creek bed was some fresh sign but no bird rose up to whistle their wings. In the past, at the upstream end was a shallow riffle you could cross to get to the other side, but the cover had changed so much that it was gone. I smiled to run through it again with the Flues, but we left with only the grouse flush echoing in our minds.

We left to find other covers. There’s another old road that I seldom hunt because I’m usually too tired. When I first visited the area it was the only road, non-descript and boring. I’m not sure why the new road was built, but traverses nearly the same path, but slightly higher in elevation. There are various places you can access the old road from the new, but the easiest is at the pond parking lot. So down we all went. There is spruce and a whole bunch of birch, with an occasional popple. Damian got scent and went in on the left then came out with that wide eyed look of game. I was expecting a bird when he went in on the right. I heard a sound like jaws snapping and my wife yelled. Porcupine.

I called Damian out and he heeded, thank God. About 20 quills were sticking out of his nose and mouth. He was shaking his head and licking furiously. I got right to work pulling out what I could. He had two sticking out of his top gum. I held his head, pulled his lips back and pulled them out. That helped stop some of the licking. I’ll spare you the details but I ended getting all but 5. It was a wrestling match each time. If Damian were a human he would be an Olympic Speed Skater…his rear thighs are just solid muscle and huge for his size. We were all tired, and I could tell we were stressing each other out. Time to find a vet.

Time moved slow on that trip. Every time I looked at the phone it was only 2 minutes later. The first vet had appointments and couldn’t break them. The second didn’t answer our calls. We made the hour and a half trip to the third. We’d been there before with Zen when she ate too much sweet grass and started bleeding out her back end. $817 later Damian was quill free and high as a kite. He could barely stand, but recognized us very well.

Things got much better today, but that will have to wait. It’s moving day tomorrow and we need to be out by 10:00.

Citori 16,

I hope the Vet got all the quills out of your dog, make sure your dogs chest area is clear of them, very important. Dogs have died months later of a Quaill working thru there chest into their heart or lungs. Go over your dog real carefully and inspect for Quail in the chest area.

The quilts in the mouth area will heal once the Quill is removed, sounds like the Vet did a good job! An expensive and dangerous time for sure.

all the best,

Pine Creek/dave
L.C. Smith/Westley Richards Man

Thanks Dave. I’ve inspected him a couple of times, so far all good.

I’ve been trying to backload some pictures on the previous posts a little at a time. It’s tedious because I’m using a cellphone and have to manually type in the address, but I think it adds to the posts.

Friday we took our time getting out. I knew we would be moving out Saturday so I started minimizing the workload. We were also a bit tired from yesterday’s porcupine episode. I only wanted to get out for a few hours in the morning then relax a bit. I’m using the Flues again, for simply nostalgic reasons. I loaded up some RGLs with 7/8 oz of #8. It’s one of my “puro” loads: RGL, Rem209, Unique, R16, Remington shot, 1165 fps. I intend to use the Flues with only this load and a similar one with Bismuth for those ducky areas that could result in a mixed bag. My other puro load is a Winchester CF, W209, HS-6, Win AA, 1 oz of #7 nickel plated, 1260 fps. I use that in the NID and the Sarasqueta. My original thought for yesterday was to hit my best cover after the old road, now named “Porcupine Alley”. We took the new road down to the creek road and stayed away from the crime scene.

10 miles up the creek road is Woodrat, named for the rat I saw nearby the first time I hit it. It has steps, or benches I guess you could call them, all the way up the hillside. There are pockets of spruce, then popple, then maple everywhere. It’s very diverse, with lots of edges. But the birds are usually down next to the road on the ground. For whatever reason, I can’t recall a single flush here, over many many flushes, that have been from anywhere but the ground, even in the spruce pockets. Near the road is a mixture of popple, spruce, berries and thorn plum. The birds are usually in the thorn plum, and typically flush up the hill. Though once I sent Katana in and stayed on the road. The birds flushed and one flew out to the road then along the spruce line in the wide open. He didn’t have a chance. This is my best cover, and I try to hit it each time I come up. Multiple chances at a double happen most years, though I have not made it happen yet. I have never not flushed a bird there. But never say never.

The creek road turns into a rough trail. It tends to keep most folks from getting that far up, especially when there’s dozens of easier spots to get to. It’s slow going and requires a bit of maneuvering around ruts, rotted culverts and downed saplings. Somewhere before Woodrat a grouse flushes across the road. I park in a small landing and follow up with no immediate reflush, however I’ve now just discovered a new cover. Hidden from the road is a nice patch of alders bordered by spruce. I go back for the dogs. Damian is working well but a bit slower. He tends to “nose” his way around obstacles, and forgets his injury from yesterday. The result is an occasional yelp, an “awroo!” Which actually helps me keep track of him. I watched him clear a 3’ high spruce blowdown that was covered with vines and swale grass: he approached the trunk, got hit by a hidden branch stub, yelped, then used his paw to clear the dead vegetation before positioning himself between stubs to hop over. We make our sweep for a half hour before heading back towards the truck and now I see why the chicken crossed the road. There is a patch of berry bushes which still have a few berries, but the vast majority are gone.

As I’m considering another sweep, my wife calls out that there’s a bird slinking out of the cover and crossing the road. She had gotten out of the truck and headed up the road a bit to move around after being in the truck for so long dealing with the rough road. She hates that I insist on her wearing an orange hat, but complies. Almost simultaneously I see movement off to my right at a spruce trunk. A second bird has decided that it needs to get out of there, but can’t seem to decide what to do. I’m reminded of a quote from somewhere: the road of life is littered with flattened squirrels that couldn’t make a decision…or something like that. At that point I knew I had that bird.

I went into the zone, which doesn’t happen as much as I would like. I get it occasionally on the skeet field where I shoot with safety on in low gun position, practice or match. Most of my better scores are in the zone as I’m not over analyzing. Everything slows down, and my thoughts are quicker. The bird goes up from right to left, intermittently disappearing behind trees. I shoot the right barrel but she flies on, and then takes a hard right straight away from me…and straight over the truck.

The thoughts come quickly: wife is 40 yards up the road, dogs are slightly to the left, no other vehicles in vicinity, left barrel is modified choke, bird is almost obscured by roof of truck. I am pointing the gun in the direction of travel, but I don’t have a clear shot. Then the bird climbs toward spruce and it is clear. It’s now or never…never say never. Were it somebody else’s truck I know I wouldn’t take the shot. This truck is due to be either replaced or restored. My finger had moved to the rear trigger unconsciously, so I consciously pulled it. The bird goes down.

Damian finds it first so I rush to get to it, he has such a heavy prey drive that he tends to tear into things, as we all know by the porcupine incident. I get there and some tail feathers are missing, but I can’t tell if it’s from Damian or the shot. I inspect the bird, the right wing is broken and the shoulder joint is smashed: a decent shot. But the left side breast is slightly tore up as well. That’s the side shown to me during the first shot. I hit this bird twice and not until the wing broke did it go down. The will to live is strong in these birds. You have to follow up every shot.

I start to head back to the truck when the wife reminds me of the other bird. I put the bird in the game bag and start the dogs into some spruce. The bird goes up, I’m on it, but I don’t have the same picture as before: can’t see the wife though the spruce, nor the truck. A couple of sweeps though the spruce reveals nothing. I head back to the truck. Shooting the first bird of the morning that flushes is nice. Let’s leave this one for seed. Even though the Flues has made some great shots for me before, this is the first time in 20 years, and I have to say Mark Larson did an excellent job on the fit of the stock. And I love that Bay’s portrait is on it; it’s like she was there.

When I return to the truck I notice a couple of shot holes in the satellite radio fin antenna, which thankfully I don’t use. I step on my running boards and see a couple of glancing blows in the roof paint. I guess I had some fliers, or maybe it was that close. Never say never again.

We head again towards Woodrat, and apparently I was closer than I thought…about 1/4 mile. I park the truck about 200 yards away which distance has been learned through experience. I get the dogs headed in the right direction and get to the cover. It has been logged on either side. I check the embankment and see footprints in it. The thorn plum patch is gone. We make a sweep of a couple of benches up the hill without a flush. Back down at the old thorn plum area there is the same type of berries from the previous cover. But all the berries are still on it. There are no birds here. My best cover will be out of commission for at least 2-5 years, if at all.

We walk further down the road to another spot close by. It has a flat spot with a popple grove surrounded by spruce. I have no name for it other than the flat spot with popple near Woodrat. I start in, and of course a bird pops out of the other side and angles across the road. My wife is too close to take a shot from my position, but she would’ve been fine had I stayed on the road. Woulda, coulda, shoulda.

After a couple of sweeps there and further up we head back to the truck. I pass the new spot. This will have to be the New Woodrat until the Old Woodrat comes back.

Down a few miles we pass a spot I call Hidden Cover. It is near the wedge of a fork in the road. The fork and surrounding area has lots of alders. And guys hit those alders hard. But Hidden is ignored, except by me. You have to climb down an embankment covered in brush then find the flat spot by the creek. One year I had 10 flushes between grouse and woodcock. But today there are hunters getting ready to hit the alders. It can wait for a different year.

Citori 16,

Great Grouse hunting stories keep them coming!

all the best,

Pine Creek/Dave
L.C. Smith/WR Man

Member Joined: 27 Jun 2012 Posts: 1166

Great bird hunting stories. I can see another published author in the forum's future. Too bad about getting your dog porcupined. My old dog Bode was a porcupine magnet, experiencing 5 quillings in his career. Strangest thing was, if the porcupine was brushed up and not moving, he'd point it all day long, but if that sucker was running it would be full frontal attack every time. Expect to find a few broken off quills working their way out over the next few months, Sometimes they fester up and sometimes they just appear popping out of their skin.

Riflemaster, I keep inspecting him for issues. We’re really hoping everything is clear, but will keep watching based on your feedback. Fingers crossed.

Rainy day today. I have no problem hunting in the rain, and brought rain gear. But tired bodies make mistakes, and wet surfaces amplify those errors exponentially. It’s a good day to recuperate in the cabin. There are things to clean, including a bird. Grouse hunting in the rain is a miserable experience punctuated by brief moments of intense excitement, so long as the bird population is up. This year it’s not, and the scenting conditions deteriorate rapidly as the rain washes away the scent. You end up hoping for wind, a break in the rain and a bird in the area all at the same time. If all those happen then you are hoping for a visible flush and clean kill, otherwise you’ll be drenched from the vegetation graciously sharing its moisture with you. There’s a lot of hope there, and hope is not a plan.

Sunday was a scouting day in our new area. An hour plus south of our previous location with similar vegetation but different percentage and distribution. The popple is much more prevalent here, with wider stands of it. The spruce is relatively the same, bordering the stands of hardwoods. There is more beech here, which I like. There is white pine and a smattering of oak, which I have not seen north of here. The diversity of habitat is similar but not identical. We find some cuts that look promising, and there are a few gated roads. It will be good to start from scratch learning what the birds like here.

The cabin has at least one existing tenant: a mouse. I’m reminded of that Looney Tunes cartoon with the lighthouse keeper yelling “The moose is loose in the hoose”. Mr. Rodent works the night shift, and tends to start just as we enter light sleep. Apparently his assignment is the kitchen, which is separated from the bedroom by a thin wall of ship lap. Every morning so far he has left us little gifts all over the counter, requiring us to wash each dish, pot and utensil before and after each use. I make a trap out of a broken plastic container, some pencils and gaffers tape, baited with peanut butter. This is not my area of expertise but it’s an interesting challenge different from chasing birds in the woods. And we need better sleep.

Of course, this morning the bait was gone and no mouse in the container. Damn. I’ll have to get more strategic.

Adding to the lack of sleep is whatever critter scat the dogs have gotten into. It’s currently trying to get out of them little by little, especially at night. The wife was a Vet Tech when she was younger, which is very complimentary to our endeavors. She is literally the animal whisperer: I’ve watched her talk deer into coming within yards of her. If I could only get her in a stand with me. She puts the dogs on a diet of white rice. I make a broth out of one of the grouse I had plucked to give the rice some flavor and nutrients. We end up with a liter of broth which I store in a Nalgene.

I take the grouse and pull all the meat & skin off, chop it up and add some seasoning as well as mayo. Voila!, Forest Chicken Salad. This will be lunch today, with whatever bread is left and some crackers. I originally intended to roast it, so this almost feels like a sin. But more of the meat has been utilized, so there’s that.

We head out Monday in earnest, find a gated road and walk a few miles in without a flush. On the way back, a bird crosses in front of us towards a dilapidated cabin. As we enter the woods the bird flushes far off without a sighting. There is leafless hobblebush everywhere with some spruce, but I believe this bird knew the cover was inadequate and so took off running as fast as its legs could carry it. Only when it felt safe to fly did it launch. We pick our way for a hundred yards but there is no reflush.

The cuts I had found the previous day were up a hill on another road, but there is work being performed up there on the weekday, with large dump trucks heading up and down the hill. There are narrow spots and plenty of blind curves. Best to not complicate the workmen’s route or compromise safety. I can still see the cuts in my mind, a string of 3-4 visible from the road with the stem density that screams of birds.

I check out a side trail which leads to a gated bridge. Just before the bridge there’s some mixed cover of alders and spruce. I direct the dogs into it, some of it is thick but there’s room to move between the thick spots. I come across a moss covered spruce log of about 20 feet and begin to search its length. Close to one end I find what I am looking for: a single grouse dropping. Hard but still green with white on the end. Not faded at all. There’s not enough cover along it to be a drumming log, which would also be indicated by much more droppings.

I begin a more thorough search of the area and we come to a side creek feeding the main stream. At a bend it widens to about 10’ wide, and about 2’ deep. Zen being the Lab that she is cannot resist a dip up to her chest. She wanders around in the cool water and I begin to walk along the bank which is a bit steep to the water but level. Suddenly a woodcock pops up and I shoot both barrels. Damian races out in front to find the bird, but I know I missed. A good cheek weld has been eluding me on some shots. Zen however is whining and groaning to get out of the water at the steep bank of the rivulet. I lead her to a more gradual slope downstream, and now she’s off and running. No reflush, which is odd to me on a woodcock. It’s been a recurring theme. We finish out the cover and head back to the truck.

As we make our way back to the cabin there is a part of the old road that parallels the new road and a stream, then rejoins the new road. Kind of like a bypass of about 1/4 mile. It is just thick enough to be inviting. Parking the truck at the north end the dogs and I head in. Somewhere around the middle a bird gets up as I am fumbling with a vine on my left foot. I watch it take off towards the new road. We’re in a section of small birch and spruce, but across the new road we encounter boulders and large spruce growing with a good number down. We pick our way through for a few yards with no reflush. I find an old skidder trail headed back towards the road and we take it back to the truck. It is marginally better than the spruce, but still has a few boulders to negotiate. I’m only a little bit frustrated, but I am tired. The comfort of the cabin is calling, and I do not have the will to ignore it.

At the cabin I make myself a Camp Martini. It’s just like a regular Martini except for the presentation. There’s a tin coffee cup instead of a cocktail glass. Since there is no shaker 3 cubes of ice go in the cup. Lately I have been doing a 50/50 ratio of vodka to vermouth which is eyeballed. There is a potato peeler in the cabinet, and we bought some lemons so a bit of lemon skin gets twisted above the elixer and then plopped in. You stir by swirling the cup so the ice mixes the ingredients. Then you go outside, toast the birds, covers, dogs and hunting partners (both past and present) before you sip while lighting your favorite tobacco. I can think of nothing so bird camp-ish than a Camp Martini drank from a tin cup.

If my son were here it would be an Old Fashioned with Old Forester Prohibition Style. He’s picky about ingredients and techniques, and it does make a difference. And it must be sipped by a campfire for full effect.

Tuesday morning we are greeted with light rain. After monitoring the dogs we decide to try a new road not yet scouted. On the map it skirts along the highlands away from the major streams in the area. Satellite photos reveal some logging activity in the recent past. It’s worth a try if only to see more of the countryside, and there might be some good views to enjoy.

As we head up the road in the truck there a no fewer than 10 culverts that have been removed. Even though the dips are small they become quite annoying though navigable. I park the truck as soon as there is room and head up on foot. Two hundred yards up there is a gate. I smiled when I saw it. The road beyond is covered with smaller grasses and overgrowth, but not so much that it is difficult walking. In the more steep sections the gravel has been exposed by runoff. Clover & wild strawberry are abundant, with occasional patches of raspberry. Along the hillside there is spruce, popple and no small amount of beech. I’m even more intrigued by the beech.

My experience with beech is that the birds tend to have more red in them, whether from diet or natural selection. When I first started hunting grouse, without a dog, I had worked a few covers in a Connecticut state forest rather unsuccessfully. If I remember correctly I flushed a bird at the end of a cut. I was heading out and was passing through a section of heavy beech, some of it recently logged. Suddenly 2 grouse crossed in front of me. They were brilliantly colored; gleaming white breast, dark brown bands and ruffs, and absolutely copper colored everywhere else. I got out, they flushed and I shot both barrels from my Savage 530A. I found feathers and searched everywhere for half an hour or more. My best guess is one or both of them crawled into a crevice between some boulders. With no dog I couldn’t find them. It was heartbreaking. On top of the fact that they were hit, they would’ve been my first birds I would’ve had mounted. Possibly even my first double. They haunt me every time I see a beech leaf.

Back on the hillside, we keep heading up the road when I notice a good cut up hill to the left. It’s been cut in two different years based on the growth of the saplings. The vast majority of the saplings are popple, and most of the leaves are still green. I tell my wife I am going in, and the dogs head in before me. We meander in and out between the edges and the middle, picking our way between raspberry thickets and slash. Finally I cut down one side and out to the road. It’s time for a break.

I open the gun and hang it on a cut branch the loggers left. My thoughts are that the cover is too young yet to hold birds, but I’m sure that they will be here eventually. We finish our break and head up the road. At the top of the hill about a mile further we opt to turn around. We are 2.5 miles in, and I’d prefer not to walk back uphill. So we head back to the truck. Damian gets gamey a couple of times with no flush. Until we get near the popple cover again.

We hear one flush on the right between the popple and the road, and as we head in we heard a second. Is that the same bird? Must be. The wife then sees two birds flush across the road further down the road. Did they fly that far? I head out of the spruce I am in and back to the road. As I’m about to ask the wife for more info, another bird flushes across the road, I raise my gun, put on some lead and pull the trigger. At the shot, another bird goes up, and I fire the upper barrel on the Lightning Feather. A report pair. I think I see the first bird go down, but the second flies off. My cheek has the feel of having been on the stock.

I direct the dogs towards where I think the birds went in. We navigate through some spruce, searching the forest floor for a sign of the birds. A little further in and there’s a flush. The dogs are now on the hunt. I get close to a clearing as a branch grabs my left arm. Another flush, I look up to see a couple of saplings simultaneously waving goodbye to the bird, and bidding me to enter. There I found the birdiest cover I’ve seen in a while. Saplings 7-10’ high, with just enough space between them for a bird to pass through. Blackberry canes sprinkled everywhere, clawing at my arms and hands and pants. Bordering the cover are young spruce 10-15’ tall, nearly impossible to see through.

We work ourselves out with a couple more flushes. I follow up to the right. Damian is 15 yards to my left and stops, then looks at me. I send him on into the spruce and the bird goes up. It is not the same type of flush as the others. This one is stronger and faster, more authoritative. I think we had just bumped momma grouse. All the other flushes were her brood who hadn’t been to the same university as the birds I’d encountered so far on this trip. They hadn’t been schooled by Professor Owl, Trickster Coyote or Brother Fox and the Holding Company.

We return to the road and I am all smiles, even giggling a bit. That was some fun, I don’t care that I got beat. It was all worth it. I had found a brood of 4 or 5 birds, a feeding cover, and a sanctuary cover. I may never return here again, but those memories will last. My wife then alerts me that Damian is into something by that branch we had taken a break at earlier.

Damian. The Omen. The Kangaroo Dog. The Hellhound on my trail. The Pouncer of Porcupines. The bouncing Black Rabbit-Dog of Inle who decided to round up grouse instead of rabbits. If you saw him bounce through the covers you’d understand, but watch Watership Down from the late 70’s to understand that reference. Watch it with a school age child, you won’t regret it.

Damian had found my downed grouse, and unfortunately was pulling a few feathers out, including the tail. I commanded him to stop, he did so reluctantly. It was a young of the year grouse. The pinfeathers were showing after Damian had removed a few flank feathers.

And that, my brethren, is why I hunt gated roads.

Deleted double post

Citori 16,

Smart man who hunts gated roads, here in Pa especially. I am going to check out some of my old Laurel hill coverts this next week I am hoping the gates are still in tackt.
The PGC keeps changing things around depending on what hunting seasons are in or out. We will see if the gates are open or closed.

all the best,

Pine Creek/Dave
L.C. Smith/WR Man

Even though I am home, I still have the last two days of the trip etched in my mind. Thursday and Friday were mostly about some humility, but also about dog work.

We headed out Thursday to a gated road that would hopefully get us to some cuts we had seen from a lower elevation. It was a good hike up to the cut, about 1/2 mile of continuous slope. The cover on either side of the way up was mostly beech, which still had leaves. At the first crest of the hill, it started to turn over to spruce, with some hardwoods here & there. This was not the cut we were looking for, but I could see some raspberry thickets in between the spruce. It seemed to be a newer cut. And then Damian went in, with Zen trailing about 10 yards behind, and myself about 20 behind Zen.

Damian is not the dog I would have wished for. I would so much prefer a pointing dog. But it was my wife's turn to get a dog, and she wanted a rescue, bless her heart. I named him Damian after The Omen because it was soon realized he was the almost opposite of the dog she was hoping for. He is very protective and territorial, so much so that I prefer not to hunt him in CT, as the possibility of other dogs in the area is too great. He is a mix of Lab and some kind of hound, possibly Catahoula, or Fice...hence why I call him the Labahoula. He took to me right away when we got him, and even though he can be trouble, I've grown fond of him. His nose is long, a scenting ability that rivals my (sons) black Lab, Katana, who would normally walk at heel until she smelled a bird...beyond 50 yards was not unusual. Damian's prey drive matches his long nose. Those combined with his graceful bounds through the covers and his unbelievable stamina make him a formidable hunting dog, with good bird flushing potential. This is only his second trip to the grouse woods, and this two-week trip has allowed him to get on some pretty tough birds.

As Damian bounded through the spruce, a bird got up about 40 yards ahead of me. This bird flew literally at a 45-degree angle to a tall spruce top. Any shot would have been futile with my open chokes and an ounce of #7. As we wandered around looking for another bird or a reflush, I was chastising myself for not being closer to Damian, and for not using my #5/#7.5 combo load. Either of those might have made a difference in this case, but such as it goes when bird hunting. Even if you have the right choke and load on you, the possibility of having the scenario show up more than once is low. Go with what you have and regret nothing.

We came out of the cover and back onto the road, passing a small dip in elevation before cresting to the cover I believed was my target. Spruce, beech, popple and birch were everywhere, with patches of age different classes over a 10 plus acre section of woods. There were some decent skidder trails but also some heavy blackberry canes that ripped my skin with the slightest touch. We did some passes into the edges, came down the middle of one cut, and ventured a tiny bit into the area thick with canes. No flushes. I was a bit disappointed, so we took a break before venturing on to find other cuts. After starting again, just at the end of the cover, a bird went up from the right and into the cover. At the shot, a second bird went up. Another report pair. Again, we followed up into the thick stuff, but there was no downed bird or reflush. I was tired and could feel the blood trickling down my leg from the canes. They obviously know what they are doing.

We walked the road another 2 miles or so, hitting various cuts and adjacent spruce as we came across them. The 2 weeks were wearing on me, even with the break we had yesterday. We decided to head back and hit the double bird cut once more on the way back.

As we neared it, I prepped myself for random flushes. Walk with the gun at port arms, think about a good cheek weld, make sure you have a good follow through...all the things that help you on the skeet field but are only so practical in the woods. Damian went in on the right, nose down and trailing something. I noticed his tail was swinging side to side. Damian has a curly tail, and his normal wag is kind of circular. But this was distinctly side to side. Hmm, maybe this is his tell.

As I was over-analyzing the situation again, a bird flushed about 20 yards in front of Damian, barreled through the spruce back over the dogs and popped out about 40 yards behind me. I wheeled and shot as he entered the other side and headed for the canes again. Damn, more pain & blood.

This time I skirted the edge of the thick area and stayed mostly in the spruce. I watched the dogs closely and if they went into the thick stuff, I headed towards it and maintained a clear view in case of a flush. The cut angled deeper into the woods and the spruce got older & taller. At one point I saw Damian stop just before a clearer section of spruce. He was about 20 yards from me off to the side. He looked at me as if to ask if I was ready, and I urged him on. He went 5 to 7 yards, and the bird went up, but there was no shot that I could see. Had I been alongside him a bit more, or went in when he stopped, I might've had a shot.

We circled around again into the spruce, pushing toward the direction of bird travel. Both Zen & Damian were working close, within 10 yards. We worked slowly and methodically...well, as methodically as two partially trained dogs could work. After maybe 20 yards, the bird flushed from about 7 yards in front and to the left of me. I squeezed off one shot before the bird disappeared into the next spruce thicket about 10 yards away. I imagine my shot pattern was a bit too small to make contact at that distance considering the rushed mount. Either way the dogs stayed close and searched for the bird. They stopped and sniffed at a spot. When I investigated, they had found my wad, but no bird.

As I headed back toward the road, I passed back into some thick stuff. I promptly looked for a skidder trail to help me reduce pain and injury. When I found it, I stepped into something foreign in my way. There on the trail was an old gallon can of Sapphire Motor Oil. Indeed, this is Sapphire South.

We worked back toward the truck, and the dogs kept heading into the woods to search for the bird but no dice.

The next day, Friday, was the last hunting day of my trip. I opted to leave 12-year-old Zen at the cabin with the wife and trudge back out for a couple hours only. Damian and I went back to Sapphire South. There were no flushes by the roadside, so we took a good skidder trail down toward the thick stuff. After a few minutes Damian put up a bird. It came out of the canes quick and arced across my path 20 yards in front, left to right, like a backwards station 5. Its wings were a blur, but it had turned somewhat sideways and I could plainly see the dark marks on its breast feathers, just like you see in all the hunting prints. I made a swing and a shot, but I knew I was too far in front, having misjudged the lead. No matter, a quick follow up to be sure, and then head back out on the skidder trail to the road. I had gotten what I wanted today...just one more flush, a good one like I could paint the bird in my mind.

Citori 16,

Checked out 2 of my old coverts in Laurel Hill yesterday, both gates were now open for crippled Vets access, I like to see the PGC catering to our Vets! No logging done on either gated area so Grouse hunting is still viable. Now I need to renew my life time hunting license and get a Woodcock stamp and I am ready to go.

all the best,

Pine Creek/Dave
L.C. Smith/WR Man

Citori 16,

Had a bad day the 1st day out hunting Grouse & Woodcock. My Gordon Setter Shadow set a nice 3 bird covert on the upper side of the PGC parking area of the SGL my brother and I were hunting. She was about 80 yards out and locked up on point, I did not have the T&B Collar on her, was using the my Garmin Tracking collar and it failed to work correctly, so I had no way of recalling Shadow with the wind blowing so hard, after I spooked the Grouse.
I tried to get to her but set the birds into flight moving thru the crunchy leaves about 50 yards away from the set point. I felt sorry for Shadow who had done a real nice job setting the spooky Grouse up for my gunning, when I spooked the Grouse into flight before I got into gunning range. The day was very windy and the crunchy leaves set the birds into flight way to soon for any gunning thru the 50 yards of thinned out trees.
I also took another real bad fall, my knee coming out of joint in a real rocky area, lucky my brother was along to help me. I slapped the knee back into joint before I was helped up by my brother and another nice man who came to my aid. Now I must wait for my leg to heal up before going back in the Grouse woods. The swelling has gone way down and I am mostly back to normal, with some slight pain, the fall was worse than I thought.

all the best,

Pine Creek/Dave
L.C. Smith/Westley Richards Man

Hopefully better days are still ahead this Grouse season for us.