Heading out on Saturday morning I reflected on the great many moments I could recall being out in the field: shooting my first bird with James in the waning evening hours of a January day; the first bird Farley ever tackled; the first double I ever shot, amazed and elated at the scene; and watching Farley track down a bird almost 100 meters away. Those are memories you can’t replace or pay for. And this weekend I am excited to say that I added bagging my first blue grouse, shooting my first ruffed grouse, and subsequently bring home my first limit of birds to that list. A pair of days that has had me smiling from morning till night.
When I arrived along the Elkhorn Crest Trail on the opening morning I could feel a cool breeze in the air. High elevations and the early dawn sunshine had me restless with anticipation. I was there to seek out a bird I had only had passing glimpses of but never before brought home. A bird that was there in an instant and gone the next. But now, with the dog in tow I entered into this game of cat and mouse with a new outlook.
The hike began by working my way down the trail and eventually off onto the rocky cliffs above, scrambling my way up the mountainside. I had decided early on that this would be a day to test my legs, work them as they had been worked in the past; remembering to “push through the obstruction”. I made my way up the gravel embankment and was soon on my way, off with the anticipation of my first encounter.
A little unsure of where to find these birds I had only my memory to work off of; thinking back to places I had seen them and trying to recall the landscapes. But here it was different. On these ridges the cliffs and wilderness were vast, the mountains bare. Looking out there was forest and valley as far as the eye could see. I had so much country to choose from and not really knowing where to start I just started, well, hiking. Knowing that, as has become a bit of a motto for the Haines Hunters, if I could just cover ground then good things would happen, and happen they did.
Working the slopes I began encountering clusters of greenery and stepping into a thicker patch of firs and spruces the moment I had been waiting for arrived. A grouse, starting up like a two-stroke engine, burst out of the trees in a flash, down the mountain and out of sight before I could blink. It happened so quickly I barely had time to comprehend what was happening but even before it was over I was quickly evaluating the scene. Looking around for clues, figuring out what had just transpired and working to see how I could improve my odds at the onset of our next engagement. And so, I got to work.
When I first started chasing birds James taught me one of the most important lessons in my young hunting life; a lesson that in my years of traveling has now proved invaluable. He taught me to not simply accept that I had just happened upon a bird, but to ask myself, “why?”, “why was the bird here and not over there”? He instilled in me early on that it was not random chance to find a bird sitting here or there but rather there must be something in particular, a micro-habitat of sorts that brought that bird to that spot. And that’s not to imply that every place you flush up a bird will subsequently reveal some absolute fact about their preferred place on the landscape, but that through many encounters and many flush sites, you can begin to put the pieces together and find a theme or pattern as to a birds whereabouts. As such, satisfied with some sound logic, that’s what I’ve done in the past and continue to do until this day. As it turns out, it can be quite effective.
What I found next to this flush site were small berry bushes, a wealth of short fir and spruce trees, ranging from two to six feet, and spots where shade was abundant. I began using this information to refine my search and bouncing from patch to patch I was not only covering ground with more purpose but with a heightened awareness of what might be coming out. And I also began to position myself differently. One of the reasons I had not even had a shot at the first grouse was because I was uphill of the bird. Flying away from me and using the surrounding vegetation cover to his advantage, the fight was over before it had even begun.
So, with my newly found knowledge I approached the game from an entirely different angle. I worked patch to patch, on the downhill side, and let the dog do the thicket searching; sending him uphill to push through the trees, hoping his nose would once again realize where we were and what we were doing. However, I must admit, it’s been a year since we chased birds and when we started the day I think it was safe to say that the dog was only after squirrels. Either way, having him run into the trees could only help. And help he did.
After travelling for several hours, on difficult terrain with little to no stability upon the gravel mountain side, I saw the dog circle into a small patch of trees and soon heard the sound I had been waiting for again; the sound of the engine starting, roaring to life. Right above me, there he was, flying with speed and power beyond belief but this time, I was prepared. I took my first shot at less than 10 yards, miss. The bird flew right over my head and a second shot rang out, miss. Finally, with the bird sailing off in the distance, I took a third, final shot and the bird dropped, falling out of the sky and down onto the hillside. As I watched Farley run down the slope to the still fluttering bird, I could feel my cheeks tighten and a sense of pride wash over my body. I hadn’t done it; we had, as a team. It was our first blue grouse, and with feathers clogging up the little dog’s mouth, I could tell we were both blissful with the season’s return.
Looking over bird I couldn’t help but admire the size, feathers, and feet. It was a big male, with bright eye combs, and the colors reminded me so much of the other grouse I have had the privilege of seeing up close. And the weight was incredible. Never before in my life had I put a single bird into my bag and felt the weight change so significantly. It’s the weight that causes you to smirk. The weight that you know signifies all the hard work you have put in for the day. And it’s the weight that lets you know you aren’t going home empty handed.
After walking for another hour or so I returned to my truck satisfied and to the pleasant sight of two mountain goats hanging out on an adjacent hillock. A sure fire way to cap off a great day. As I sat and cleaned my bird I gave the now ceremonious heart to Farley, a sign of appreciation for all his hard work, and then put the carcass in my cooler. The day was over, my hands smelled of birds, and I was on top of the world, both literally and figuratively.
No comments:
Post a Comment