Ghosts

     Sometimes you don’t see them for months or even a whole year. More likely you will hear them, but sometimes it is a sound not heard for months. Other times you will see them once or twice in the same week and hear them nightly for a month, but then they disappear again. Sometimes, on a warm summer evening, we've heard their screeching on three different hillsides.

     Coyotes are everywhere these days, hiding right in front of us. They are adaptable and clever, and reproduce readily. Around Camp Grouse the packs seem to follow the snowshoe rabbits. If there are lots of rabbits the coyotes soon will appear. For months we haven’t heard them, but last week they returned to sing us a chorus.

     The sound isn’t like any canine baying or barking that I can imagine, but more like the screaming and screeching of violent arguing zombies. Our dogs take notice and sit up, or even hide under our bed. Some nights it’s so distant you pull up the blankets and try to decide if you are really hearing them. Other nights it is so close to the house the volume drowns out conversation indoors.

     Yesterday the ravens were circling a cluster of softwoods at the edge to our snow-buried lawn. Late in afternoon I put on snowshoes to investigate. Ravens and crows protested and a coyote ran off as I approached. Little remained of what had been a healthy deer, a doe in her prime. She lay less than two hundred feet from our home. She would produce no fawn this year.

     Last night the coyotes sang loudly. It probably was a celebration and feasting party. Today there are no ravens or crows, so I guess the carcass is gone.

Where is Spring?

     It is Saturday, March 23. The spring equinox passed a couple of days ago. Oldman winter apparently missed the memo. Outside, new snow is piled higher than it has been in any one storm all winter. For almost twenty-four hours it has piled up, a heavy snow with a high water content. The deck has been shoveled off multiple times and gauging the amount is difficult. It appears Camp Grouse has about eighteen inches of new snow on top of about three feet that was already on the ground.

     Now the snow has stopped and the wind rocks the trees. To the south a fox barks on the hillside, as it has for the last few days. The songbirds have returned to the feeders and a squirrel dared a visit to our deck. Our bird dogs are bored and watch the world outside through the sliding glass doors.

     In spite of snowshoes, my feet sink more than a foot into the new snow when I follow where the snow was packed before the storm. Off trail I sink well above my knees. Without snowshoes walking is impossible. The two hundred foot trip to the compost pile brought on quite a sweat.

     The trees rock in the wind, but the snow doesn’t shake off. How long will our power stay on? The ravens are enjoying the wind and riding the currents over the hill to the north. If the power goes out we are ready, with water stored and the woodstove cranking.

     It is pretty, a spring snow. Tomorrow the temperatures are supposed to be near 40 degrees and the snow will settle and fall from the trees. Somewhere a male ruffed grouse is standing on a log getting ready to start drumming.

They Don’t Quit…

The Humane Society of the United States will chip away at our hunting until there is none left. We have to keep up the fight.

https://www.sportsmensalliance.org/news/new-york-bills-ban-hunting-contests-and-more/

Chara pointing a planted bobwhite during a hunt test.

An Interesting Read…

     We are lucky to live where we do, with a fairly healthy population of ruffed grouse.  Here’s a link to an interesting article about grouse hunting and grouse numbers.

http://themeateater.com/hunt/grouse/the-demise-of-ruffed-grouse-hunting?utm_campaign=The%20Demise%20of%20Ruffed%20Grouse%20Hunting&fbclid=IwAR3tKVG4cGWUW-xllSluuqH1RZwEuYoXsRXMUVSVMIMF6g2VQE683j60v70

Ban Field Trials?

     A bill in New York, AB 722, would ban all hunting contests and field trials for dogs. It is supported (of course) by the Humane Society of the United States, whose long term goal is to end all hunting. You can read more about the bill in the link below.

https://www.sportsmensalliance.org/news/new-york-bill-bans-hunting-contests-field-trials/?bblinkid=143891254&bbemailid=12504583&bbejrid=958523054&fbclid=IwAR2gIxJKVGjLaPTT9hQ89ZdSFPRbs7BZVFBiH64RGXRz48nCik1sfeRVVQM

More on Neutering

     The negative side effects of neutering just keep piling up. Here is a link to more information.

https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/canine-corner/201902/spayed-female-dogs-may-have-reduced-communication-skills

     In the United States the vast majority of dogs are neutered or spayed. In Europe things are much different. Only one percent of the dogs in Sweden are done and in Norway it is against the law unless there is a health reason to make it necessary. About half of the dogs in the United Kingdom are altered, while in the United States concern has grown among dog owner’s, particularly owners of working breeds.

     Much of the concern has been with growth and bone structure, but now finding are hinting at emotional and aggression issues.

     This article is worth a read.

Winter

The stream icing up.

     Cold grips the land. On the hillsides over two feet of snow blankets the ground. Nighttime temperatures dip into negative numbers, sometimes with double negative digits. It snows often, sometimes light flurries that last for days and accumulate little.

     The chickadees, juncos, and blue jays are constantly at the feeders. When the hairy woodpeckers dart in they look enormous. This year both red and white breasted nuthatches visit us. Occasionally a female cardinal stops by, but her visits are rare and the male even more so.

     Squirrels are a nuisance and we try to discourage them. Our dogs thrill at chasing them away and we set have-a-heart traps in the hopes of relocating them. So far we have only caught the nocturnal flying squirrels. Our big fear is the squirrels chewing into the house and setting up home over the soffits, which happens all too often up in this neck of the woods. I’m not above using the old Winchester 410 to knock them out of the trees. The dogs love that.

     A walk down to the stream requires snowshoes. The snow isn’t as deep there and the dogs can run through the woods. I worry about finding deer yarding up in the shelter of the fir trees, but so far it hasn’t happened. To stress out wintering deer is something I do not want to do.

Grouse tracks

     Snowshoe hare tracks are all over the place. Coyotes cross the stream on an ice bridge. Deer have passed through, but all the tracks are old. Sometimes we see where the beaver has dragged brush, but not this year.

     Occasionally we see grouse tracks or droppings beneath favored trees. The dogs always show interest. Sometimes a grouse will roar out from up high in a tree, but more often they remain hidden and watch. To flee unnecessarily burns too many precious calories.  

Our youngster Maggie.

     Camp Grouse always feels particularly cozy when the temperatures drop and the snow gets deep. Looking at the big pile of firewood brings a good feeling and the woodstove is glowing. Winter is a time for drawing in and savoring the place we live.

Blowdowns

    The number of ruffed grouse was way up this past fall and the bird hunting the best in years. What’s different?

     There are many reasons, probably much of it had to do with a warm dry spring. The young broods prospered.  Many of the grouse found this past fall were in clusters, with sometimes a half dozen or more bursting into the air one right after the other. Talk about an adrenaline rush.

Colby pointing a bird.

     One thing that I haven’t heard mentioned, which has to have made a difference, is the number of blowdowns. A year ago this past October a storm passed through our area and knocked down thousands of trees scattered all over the countryside. Some broke off, but more where uprooted. Fir trees made up the majority of them and there is no better cover for a grouse than a dead fir tree lying on its side.

     So many times this past fall our dogs pointed grouse hiding in the shelter of a blown down fir tree. On one of the last hunts of the season a friend’s setter locked up on a horizontal fir and as the owner approached a bird flushed out the back. Almost immediately another shot right back at him and over his head.

     The grouse might not have been always been under the trees, but they were often nearby. One day, hunting up high next to a clear cut, a fat old fir tree that had blown down caught my eye. On the way over to investigate it, my youngest wirehair locked up on point in waist-high weeds. Three grouse exploded into the wide open space with two zipping right past my head and offering no shot.

     

Colby bringing it home.

When a dog points a bird hidden under a large blowdown you can almost guarantee it will flush out the backside and offer no shot. There is an old saying that a lone hunter will find more birds, but two hunters will kill more than twice as many birds. Send your buddy around the far side.

     Did the abundance of knocked down fir trees make a difference in the number of birds this past fall? I think so.

Mid-December

     A warmish weekend and settling snow tempt us into the woods. A snowmobile packed trail makes it possible. Off the trail the snow is up to the dogs’ shoulders. Determined, they struggle, but then lose their resolve.

Snowmobiles packed a trail.

    The trail dips into a hollow filled with catkin loaded alders. A stream meanders, leaving patches of bare ground at the turns. Thick spruces and fir trees shoulder the alders, with a few wild apple trees crowded in. Everything about the place looks like grouse country. The dogs taste the air and test the snow. It’s tough going.

     Does grouse scent waft in the air? Are the birds in the trees and watching us? Probably. The dogs venture into the woods and then return to the packed trail.

Catkins

     Up the road further, where it divides hardwoods on the low side to the right and mixed growth to the left, a grouse rockets across to safety in a thicket of young softwood trees. The dogs and I fight our way up to the tangle of fir trees. Colby, the older dog with arthritis issues, stops in chest deep snow and waits. I hesitate a step or two beyond, then the thunder of wings.

     Maggie, our youngster, flies through the snow into the firs. Her tail is a blur as she sorts out the scents and hunts hard. The snow is not so deep under the thick boughs and she is a joy to see.

     Eventually she comes back to me, admitting the bird has gone. We turn back toward the truck.

     Back in the hollow, Maggie plows through the snow beneath the alders. Grouse tracks meander and droppings color the snow. A squirrel has shucked a mountain of spruce cone scales. Deer tracks snake through the woods. No grouse are on the ground.

     The snow has tired us all. It is time to head home.

Dreams

     I wrote the following in January of 2016, on a particularly wintery day. Old dogs dream, and old hunters do too. Another bird season together was not meant to be, but more than once we dreamt of it.

Winter

     Eyes, gray as the winter sky, look up questioning. A rubbed ear brings her chin to rest against my knee. Eventually, she settles to lay on the rug by my desk. Curled up in slumber, soon her legs twitch in a dream.

     What a long life she has had, hunting fifteen seasons, and most of those in some of the finest ruffed grouse country found anywhere. Her dreams must be shaped by memories of those fifteen autumns. What stories she could tell.

     Daily walks in the woods keep our weary legs in shape, but the winter, with its deepening snow, makes the going impossible for dogs. Plowed logging roads are the only place for them to run. There she can still sniff the air along the sides, forever searching for ruffed grouse. Her loping trot rocks her along, but the occasional slippery spot causes the hind legs to fumble. Up and on again, her spirit is unfazed.

     In a little over two months the woodcock will return. Let’s hope we both see our way through Mother Nature’s next cycle. Do we dare dream of one more fall together?

My old girl Chara in her prime.

Bank Beaver

     The bird hunting certainly was not the best. For almost two hours of walking my dogs and I had only found a couple of grouse that stayed up high in the softwood trees and two woodcock.  Finally, we were back on our side of the stream and only a couple of hundred yards from our home. It was time to direct the dogs back up the hill toward the house, but the younger wirehair, Maggie, stopped to stand like a statue beside the stream.

     Now the stream isn’t too wide, maybe fifteen to twenty feet, and only three feet deep in the deepest holes. Where my youngster stood, the bank rose about two feet above the water right next to one of the stream’s deeper holes.

     I walked up to see what held her interest, but beneath her nose only a small depression marked in the ground. For a minute we stood discussing the find, or non-find. Well…I discussed and she just stood like a statue.

     Next to us the stream made a hard turn to the left. About eight feet away, in the middle of this bend, stood an island. Two springs before, the run-off had chewed land away around it. The water slipped quietly around that corner less than two feet below us.

     Suddenly the water boiled into a million bubbles and swelled up, creating a mound that bulged toward the little island. My dog jumped back and I swung my shotgun in its direction.

     Then all was quiet.

Looking upstream at the home of  the bank beaver.

     I remember talking to Maggie and wondering what we had witnessed. The bubbles fizzled and the water became clear. The stream returned to quiet. Did it really happen?

      Then a beaver popped to the surface, swam about, only to disappear heading downstream.

     The next day I asked an old-time local about it and he said, “Oh, that was a bank beaver. For a long time it was thought they were a separate breed, but it has been learned they are the same as any beaver, except they live in a stream that is too large for them to dam up. They tunnel into the bank to make a lodge.”

     Who ever heard of such a thing?

Shoot Fast, and Miss

     It’s the opening day of bird season, you have waited for months for this day. A chill still lingers in the air, yet the maples and birches blaze in their autumn their colors. As the sun climbs higher and starts to warm the air, traces of white frost still highlight the shadows. Buck, your Ryman setter, is working the cover hard. Life doesn’t get much better.

In the  early season the  leaves are still on the  trees

     Buck locks up like a statue.

     You hurry ahead of him and the bird explodes off the ground. In a blink it is gone. You fired a snap shot that you don’t even remember. Was it aimed? Who knows? Did you hit anything? Doubtful. Buck searches, but finds no bird.

     Early season is a tough time to hunt ruffed grouse. The foliage is still thick on the trees and when a bird flushes it is gone in a blink. We all do it…start the gun mount and point and shoot in a fraction of a second.

The fall colors add to the beauty of the  season.

     How many birds do we kill? Not too may. The abundance of leaves on opening day provide an easy excuse.

     Learn to shoot slower. If you have time for your eyes to lock onto the bird as the gun comes up to your shoulder, you will kill a larger number of them. It only takes a fraction of a second, but it makes a huge difference in the number of birds you will kill.

     No bird can outrace a charge of shot, remember that.

     Those hurried shots early in the season will tend to linger on, even as the leaves drop and the forest starts to open up. It became a muscle memory reflex. One way to force yourself to slow down is to mentally say something like “woodcock” or “ruffed grouse” or “bird up” when  the  bird flushes, then mount the gun. 

       A friend having a shooting slump with woodcock killed only one bird after missing with almost an entire box of shells. The one he hit was cleanly decapitated and fell six yards from his feet. That’s when he realized he was shooting way too quickly and even with open choked barrels the load hadn’t spread.

     He started hitting woodcock when he said, “there goes one”, before mounting his gun.

The reward of patient shooting.

Late Fall

     It has been a great bird season for you, with two limits of ruffed grouse and plenty of excellent dog work. The real world called you home the end of the second week of October, but now you are back in the woods and the leaves are long gone. Things couldn’t be better.

     You hunt this same piece of cover that you did a little over two weeks ago when you found a dozen grouse. Today, with an inch of new snow on the ground and the weeds bent over, the forest seems to be shades of gray. Where are the grouse? What happened? Where did they all go?

     The ruffed grouse have moved. It happens every year. The edges of that clearcut, up high on the hill, where you found so many birds early in October now feel empty. For three hours you have walked and not found a single ruffed grouse…not even a track in the newly fallen snow. Your dog, Banjo, is working her butt off and is as enthusiastic as when you left your truck, but you don’t feel that way.

     You encounter a stream and follow it downhill to where it slips through a culvert beneath a logging road. Still, not a single bird. Crossing the road, you continue down the hill to where the hardwood stand peters out to mix with softwood trees. Banjo’s tail is a blur until she locks up on point.

     As you approach, a grouse steps off a small knoll and disappears down the hill deep into a darkness of the softwood trees, almost like a sky diver stepping out of an airplane. The precipitous drop-off discourages any attempt to follow, but seeing a single grouse has lifted your spirits. You turn to the left to follow the edge where the softwoods and hardwoods mingle, heading back towards your truck.

     Green ferns still poke up through the new snow.  In places a ground cover with roundish palm-sized green leaves shows through the white. A bird flushes from a little over head-high from a fir tree, startling both you and Banjo.

     And it brings a smile to your face.

     In a tight little valley someone has cut a couple of acres of hardwoods trees that abut a stand of hemlock. Alders cluster in a wet area. Poplar and maple sprouts are everywhere. Raspberry vines tug at your pants.

     Banjo goes on point, but before you can walk in front of her a grouse rockets up from the ground and another blasts out of a tree. With a prayer you swing on the one coming out of the tree and see it fold, not even aware that you pulled the trigger.

     Later, back at the truck, you will clean that bird and find its crop filled with buds, catkins from alders, and a few flecks of green foliage.

     The grouse had moved. With the cold weather coming they sought out the shelter of the softwood trees. The seeds and berries that they ate earlier in the fall, up higher on the hill, are gone. Catkins and buds will be their winter diet. When green ground-covers are available they will eat those too.

     It happens every year. As the colder weather settles in, ruffed grouse seek the shelter of the softwood trees. Look along the edge of a softwood swamp. The alders and birches supply plenty to eat with safety nearby. Pockets of dense softwoods around recent cuttings can be good too.

     The birds are there, you just have to work for them. Isn’t that what grouse hunting is all about.

The Magic of Doubles

     There is something magical about double barrel shotguns, whether the barrels are stacked one over the other or they are arranged side by side.  More people seem to like them stacked up these days, and with a single trigger. Maybe it makes more sense.  I don’t think it was always that way though, because if you start looking at old guns for sale there sure are quite a few ancient side-by-sides and the over-n-unders are all newer.

Pair of Parkers

     Gun in England means a shotgun.  A rifle is called a rifle, not a gun.  Somehow, on this side of the Atlantic, we started calling everything that shoots a gun.  The English developed the shotgun to its highest form, at least in the configurations of double barrels.  Americans, with their love for firepower, developed popular pump and semi-automatic shotguns that could fire more than two shells. Most serious bird hunters have more than one type of shotgun and many have multiples of many types. 

     During the last half of the eighteen hundreds and into the early years of the twentieth century, gun makers all tried to outdo one another by improving the gun’s design. Hundreds of new patents relating to firearms were filed during that period. Everyone wanted to make the guns lighter and easier to open. Ejectors were a huge problem to solve. Several attempts at single triggers failed. Chokes appear to have been an American invention, but gunsmiths on both sides of the Atlantic experimented with them.

     The earlier guns were all sidelocks, a natural progression as the early flintlock and caplock muzzle loading guns transitioned into the first break open guns.  The hammers just stayed in the same place they always had been. About 1875, two gunsmiths named Anson and Deeley, working for a gun making company called Westley Richards, developed a simple and strong hammerless action called the boxlock.  If you want to get an argument started among fans of double barrel shotguns, ask which action is better…sidelock or box lock. And then Westley Richards came out with the droplock just to add more fuel to the argument.  

     A friend’s uncle up in Maine was my early bird hunting mentor.  His favorite upland bird gun was an old Ithaca side-by-side, a twelve gauge.  I don’t remember how it was choked, but the barrels were closer to brown than blue and the checkering was worn smooth.  He also used that gun for a deer hunting brush gun too, with buckshot in the tighter barrel and a slug in the open one.

     I saved money and wandered the gun shops, looking at double barrel shotguns and dreaming.  There weren’t many used over-n-unders in those days, and any to be found cost way too much.  The only new side-by-sides  in the shops I visited were imported Ithaca guns made by SKB.  I loved the looks, but at a price of over three hundred dollars they were way out of my reach.  Besides, I wanted a gun with double triggers, which my friend’s uncle told us was the best because you could pick your choke instantly.  I eventually bought an old Ithaca for fifty dollars.

     I never shot that gun well and eventually sold it to my brother, who still has it to this day.  Shortly afterwards, during a stop at a gun shop, I happened upon a Parker VH for three hundred dollars, a lot of money to a young guy in the mid-nineteen-seventies, but I had a full time job by then and I was hot for a Parker.  And with that gun the birds started dropping out of the sky.

A late season grouse.

     Sometime after that I read about “cast” in shotgun stocks, and sure enough that Parker’s stock was cast for a lefty, which I am.  What luck!  When I visited my brother I checked that old Ithaca and sure enough it was cast for a right handed person.  No wonder I couldn’t hit anything with it! 

     Cast is a slight bend to the side in the stock, about at its narrowest point, which is called the wrist, and it makes pointing the gun more natural and easier.  Cast for a right handed person is called cast off, and for a lefty it’s called cast on.  American guns are not usually cast one way or the other, but my first two guns were, one for me and the other for someone right handed.  Whenever I pick up a shotgun in a gun shop now I always check for cast.  The easiest way to do that is to make sure it’s unloaded, turn the gun upside down and rest the heel of the stock on something soft, like your toe, and then look down the barrels from the muzzle end.  Any cast in the stock is usually pretty easy to see.

     You probably have owned a pump shotgun or two, and maybe still do. I own two pumps, one is set up as a deer gun with a scope, and the other is my lousy weather duck gun.  Somewhere I have an old Remington 1100, which I used to be deadly with back when we could throw lead shot t waterfowl. When you look at it you know it has seen a lot of nasty weather and way too much salt water.  But none of those guns gets handled too much anymore.

     The upland woods calls to me these days and it’s always hunting over dogs. I think the quick handling and fast pointing of the doubles suits that type of hunting better.  That old Parker still sits in the safe, but it weighs over eight pounds, which is a bit much for carrying all day. For a while an over-n-under Browning Citori in 20 gauge was my go-to gun, but eventually I went to a 20 gauge side-by-side with two triggers, the Model RBL made by the Connecticut Shotgun Manufacturing Company. I like that it can handle steel shot where it is required without a worry.  Somehow the side-by-sides just seem to nestle in the crook of my arm better when I’m walking and I never see the barrels when I shoot, so I don’t believe over-n-under or side-by-side makes much difference as far as killing game. 

      Besides, I love the old traditional things, and it is hard to beat a side-by-side for that. 

The first grouse of 2018.

Hiking or Hunting

Can the dogs tell the difference?

Colby helping Val
pick blueberries.

We love our dogs and treat them like family members. That means they go almost everywhere with us and enjoy outdoor activities that can be shared with them. A great way to keep bird dogs in shape during the summer is to take them hiking. We are fortunate to live where upland birds are abundant and hiking trails abound. Can our dogs tell the difference between a day of hunting and a day of hiking? Of course they can.

Whenever we work the dogs on birds, whether hunting or training, they wear collars with bells attached. Hearing those bells brings on a level of excitement that exceeds anything else. The dogs love to go on a hike during the off season, but it isn’t the same as putting on those belled collars.

Val and our old girl Chara
on a summer time hike.

In April and May, when ruffed grouse and woodcock are nesting and have young broods, we hike less and pick our walks carefully so not disrupt the birds. April up here can be muddy and is a great time to work on the next year’s firewood supply. May is a great time to do a little trout fishing.

During normal summer hikes, the dogs run ahead and make swings back through the woods, just hunting for fun, but generally don’t go too far. The exercise keeps them and us in shape. There are frequented trails that they remember and longer trips to explore new country, sometimes miles in the woods. It's a great way to find new bird country and sometimes a beaver pond to fish.

Slip on those collars with bells and they kick into high gear, hunt hard, and point solidly on birds. The transition is like flipping a switch.

Maggie on another summertime hike.

    

Wet

     Like it often is late in October, the weather became wet, snow covers the ground in high places, and the sun has remained hidden for days. The only sensible thing to be doing outdoors is hunting, but even that brings into question one’s sanity at a certain point.

     The grouse don’t want to move far from the shelter of softwood trees, but they have to eat. The cold weather requires more calories for them to stay warm. Following the edges of clearcuts we have found a few birds. Too often the birds are a whir of wings with a flash of feathers and gone. The shots are tough, with the softwoods swallowing up the birds in a blink. After almost a month of hunters in the woods, the grouse have seen it all and become skittish.

Maggie is learning every day.

     The dogs still manage to point a few. Maggie, our youngster, is learning stealth, something that is hard to teach and best learned on her own with exposure to wild birds. She does her best after she runs enough to burn off some energy and slow down a bit.

     Today a friend’s setter, Russ, was a delight to watch today as he winded a bird and tiptoed along with his head high. Maggie eventually caught the wafting scent too, but we never found a bird. Was it in a tree laughing at us? Probably, and maybe far ahead across the cutting.

     Up behind a cutting, Russ pointed next to a blowdown. Dave, the dog’s owner, walked in and one bird rocketed low out the far side, offering no shot. Another shot back over his shoulder, but avoided two ounces of ounces of shot he tossed its way.

     Some days are tough, but if it were easy we would soon be bored.

   

 

Cuttings and softwood.

From my log…

Maggie on point.

     October 27, Saturday.  Today was one of those days every bird dog owner waits for. I took the girls to woodcock country, hoping to get my youngster onto birds that wanted to hold for a point. Right off the bat Maggie locked up like a statue and when I walked in a woodcock flew up. I nailed it and she returned it, things couldn’t have been better.

     Of course I thought the whole morning would go like that, but we couldn’t find another woodcock anywhere.

     Hunting our way back, Maggie pointed again, I walked in, she relocated, and when I walked ahead of her a grouse flew. The shot was muffed, my fault totally, but I was very proud of her. Maybe five minutes later she points again, quite a long way ahead of me. I got to her and walked past. A grouse burst skyward and ducked behind a large cherry tree that absorbed a load of number eight shot. Two perfect points! If only I could have killed those birds.

     Entering some softwoods, another grouse flew out of a fir tree directly over my head. There was no chance for a point on that bird.

    An excellent two hour morning, with Maggie was a rock star. There weren't a lot of birds, but three solid points and no bumped birds. She is learning everyday.

Maggie with a woodcock.

Shot Size

           If you want an endless discussion, maybe even an argument, bring up the subject of shot size at grouse camp. Should the conversation start to slow, ask what everyone recommends for choke constriction.

As a young hunter, I was impressed by horsepower, and that meant high brass loads with number six shot for grouse. My first shotgun, an old Ithaca side-by-side was choked modified and full. Luckily for the grouse, I seldom hit them, but if I did there wasn’t a lot left. One of the first ones I ever shot was also shot by my brother at the exact same instant. We picked up the pieces without either of us realizing the other had shot too. Cleaning what remained of the bird later, there was both my number six and his seven and a half shot in the shredded carcass.

Number six shot is overkill for grouse, even late in the season when their feathers have toughened up. Number eights are my choice through the first two months of the season, and maybe I’ll switch to seven and a halfs later when the birds toughen up in December.

There’s a lot more pellets in a load of number eights than seven and a halfs, about 17% more, and grouse are not difficult to kill. With more pellets a few are bound to find their way through those early season leaves. And if a woodcock is put up you want a lot of pellets in the air or the bird may escape through a hole in the pattern. Some early season hunters like number 9 shot for woodcock, which has about 40% more pellets than a same weight load of number eights.

It is always a good idea to pattern your shotgun to see what different loads do. The first few weeks of the season, when the leaves are still thick and the shots close, spreader loads like Double-Wide by Polywad and Spreader-Lite by RST may increase your bag. On opening day, I like a Double-Wide in the right barrel and a regular seven-eighths ounce load in the left of my twenty gauge, both in number eight shot.

All through the season I shoot open chokes, preferably cylinder in one barrel and improved cylinder or skeet in the other. Most grouse shooting is a close in game. At the tail end of the season, when the leaves are off and the birds are wily, I may put a modified choke tube in my second barrel. It may be time to switch to number seven and a half shot too, because they seem to sustain their energy a little further in the cold denser air.

So I’m willing to listen to your opinions, as we sit by the fire and sip a single malt. The dogs snooze at our feet and there will be more laughter than arguing. If the answers were absolute, it wouldn’t be as much fun.

The fireplace at Camp Grouse.

It’s Showtime

The clearcut

     The season opened on a Monday with light rain, so I spent the morning working indoors. The precipitation stopped early and by mid day things had dried out some. 

     After lunch I took Maggie and Colby up a local bumpy road to take a right next to an old log cabin. We hunted the clearcut on the low side of the road where we had found birds a week before, but found nothing. We did find a moose scrape with a huge track in it. Above the road Maggie pointed one woodcock in a tangle as thick as a steel wool. It escaped unscathed.

The fall colors.

      From there we drove over across the valley to hunt the top of another clearcut. It's an interesting one, at the edge of old farm country, so there are a few apple trees remaining. Maggie pointed a couple of grouse in a thicket that I could not get into before they flew. Colby was on the scent of another, when it burst from a tree over my right shoulder. I killed it with a long shot, using a Polywad Double-Wide load of number eights. 

     Maggie was the one to find the bird. She is very proud of herself.

The first bird of the season. Its crop was filled with apple.

The Calendar

     Old man Autumn must have looked at the calendar Friday, because he roared in during the night, rattling the windows and dumping rain on the roof. At midnight, when one of the dogs had to go out, the temperature outside was sixty. But shortly afterwards the house shook and rain poured like pea-stone from a dump truck. By breakfast the temperature had dropped to forty-nine and the howling northwest wind started breaking up the clouds.

     Flannel shirts and added layers. Chores first and then off to the woods to run the dogs and find some grouse.