THE REVERSE MIGRATION

My friend used to laugh at me when I called the annual return of Woodcock, Ducks, Geese, songbirds the "reverse migration".  I suppose it was a simpleton term, but to me that's what it is.  Birds migrate south for the winter and in spring, they return performing a reverse migration to their nesting grounds.  

Call it what you like.

This is the brief time of year when K-Lee and I can go out and snoop around wet spots and edge cover, looking for woodcock which are on their way back to their summer abodes.  They may be here for a day or two while they rest, eat and perhaps wait for favorable winds.  They they're gone.  We don't try to harass them with any more than a "point", then we meander off looking for another "find".   It reminds me of "catch-and-release" fishing.

Somewhere in there is a bird

Soon enough, it will be too hot for such games, birds will be nesting, the black flies will be about, and bloodthirsty ticks looking for a free lunch.  

.

ENEMY INSIDE THE GATES

The enemy is inside the gates!   You may have been following what some are calling the political "disinformation campaigns" and "rants" in the media, but have you noticed the groups that travel "under the radar" in the guise of  "Humane" Societies  and PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals)?   ( … Not "People Eating Tasty Animals".)

Have you seen  attacks on sporting traditions and the recreation of sport hunting under the pretext of the "mistreatment" of hunting dogs?   How about the pseudo-thought that "animals are just children in warm furry coats"?  How about someone protesting how much pain a fish may feel when it is hooked?  Don't laugh.  It's happening nearly everywhere.

Hunting and fishing as  game management and conservation tools are discounted by such.  The ethics and traditions of the hunting and fishing communities are often painted as a "bubba" stuff.  Nothing could be farther from the truth, but if all you did was watch TV, you may suspect it's true.

You've probably seen those heart-wrenching videos on TV--where the animals are visibly neglected and mistreated.  There is usually heart jerking music in the background as the voice-over asks you to send every penny you can afford to save the animals.  I'm not faulting the sentiment at all.  Animal cruelty is far beneath our potential.  It us vile and unworthy of us.

K-Lee  "scent-tracking" a "released" bird

However, do some honest research and see how much money goes to the local shelters that do "boots-on-the-ground" work. (Personally, I think it's better to donate locally--where you can make a visible difference, and better control the outcome.)

Also look at how much of what one donates through those TV ads goes to the national/world-wide political action groups.  The very PACs  who seek to undermine our culture and our rights as hunters and fishers.  When it comes to "what goes into the activists' machine", I bet you'll find that it's much more than you'd think.

We battle this activism even in the New England.  The previous bear hunt issue in Maine and the bobcat hunt issue in New Hampshire -- to name only two historical examples. Trapping is under attack, yet trapping helps reduce predation on other species that we all love.  Such activist groups struggle to use legislation to accomplish their means.  They are well funded.  We (all) need to get smart about this!

 There is a bill which has been submitted by NY legislators to ban hunting contests, field trials and such.  One danger that lurks such bills is that they are purposely written "broadly" so that the law -- if passed -- can be interpreted as the ruling bureaucrats see fit--governance by emotion.    A little political activism after the bill has passed and voila! you've created a revolution without firing a shot!

Hunting dogs love to compete with one another, and love to practice their hunting skills.  They live for that! Just attend a NAVHDA,  AKC, or any other event to see the excitement and thrill of the dogs.  Also, tests and trials help breeders  improve the "quality of the breed"--matching "best" to the "best".

Here is a link that will further explain what's happening in New York State:
https://www.sportsmensalliance.org/news/new-york-bills-ban-hunting-contests-and-more/

Watching the bird fly off

In order for my voice to be "better heard", I joined the NH Wildlife Federation and the American Woodcock Society.  Such groups are better at defending my "turf" and  educating the public than my "lone voice in the wilderness" every could.
How do you leverage your voice?  …  Your opinion? …  Your vote?

In closing,  I refer you to the blog of GN Allen--an friend, established author and seasoned, concerned grouse hunter from whence I learned about the NY activism.  Check out his blog.  You won't be disappointed!

Ruffed Grouse, Drumming on a blog 

We have enemies inside the gates.
You can bet they are active wherever you live.

As Mr Allen says, "They don't quit!"

WHAT'S YOUR COMPASS?

This past season was a rough one for me.  Lame dog, bad weather, the list goes on.  I was even AWOL from the blog.  Then, I finally realized that I had simply lost my way for a while.  Frustrating as losing one's way is, it is easily corrected--provided one is willing to accept the fact that mistakes were made.


I was reminded of a short hike.


On a fair spring day not terribly long ago, the dog and I took a hike to visit a swamp that I had not seen  for about three decades.  After marking the truck with my little GPS, we started out. As we entered the woods, I checked to make sure the GPS was tracking our direction walk.  It was.

The forest looked different--often not a bad thing--after all, life goes on. I made my way more than a half mile under the dark overgrown canopy of overly mature hemlocks and found the swamp. It was still about 15 acres in size, surrounded by a mix of conifers and bushes.  The stagnant water was too shallow to swim and too deep for walking.  Cat tails, grasses and shrubs  were scattered throughout.   Coarse, stick-built Heron nests rode high in dead trees that rose from the primeval waters. The sight  made me think of Pterodactyls.  (Google Earth reveals 4 to 5  active nests in June 2018.)

Just to confirm my "bearings" for the way back, I pulled out my GPS.  It said the truck was about 3/4 of a mile due east.  I knew better!  Why was the GPS was giving me a bad reading!  Tree canopy perhaps?  Had I entered the location of the truck correctly?

The forest that held the swamp was surrounded by roads.  So, I was pretty confident that I'd be able to come out on a highway.  Trusting my "gut" and not the GPS, I started back the way I came in.  Soon, I came to a field that had heavy equipment in it.  Now I knew that the only field with heavy equipment was  to the south, and  I just couldn't be there because I knew that I was going east!  So I checked the GPS again.  It said I was farther from the truck which was now northeast of me.  I considered the possibility of some sort of phase shift in the earth's magnetic field that may have affected me, but the simple truth was that I was off-course and had not paid attention.  I should not have ignored the proven practice of carrying a compass along with the GPS.

I guess that's where we all get off-course at one time or another, by ignoring simple things and not relying on established truths.

In the beginning...
That's where most of life's errors are made aren't they?  

What's your "compass"?

THE FLUES REBORN

It was a "Christmas for grown-ups" last week.  'The Flues' came back from the gunsmith.  (Yay!)  I opened the package that contained my reconditioned shotgun and was absolutely stunned. 

First, let me refer you to my "personal history" of the Flues by suggesting that you type "FLUES" in the search bar above, and you will pull up the July 31, 2014 story of the gun, Frank, and how my now departed hunting "pard" left it to me--humor and all.

Ithaca Flues Model, made in 1911

In 2017 I decided to restore the Ithaca.  Perhaps it was because of the ache I felt inside, or perhaps it was my desire to create some sort of monument to my friend's memory and our story.  It seemed that the shotgun's journey was incomplete.    Whatever the reason, I looked up a shop that specifically renovated old Ithaca guns--not a 'factory shop' mind you, but a 'trade shop'.  I landed on Diamond Gunsmithing in Ithaca, New York.  After a brief back and forth, I sent the piece to him and then the initial installment on its repair.  

Shotgun in 2014

And I waited,...…


     And waited,...…..

         
           And waited some more...….

I simply didn't realize the process of renovating antique shotguns and the huge "que" I was in.  The shop was patient with me, and gave me status reports when I asked.  It was getting onto two years since I started this project, and I was afraid my personal piece of history was setting in the corner, dusty and forgotten.  

But NO!

While I was fighting back the frustration of unfulfilled expectations, I received a message letting me know that the restoration was nearing completion and asking me to verify what I wanted for chokes on each barrel.  A little later,  I got another message saying that it was almost finished and please send in the balance due.  (I sent it wondering if I was helping finance an exotic villa  somewhere.)

Soon  thereafter, a UPS email with a tracking number arrived.      A very few days after that, the package arrived.  

Came the moment of truth:  
Was I to be happy, or was I to be a fool?  ……… I opened the package. 

Shotgun in 2019

It didn't even look like the shotgun that I sent to them! … Everything was adjusted, re-blued, refinished, chokes opened up, and they even case-hardened the receiver.  

To me, the piece is like new--clean and beautiful.   (The pictures don't do it justice.) The master gunsmith turned an old misused piece into beautiful  functioning art.  He gave it new life, and life is good.  

It truly did seem like Christmas!   


Now if we can only renovate the shooter...…….

Ithaca Flues in 2019--Picture doesn't do it justice

A TIRED DOG IS A GOOD DOG

A friend once told me that a dog that has plenty of  training activity and exercise is more likely to be a good (well-behaved) dog.  Lately, I take the thought a bit further:  A tired dog is a good dog.

A while ago, K-Lee developed the habit of "counter-surfing".  Falling victim to her antics were loaves of bread, hamburger packages, and her "piece de resistance", a freshly roasted turkey breast.  (That's when I heard by beloved shriek something very un-lady-like. 

I think it was something like, "KILL THE ( expletive) DOG!!!".

While rants concerning dog etiquette echoed through our humble abode, we cleaned up grease on the floor,  and salvaged most of the meat. Sans a pound of flesh... shades of "The Merchant of Venice."
 

Breast missing nearly "a pound of flesh"

I've noticed that when K-Lee is well-behaved, she's my wife's darling dog.  When K-Lee acts up, she's my dog. 

To be fair, each of the times that K-Lee acted out, she was bored and anxious to do something.  Now I'm not making excuses for her, but she is almost nose-height to those delectable treats that someone-who-I-know leaves lying on the counter-top.  (My wife's dog was a Yorkie.)


Not to be outdone, I pulled the same idiocy yesterday by leaving muffins close to the edge of the kitchen counter and forgetting to put them back near the wall.  It was my fault, but it turned into a teaching moment.  In each of the previous misdeeds, K-Lee waited until we were out of the kitchen and distracted.  Any correction needed to be at the "time of the crime."

Fresh blueberry muffins -- now with 50% fewer calories!

I waited and finally caught her in the midst of her "dastardly deeds".  I proceeded to "get onto" her like a mother dog.  (No, I didn't use my teeth, but she knew I was upset and that stuff on the counter was mine!)  After breaking nearly all the rules of dog handling--without hurting her-- I threatened her life, handled her aggressively, profaned her ancestry, and put her in her cage with no supper. I "let the matter go" and pretended to forget.  ...So far, so good.

K-Lee in "Jail"

This morning, we went for a 3-1/2 mile walk along the river.  All the bad things were forgotten.  She "searched" back and forth to my left and my right (front).  I'm guessing that she probably put on between 7 and 9 miles.  We found woodcock and seven Canada geese.  (Birds aren't moving through yet.)


Later at home, once we "tailgated" and I picked burrs and seeds from her coat, we went inside where she readily accepted a bath.

A tired dog is a good dog

Her manners have been a lot better this afternoon.  The TV's weather girl says that it looks like tomorrow morning will be good for another long walk.  ,,,,Good thing! 

LET THERE BE LIGHT!

Summertime "dogging activities" are often "up early" and "out late"in order to get the cool of the day.  When I occasionally start out before dawn or return to the truck in the dark of evening, there exists a certain amount of frustration with checking the dog, and putting stuff away because (in my opinion) even a headlamp--though good for trail walking--lacks when working at the tailgate.

Initially, I thought LED lights would to be the ticket, but I wasn't able to adequately secure them onto the interior of the truck cap.  (They weren't that bright either.)  Recently, two things "converged" to solve my problem:   lighted, wireless light switches and INDUSTRIAL strength Velcro.  What a find!

Double light "switches" came out first, but then someone must have had the wonderful idea that if two were "pretty good", four ought to be "great".  They are!

As an experiment, I used industrial-strength Velcro to install a four-light switch on one side of the cap, and on the other side I installed the older-version two-light switch.  So far, so good. The lights have stayed where I put them on the inside of the fiberglass cap.  They haven't moved even with intense summer heat or vibration from traveling over dirt roads. 



I like this idea.  It is "up there" with the remote outside thermometer ($9.95) mounted on the cage in the back so --from the cab--I can tell the temperature
where K-Lee is riding.  (Believe me, after a day of moose muck and swamp grime, no one wants her "up front" in the cab!)


The only thing I'm going to do with my little experiment is to replace the two-light with another "four" and place another four-light directly overhead.  

If you want me, just look for the glow.

SUMMERTIME FUN

Independence Day has come and gone.  Here at home, the young birds at the front door have fledged.  They're gone too and I'm allowed to enter and exit through that portal again. (See 4/24/18 post "Banned From Front Door Use")   The lake is warm enough to enjoy a swim or two, and walks with dogs need to be done well before breakfast.  I'm good with that.

Last week, we went "up north" to our camp.  I mowed the lawn, put things  in order and installed a flagpole.  The high point of our stay was K-Lee on-point at the wood's edge.  As I "walked in" on her point, about four young woodcock exploded to wing.  Nearly the size of a baseball, they erupted from beneath the spruces and flew through the woods like Harry Potter's "snitch" during a "Quidditch" tournament.  It was a pleasant rush to say the least!   

K-Lee and I didn't follow up.  This is their time.  

Now, when I think of our camp which is near Quebec Province, the name "Becasse" pleasantly comes to mind.

 

I WAS "HOOKED" AFTER THE FIRST LINE

The day finally came.  My dear friend, Amy,  held a "book signing" event at a New London book store this past Saturday to herald her newly published book "The Unforgettable Guinevere St. Clair".  The  little shop was mobbed with folks lined up for the "book signing", and the copies were flying off the shelf.

The novel is written for kids 8-12.  It is fun summer reading.  I'm well over 65 and I'm enjoying it!  Maybe it's reaching out to the "inner kid" in me.  I was "hooked" after the first line!  We bought our several copies at the book signing and another from Amazon.  (Great gifts for my grand-daughters!)

Her blog is Maisymak.com where she is "writing, with a wiley flock of  children".  

Did I also mention that it was "Simon & Schuster" that made the successful offer?
Awesome! 

BANNED FROM FRONT DOOR USE!

A sign of spring is nesting birds.  I noted to my bride of 48 years that songbirds were coming to our wreath that was hung near the front door. They were pecking at the Styrofoam "berries".  The half "eaten" red berries are now white.  I can only assume that they are using the stuff for nest insulation.   

I was sternly instructed to leave the wreath up for the birds' use.  

   

I studied the wreath more closely and discovered a house finch's nest.   So, I mixed what I thought was "knowledge" with an air of "logic" and walked into the kitchen.  I told the person "to whom I am related by marriage" that I was going to take the nest down so that  the hen would re-nest in another location.  (There was plenty of time for that, and birds do it all the time.)  Bad move.

Four blue eggs

Suddenly, there were new guidelines. All foot traffic was redirected.  The dog and I are now banned from using the front door so that the little finch will not be scared off and lose her babies (eggs).  

The dog and I now have to go out through the garage.  

The bird gets the front door and we get the servants' entrance.

Mama bird bailing out

Especially after dark, it's like a theatrical opening.  The door goes up, the lights are on and 'voila!', there's K-Lee and me giving another 'show' for the neighbors.  

Please contact me for seat reservations.

'Mama' lecturing me on "violating" her space

SCIENCE IS ALWAYS LEARNING (AS IT SHOULD)

When I started out with dogs (I'm confining these remarks to my bird dogs) I thought I was doing the right thing by neutering or spaying a pup around 6 months or more to prevent uterine cancer, testicular cancer, unwanted births, bad behavior, etc.  I bought into the whole "if you aren't going to breed them, then you should spay them at about six months or more" thing.

Looking back, I can see that those were more like "talking points" for a general dog-owner population from well-intended folks who ran clinics, adoption shelters and rescues.  Less pregnancies means less puppies.  I get that.   However, the mantra seems to have been carried too far.  It became sort of a "broad-brush" approach for most of "puppydom" and shelter over-population.  It simply doesn't apply to those of us who keep a  fairly athletic association with our hunting dogs.

There is a growing field of data concerning the practice of "de-sexing" our canine cohorts.  Learning its effects--especially "early de-sexing"-- I've come to the conclusion that I've done a huge dis-service to my dogs.  Looking at the medical history of Taylor, my first GSP (German Shorthaired Pointer), provides good anecdotal evidence.  Taylor had terrible soft tissue problems.  He seemed to be lame more often than not. He also suffered dementia around twelve years age.  Lots of drive, but the chassis was weak.

Kid, my Brittany, was spayed at 3yrs old.  She didn't have "soft tissue" problems, but the impact of the surgery threw her for a post-surgical loop.  Her metabolism was knocked out of whack for several weeks.  After the operation, she remained  "urinary incontinent" and required special meds.   And of course, there's K-Lee:  She has needed two TPLOs (Tibial Plateau Leveling Osteotomies).  Anecdotal yes, but it matches up with others' experiences. 

One of my friends recently told me, "Life is one long learning curve."  He believes that spaying and neutering will be looked back at as a tragic mistake.  There are  alternatives to removing the sex organs that will prevent unwanted puppies.  

Slow to come along with this theme, I'm now convinced that spaying/neutering a pup at an adolescent age is not "good practice".  I realize that this puts me at odds with those who think the ailments such as "fear issues", poor joint structure, weak "soft tissue" such as ligaments, tendons, etc, and "anxiety" are entirely genetic in nature.  So be it.

It's to each person to formulate his or her own decision.  Having finally found the side of the fence that I want to be on, and if there's ever another dog in my life, I'll do things differently.

Perhaps at that time, there will be even more options than ripping out body parts from the abdominal area.


Here are links to articles that summarize somewhat what is my (current) belief:
  https://healthypets.mercola.com/sites/healthypets/archive/2016/07/27/neutering-spaying-effects.aspx

 https://www.huffingtonpost.com/hal-herzog/the-ethics-of-neutering_b_2790315.html

As new information comes in, I retain the right to adjust my thinking.



 

THE HONOR OF A GROUSE HUNTER

Most grouse hunters are conservationists to the core.  They discover "special places" (coverts) where ruffed grouse live, and they are very careful not to over-hunt those special coverts.  They only take a bird and then leave the spot unsullied for the rest of the season.  Often, they will pass up a shot.  They are very secretive about such finds--for good reason!

I have a friend--let's call him 'Hank'--is a long-time grouse hunter.  He lives north of the 45th parallel, and-- almost daily -- explores with his dogs.  He's also an outstanding woodworker and a great conversationalist. I would dare say that he is a font of knowledge --whether the subject be the beautiful "grain" of a certain piece of wood, fly fishing or grouse hunting.  A fireside chat with Hank can easily be the highlight of an autumn evening.

Young Grouse- photo by J. Jalbert

I have another friend who goes out nearly every day with his dog--both for the exercise and for the dog's exposure to "the bush".  They cover miles.  Let's call this friend 'Stan'.  His ability to recall flushes and locations  is uncanny and unerring.  Stan is retired and often works around the house in summer- when his wife has a project or two.  However, don't look for him  in the fall!  Stan is a die-hard, dyed-in-the-wool, grouse hunter.  Woodcock are safe around Stan.  He has no interest in them.  But grouse?  That's his game!  Stan will start hunting and be on the next mountain in no time.  Going from cover to cover, he hunts for the elusive bird, and he's good at it!

Grouse Tracks

Both of these men are honest, hard working, upright men who value friendship and a good time.  They have stories that run from the logging days of the Brown Corporation, of truck driving across America, to the present.  They are hospitable and fun to be with.

But let someone ask them about the location of their grouse coverts and they will either babble a bit, then give directions to "a good spot" in the next county or state,  ( Oh! You should go there to hunt!)  or give the individual  "good" GPS coordinates--which are probably several miles out into the Atlantic Ocean.)

There is (and rightly so) a reluctance by bona-fide grouse hunters to share their (secret) coverts.  A slip of the lip and within days, the covert has become over-hunted, under-appreciated, and made into something that looks more like a public park.  Beaten trails will lead the way for other hunters and soon what was almost a "sacred" site has been reduced to a public "way-station".  The "pristine" nature of the secret covert is lost forever.  Perhaps that's why some coverts have names that are known only by those "pards" who sparingly hunt them --"hell hole", "campsite", "two grouse mountain", "Maxie's corner", etc.

Also, the possibility of ruining a good friendship lies in the sharing of those "sacred" places! For example, if a friend tells another about a "secret place"--and even if the second person never hunts it-- the possibility of the location being discovered is so high that the first person may think that his friend mis-used his friendship and over-hunted his secret place--a clear violation of his trust!

Displaying Grouse

Grouse are not "stocked" birds--nor can they be.  Grouse require the wild places to continue to survive.  That is why I will  hunt a friend's covert only when he brings me to it.  If he tries to tell me where one of his "favorites" is located,  I tell him that "I don't want to know."  I value his friendship more.

It's every man (or woman) for himself.  Many a grouse hunter will go to the grave before sharing the location where his favorite birds prosper.  Such is the honor of a grouse hunter.

AGAIN COMETH THE SUN

Sitting next to the picture window of our cottage, I feel the late winter sun burning through.  In anticipation, I peek outside looking for grass, but see only snow and mud.  Spring isn’t quite ready to show herself and I feel like I was refused a dance with “lady spring”.   My thoughts wander.

It seems long ago that I left behind the cutting, hauling, splitting, stacking and burning of firewood. These days, when the sun burns brighter, I soak in its rays and dream about the next season.   I can’t seem to keep myself from wondering, “How might the dog and I do better?”  “Where will we go to connect with wild birds?”   The weather has ‘softened’ enough that we walk a bit to build up my legs and lungs.   Ever vulnerable at my desk, I offer small fortunes to bird dog magazine publishers while daydreams of ‘perfect’ fall days surround me like a sparkling aura!
 

And the advertisements!!  Decades ago, all that we needed was a good fall day, an old shotgun, a few shells, and a compass.  We’d quickly wrap up our chores and sneak out into the back acreage to where we flushed a covey of pa’tridge last summer.  The high-tech guys usually included a map and perhaps a jack-knife in their pocket. 

Today, we need special boots, a ‘device for this’ and a ‘device for that’.  (Even our dogs use a GPS!)  Our shotguns need to be pieces of art—so we can brag about them in the pub—and we carry enough shells for an all-out fire-fight with a flight of woodcock.  We have first aid kits for our dogs that are larger than the first aid kits for ourselves.  Heaven forbid that our brush pants should be worn at the cuff!   

It seems that today, a well--outfitted bird hunter carries almost as much gear as a Navy SEAL.

Now, if you’re in your prime, weight may not matter to you, and an eight-to-ten mile walk with all the gear is “normal”.  You’re working the percentages--more miles, more possibilities.  Legs kill birds.  I get it.  

However, at my age, many more hunters are looking for “less”.  Less distance walked with a focus on “habitat quality”.  Less “weight”, less “stuff”!  A light shotgun with light loads works well in the grouse woods.  Admittedly, a light GPS is a wise choice to use with the compass.  

No longer do we carry a whole box of shells.  If things are so good that we run out of ammo, then we have the makings of a really great story—which fills our memories and lights our gatherings longer than another bird or two in the bag.  The water bottle is about half the size that it used to be.  Refills are back at the truck.  Instead of a separate dog bottle, we share.  Boots are evaluated with weight as ‘prime criteria’.  We’ve been out enough to know how to judge weather, and we know that one handkerchief and a carefully selected (light-weight) jacket will give us everything needed until we get back to the truck.    Matches and a knife are still important—however lightweight synthetic handles and smaller blades are a “necessity”.  Bowie knives are “out” and lightweight cordura sheaths have become my favorite.  

It’s kind of like listening to some really good ‘blues’… Less is more.

Still, despite the desire to reduce “weight”, (and in the light of “technology”) folks of my sort need to be practical—especially if we’re still “getting off the beaten trail”.  I used to tell my wife, “If I am found face down in the woods, just know I was having a good time.”   She never appreciated that sentiment, so I recently followed the course of some of my “brothers” in our local NAVHDA chapter and purchased a (lightweight) satellite GPS locator unit.  Between April and December, I’m often where there is no phone service, and if I get in trouble, the satellite messenger/emergency locator provides a few good options.  

Mark you, my ‘intention’ is to never press the satellite ‘SOS’ button, but I’ve lived long enough to know that having intentions is like having stomach gas.   The key to happiness is being in control.