Blues, Ruffs, and the Elkhorn Mountains: Part II

Following the success of my blue grouse hunt I decided that the next day I would head out in search of another grouse, but this time it was of the ruffed variety. It was yet another bird that was a bit of a mystery to me; a bird that I had no idea where or how to find and one that I had never attempted to hunt before. However, with a little research, I acquired just enough knowledge to feel proficient and set off for the Elkhorn’s. It would be my first attempt at these forest dwellers and the excitement had me up early.

Having flushed a few of ruffs out of a nearby creek bottom several weeks earlier I figured that same site was worth revisiting. When I arrived I stretched my legs, dropped the tailgate, put on my vest, and let the dog loose. And now, many thousands of feet lower than I was yesterday and with heavy thickets ahead of me, I found myself in a completely different world but, oddly enough, still looking for grouse, just smaller ones, in surroundings that made the gravel slopes of the previous morning seem a million miles away.

 

With the dog running full steam ahead, I could immediately tell that on this day there was little doubt as to what we would be doing and, to my delight, within minutes of entering the woods I found myself surrounding by flushing birds. Their speed and grace was something to be admired but there was little time to think. As I watched them spring out of the grasses I quickly realized that, looking only about as big as quail, I had to pass, I had to lower my gun. They were young of the year and late hatchlings at that. And, I suppose that while my ethics are based on a situation to situation basis, shooting juveniles that small just didn’t interest me and I decided to push forward. I decide that if there were chicks wandering about in small groups, the adults would be close by, hiding in the woods, ever vigilant of my movements. They would be the primary targets of the day.

The creek side was rich with dogwoods, cottonwoods, and aspens. Twisting and winding left and right, up and down. It was dark and quiet with only the distant mooing of cows lifting above the volume of the flowing water. Then, just like the high mountains, a bird crashed forth in front of me, dead ahead, with a force so great the entire forest seemed to shutter. I raised my gun and got off a single shot, the bird fluttered and then lost itself in the distance. I took another step and another bird from the tree line lept forth and was quickly, just like the other bird, lost in the woods. They had both been adults and I knew that my first chance at shooting a ruffed grouse had come and gone. Now, all that was left were the few feathers of the first bird, scattered along the small game trail snaking across the forest floor. How I wished I could have that shot back. The moment had gone.

But keeping my head up despite the miss, it was in that moment I realized three things. First off, just like yesterday, the birds I was seeking were not flushing out at 25-30 yards like I had expected, but rather, they were practically flushing out right in front of me; to the point I was almost stepping on them at times. So, trying to learn from my encounters, I switched out my modified choke for an I.C. and over from low brass to high brass shotshells in hopes of increasing my knockdown power. And finally, I realized that in order to hunt these birds effectively, I needed to give myself more room to move, room to swing my gun, and room to see where the birds were not just flushing from, but where they were flushing to. So, I tried to change my approach and prayed for the best.

Once again, I evaluated the habitat, noting that this spot was particularly cooler than others I had been in before and that it was also much more open to the water. So, working this strategy I walked the creek for some ways, keeping my eyes and ears open. Pushing through the understory I would eventually hear one of the birds flush out from high above but the moment was fleeting. From that point on I never saw either one again. I searched the area over and over with Farley in case the aforementioned hit bird had fallen, but it was to no avail, and I decided to try another stretch of water just to the north.

After a short break I arrived at the same creek some two miles upstream. This time I began working the outskirts of the thickets and with the dog squeezing and poking through holes left and right, I felt good that we were working in the right direction. Following the little one it was not more than ten minutes in when the first of another group flushed out ahead of me. This time, having given myself the necessary space, I leaned over to my right, dropped below a set of branches and fired a shot. The bird dropped straight out of the air and in an instant Farley was over to secure the scene. After a miss only an hour ago I now had my put my first ruffed grouse on the ground! The whole sequence of events played out perfectly and as I approached the bird I once again had the sense of accomplishment I felt yesterday. I was also happy with the changes I had made during the afternoon and quickly bent over to praise the dog. What a good boy!

I would sit there for several minutes, looking at the bird, taking pictures, gushing over the dog, and taking it all in before I would move to put the bird in my bag and continue on. It was at that moment, upon standing up and without warning, the woods once again exploded with sound; almost as if the birds had been waiting for me to make my next move. One bird flushed out ahead of me through a web of branches just over 20 yards out. I raised my shotgun, pulled the trigger and watched my second bird drop onto the forest floor. Without any hesitation, a third burst forth just behind me and letting another quick shot off I watched as the bird sailed off into the woods into the cover of the dark. And finally a forth bird, off to my left, flew in the opposite direction. Without any shot I could only watch as it lost itself as the other had in the woods.”Now that was exciting”, I thought to myself.

As I walked into the stand of dogwoods I found Farley, once again, on top of a bird that had fallen into a twisted cottonwood stump. With his mouth comically filled with feathers just like the previous day I patted him down and took a look at another grouse. Wow, two ruffed grouse. This was turning out to be the weekend I could have only dreamed of.

But knowing that I had one more bird to limit out and with the afternoon sun still high, we pushed on, looking for others. I would wander here and there and flush up several solo birds but all of them too deep in the woods to see or follow. However, as time would pass, as if gifted to me, I saw one flush out straight ahead, down into a small shrub patch. It was out in the open with empty space all around and with some cover on my side it was the ideal spot to stalk up on. And now, knowing I had the advantage and a dog, I moved towards the patch and tried to really use the dog, like a true bird dog, to flush the grouse out.

As I approached the shrub patch I tried to be as quiet as possible, leading the dog into position and when I was within fifteen yards, I put myself out in the open to take a shot and sent the dog in. Being patient and after a somewhat confusing path to the patch, Farley finally got wind of the bird and moved in hard. Then, almost exactly as I had drawn it up in my mind, the bird flushed out, out into the open sky, and as my 870 pressed back into my shoulder, I saw my third and final grouse fall to the ground. Even now I can’t get that image out of my head. My praise for the dog was uninhibited and the joy I felt in that moment will be hard to ever match.

I had just shot my first limit, ever. My first limit of any bird and it had ironically come on ruffed grouse, a bird I had never hunted. Who would’ve thought? It was almost too good to be true…almost. But it did happen and I am so thankful for all the places I get to go and all the adventures my dog and I get to have together.

And so, as I sit here after a long Labor Day weekend I have blue grouse on the grill and ruffed grouse in the cooler. This moment was surely made possible by all the other moments and all the hours on the ground and all the hours spent shouldering my gun before I went to bed. This was an amazing opening weekend. It was an amazing feeling to be out with my dog, in the woods and on the mountains, not only looking for these birds but bringing them home. This is why I love to hunt. This is why I love to bird hunt. These are memories that I will have with me for the rest of my life, and ones that will be shared with generations to come. It was without question, a joyous two days.