ICE

 It was December a long time ago, just me and my wirehair, Chara, hoping to fine some late season grouse. Barely a dusting of snow covered the ground in most places, but maybe an inch hid in the shadows of the softwoods. The leaves and the woodcock were long gone, it was ruffed grouse we were after.
    Back in October, every time we hunted the high side of that logging road the dogs would find birds. For well over a mile we didn’t moved a one. A bit discouraged, we took to the low side of the road, hunting down toward the softwoods that stand along the river.
    Chara went on point and the day improved. More than a few birds hid in the edge of the softwood stand. Down a little slope I noticed an iced over beaver pond and headed that direction.
    Chara’s bell fell silent.
    She was off to the left beneath tall spruce and fir trees where the ground sloped toward the pond. Hurrying toward her, a grouse exploded upward and another burst toward the pond.
    Reflexes fired my gun. A grouse fell onto the thin ice of the beaver pond. The thought of my dog running out onto that ice scared me to death.
    Chara had once been steady to wing and shot, but those days were long gone. Hunting alone much of the time, it became impossible to enforce and I was no longer doing hunt tests. This bird hunting was supposed to be fun.
    Slipping and sliding, I hurried down toward the pond. Chara hadn’t seen the bird fall and worked the slope looking for a dead bird. What a relief.
    When she got down to the edge of the pond I hitched her to a tree. A small but long dead fir tree reached the bird and slid it to firm ground.

Chara nuzzling the bird. 

Hunting Seasons

The length of ruffed grouse hunting seasons vary from state to state. Some bird hunting seasons run well into the winter, while other states stop much sooner, some even in the fall. A good way to get an argument started in grouse camp is to ask whether late season grouse hunting affects the bird’s population.

Samantha Davis, a University of Maine graduate student, did research with the MDIFW to see how the state’s management of ruffed grouse impacted the population. The results can be seen at the link below. The news is encouraging.

 https://phys.org/news/2018-07-maine-current-ruffed-grouse.html

Do you see him in there?

December Ends….

    The ankle-deep snow muffles the sound, our feet fall silently. Up the hill the dog’s muted bells ring. Everything looks different, blanketed by six inches of white, and the usual way is lost among the softwoods. Steeper terrain over dozens of deadfalls finally leads to the old tote road cut into to hill.

     To the left leads to favorite country where memories have accumulated over the last decade. Who would have dreamed that Chara, my older wirehair, would still

be hunting the last day of her fifteenth bird season? Colby, younger and with longer legs, is unfazed by the snow. Chara works harder, in a rocking horse motion, but appears to be having the time of her life. How many years have I wondered on the last hunt of the season if it might be the last hunt of her life? What a life she has had.

     The trail leads past softwoods and a small cutting to a gurgling brook, which is a likely place to turn around and head back, but the softwoods beyond beckon. Beneath them the snow is less deep and covered with rabbit tracks. Colby hunts further toward the edges while Chara scours the sides of the old way. A deer walked that way earlier and dozens of tiny tracks create a puzzle. Beside the lane a moose has scarred up dozens of maples, probably the same moose that Colby startled in the driveway a couple of months ago. Further up, where the old road forks, the top of a giant wild apple tree had been broken up by a bear. Not a partridge track had been found.

    Chara seems fine, but I worry about her. After I clear the snow from her bell, we head back. Downhill is always easier. The dogs hunt just as hard as they did on the way up.

    A different path leads back the final stretch to Camp Grouse. Still not a grouse track to be found. The dogs don’t seem to mind, they love the sound of the bells and the rituals of the hunt as much as the kill I think.

    I do too.