MOMENTS REVISITED

A friend of mine recently loaned me a book of essays on Woodcock hunting.  It was good...I mean really good.   It resurrected memories of my first bird hunt with my (soon to be) hunting 'pard'.  He was a family friend that offered to take me hunting.  (Actually, I whined and begged like a teenager and he gave in.)  I had never gone bird hunting before, and wanted to 'try it'.  Though I was an absolute novice, I knew that I should come up with my own location and not ask to see any of his special spots.  Such things are kept secret--even among family friends.

My friend picked me up early one morning and we went to a place that I thought  might hold birds.  He deemed the cover "good enough", and moved me into alders and pole-sized growth.  The chill of the frosty morning pierced my jacket.  My fingers and toes were numb from the silent cold.  I wished for the sun to get higher in the sky.  Except for the "dawn-reveille" of song-birds and the noise of beaver in the water, all was still.   It seemed in the early morning light as if we were alone on planet Earth.

Photo by John Graf

His dog was a "Goliath" of a Brittany--weighing in at almost 60 pounds.  He stood stock-still, quivering in anticipation.  The Brittany's feet were firmly planted on the ground as he stared towards a very small opening in the alders.  There was no question: he was "on" a bird.  Apparently, the gods of bird hunting had favored us with  migrating woodcock.  My "guide" talked me through the process of "walking in and flushing the bird".  The bird got up so fast that I was emotionally unprepared.  "You'll have to be quicker than that." he said.  (I mumbled some lame excuse.)  He said, "Stay alert.  There may be more in here."  My heart rate and breathing increased with excitement.  I thought, "How can such a little bird generate so much excitement?"

Another a few more yards and  the canine "Goliath" was 'on point'.

Again, my "guide" and his dog let me walk in for the shot.  This time I was ready...much too ready.  (I learned that day that I would be better off with one shell in the gun than two or three.)  I was already thinking about the second shot as the first was fired.  (Doing so is a guaranteed miss.)

I fired.  (Miss!)

Trying to stop the little bird from escaping, I racked the slide on the Ithaca and fired again.  (Miss!)  As child development professionals are wont to say, I was "overly stimulated". I acted more like an anti-aircraft gunner than a hunter.  It seemed as if I was trying to put enough pellets in the air  that the bird would run into a few of them!

Again!  (Miss.)

We managed to take a few woodcock that day.  I don't remember who got what, nor do I care. I do however, remember the moments--his Brittany standing like a quivering statue with its fur soaked from  the early morning dew.  The smell of rotting foliage, the wet dog smell and the hot steamy vapors coming from his nose. He almost seemed to be saying, " Are ya ready??"

I remember the surprise of the flush as the bird popped several feet into the air and headed for the tops of the alders. I remember the whistling of the bird's wings and the cordite smell of the gun powder that lingered in the air after the shot--a favorite perfume.  And I remember my friend's calm teaching voice as he corrected me and let me learn from my mistakes.

All that and more flooded back into my consciousness as I read the borrowed book.

At least for me, hunting isn't about the score, it's about the memories.  They last forever.   As the commercial says, "What's in your wallet?"

Thanks to Jeff for taking a chance on me and lending me his very special book!

A FOOD ISLAND IN A WOODLAND SEA

Sitting by the fire while the snow and wind blows outside, I can't help but wonder how the grouse and other critters are handling the weather.  Granted, the birds have a "down coat", but it's still got to be a bit uncomfortable.

K-Lee and I traded the shotgun for a camera the other day and walked to an area that I clear-cut in 2002.  The new growth is becoming "pole size".  I was anxious to 'explore'.

A casual walk in the woods.

What I found was the track of a sauntering grouse.  He was apparently comfortable with the cover.  His steps appeared casual.  The bird meandered through the shrub growth, and weaved around pines and poplars.  We followed the bird for a little bit, then I decided to leave it alone.  I hoped that we would meet in the not-too-distant future.

This one was in a rush.

This particular area is only about 165 ft x 200 ft, yet it was attractive to my feathered friend.  Thoughts quickly flew to the area that I recently contracted for a "conservation cut".  Thirty-two acres of overgrown woodland full of trees gone beyond their prime, with a canopy that didn't allow sunlight to grow smaller species.  It was time to step in.


We cut everything--except that which was needed to protect wetland and any "nut" trees like oak, beech and such.   

Soon, the plants will regenerate, providing food and much needed "cover" for all sorts of wildlife--birds, rabbits, squirrels, deer and more.



It's nice to think that in a few years, there will be a "food island" amidst the woods down back.  Next year will bring the first of the regrowth with tender shoots, then the sprigs and bushes and finally, young trees.  Hopefully we'll have a few conifers in the mix.

It's always nice to give back--no matter what one's interest.




Two links to a Ruffed Grouse Society video
that explains the need  for "Disturbed Forest".


https://www.facebook.com/RuffedGrouseSociety/videos/990152764401675


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=taFNXt1vAMk

#LIGHTTHEWORLD. BRILLIANT!!!

It's begun--the the pressure of Christmas being "too commercial", of costing too much, and the pressure of the "expectations" that the holiday season brings.

Hello people!!  We can control that!!  Ever notice that the people who are the happiest are those who "forget themselves" in the service of others?    

No elf left behind

What is one to do?

My favorite Christmas happened early in our marriage when we were barely getting by.  We were living very much hand-to-mouth-- a struggling household with beautiful children.  


 Essentially spending our pocket change, we made our own Christmas presents--place-mats, picture frames, etc.  Our Christmas 'cards' were made by hand.  I still remember the "mouse theme" we chose.  We drew our own designs and passed our fingers and thumbs from an ink pad to the card-stock to create the bodies of the little mice-reindeer.  We added twigs other items with glue, and made little sayings for the inside.  

Life was just as busy then as it is now.   That Christmas was one of the few times that we all worked together with such common purpose.  There was little money put into the gift giving, which made it even more special.  

They were gifts from the heart, given with love.  We laughed together.

Today enters my friend, 'Maisymak' who is a talented and inspiring author.   On the internet, she found what is perhaps the world's best advent calendar and posted it to her blog.   The advent calendar is all about giving one act of love per day.  The title is #Lighttheworld.   
See it at http://www.maisymak.com/ .

This advent calendar helps us 're-set' the tone for the Christmas holidays.

I invite you to join 'Maisymak' and me in celebrating Christmas the old way--by loving and serving others.  

#Lighttheworld.  Brilliant!!! 

THANKSGIVING TRADITIONS

In the United States, our Thanksgiving Holiday is celebrated on the fourth Thursday of November.  Families have their traditions--each of them singular to each "nest".   The morning tradition at our house is "Dad's gone hunting".  By the number of other hunters I meet, I'm convinced that few --around here--have the same tradition. 

I used to hunt deer, and often carried a rifle.  I remember one Thanksgiving hunt during a fierce snowstorm.  (I was young and made of iron.) Walking in the gathering snow was very quiet as I still-hunted in hemlocks and thickets where I thought that bucks would be bedded.  I was surprised to find that walking soon became difficult.  Snow was falling at a frenzied pace and visibility was barely twenty yards. I became aware that I couldn't safely tell what laid beyond any possible target.   Figuring that 'discretion was the better part of valor', I pulled out the compass and struck a line back to my grandparents' farmhouse.

Apparently my wife and others were worried about me getting hurt and being buried under the accumulating snow, ..that no one would be able to find me,.. etc.  (It's seems funny how people dream up such scenarios.)  As I stepped up onto the porch, the women of the house met me at the door, chastised me for worrying them and demanded that I shake off all the snow  -- the pent-up anxiety had found its mark. 

I didn't have to hurry.  We were "snowed in" until the weekend.

These days, I hunt with a shotgun and dog. It feels more pleasurable to me.  

Sometimes, I even load the gun.  

I love watching 'bird dogs' work, and the  companionship they provide. 

Then too, there's the aspect of teamwork between the hunter and canine--a muse best left for another time. 



This past Thanksgiving found me in another snowstorm--though not nearly as onerous as the aforementioned one.  The dog and I  found only one bird--any others were either long gone or sheltered in the trees.  

I was reminded of that Thanksgiving day so long ago as the snow began to fall.  At first the K-Lee and I didn't mind it much, but as it continued, past experiences told me that we had hunted enough.  Since our mission was accomplished and we 'kept the tradition alive', 
we hiked to the truck and headed home.  Our hearts felt 'the pull' of loved ones gathered near a warm fire.

For such things and more, I thank Providence.

WHAT HAPPENED TO AUTUMN?

Since the last post, my speedster pigeon that flew "hell's bells" all around the house met up with a migrating red-tailed hawk.  Poof!  White feathers all over the place!  As my friend said, "That's pretty dramatic." 
  
Having anticipated such events, I took it in stride. (However, the other occupant of our house was ready to hold a funeral for the bird.)  A little later, two more were taken out as hawks moved through the area.  One night, a weasel got into the pen and we lost a two more.  To discourage further predation, an "oldies" radios station is playing in the shed and a constant light burning. 

Maybe it will work. 

Grouse hunting in the 'Great North Woods' was marginal at best.  Folks found that there was a lot of walking between birds.   



Friends who hunted primarily woodcock said it was a regular season for them--though they didn't seem to encounter many "flight birds". 

A lot of walking indeed, but I can't think of a better time and place to do such a thing!










 
Snow fell on the north woods early this year, and 'access' is problematic.  There is just enough snow  to make walking in the woods quite treacherous.  Some roads have already closed.

With the promise of better days next season, we look past the winter...and dream. 

October and November are already blocked out in the 2017 calendar and the camp is ready. 


The dog and I will be too.