 |
| Maggie running back after flushing the woodcock. |
A
cool wind blew from the east under a blotchy gray sky. Small mountains to the
east showed the scars of logging and patches of white lingered near the tops of
the highest. The two older wirehairs dashed ahead, familiar with the old
logging road, having walked it dozens of times over the years, both hunting and just
to be outdoors.
Maggie, our twelve week old pup, stayed closer, walking in the
drainage ditch and fascinated by the flowing water as only a puppy can be.
Up
from under her nose tweetered a woodcock, the first one seen this year!
 |
| A new beaver pond flooded the road. |
Maggie
dashed back to sit by our feet and watch the bird fly away.
After
hoots of laughter and praise for the pup, we carried on. Further down the hill
a grouse flushed wild, twisting like a calendar painting through the barren poplar
and birch. Life felt pretty good.
Further
on, up in a cutting, Chara, the older wirehair soon to turn fifteen, pointed
with Colby backing, but no bird was found, yet was still a delight to see.
Later, almost back to the truck, Chara shuffled around inside a
thicket of alders. Pause, snort and sniff, pause, point, shuffle and sniffle…no style, but with determination, and up
went a woodcock. That made two!!!
 |
| Lounging at Camp Grouse while listening to the grouse drumming. |
On
the way back to Camp Grouse, the sun poked through the clouds and the subject
of a beer came up. Later, sitting on the deck, we clicked the necks of two
bottles together in a toast to spring, and almost immediately the season’s
first drumming from a grouse drifted down the hill.
