LAST BIRD OF THE SEASON

I don't know if it's true for all of us, but the last bird of the season often holds special memories for me.  It happened again this year.  K-Lee and I were exploring a riverbank area that typically gets birds pushed into it by other hunters.  It's one of our "end of season" destinations.  

After we had walked about a quarter of a mile through the mixed hardwood and brush,  K-Lee started tracking something and went over a rise.  In disappointment, I heard her "game bark" (more of a "yip" really).  I suspected that she had either "bumped" the bird or it took flight before she could point it.   Still, she kept at the hunt, aggressively working the sparse, late-fall cover.  Beyond another small knoll, she went out of sight again.   

Quickly walking about 200 feet, I rounded a bunch of tag alders and saw K-Lee on point.  She had a bird pinned in a brush pile!  Anticipation swelled as I circled around them and walked in from her left front.  Exploding upwards, a rooster made a raucous departure.  The bird cackled angrily as its wings frantically grabbed air.  It rose high above K-Lee and careened sharply to the right. K-Lee did a "spin in-place".  

In all the commotion, my first shot was a miss.  I took a breath, settled myself down, and let the Benelli speak again.  The rooster crashed into a tall maple and fell about 25 feet into the alders.  I marked the spot and sent K-Lee to fetch.  Unfortunately, she thought that the bird had gone off in a straight line and was determinedly looking for "a retrieve" in the wrong place!  After a few moments, I was able to call her into the alders to start a search.

I don't know if "air washed" (of scent) is a true thing, but there seemed to be no discernible scent in the area of the fall...at least none that was a clear indicator for the dog--so I took her in another direction to settle her down. My hope was that the bird would either have time to give off scent from it's "hide", or K-Lee would be settled down enough to pick up the faint scent of its track.   A few minutes later, we re-entered the alders and she quickly found that the pheasant had burrowed itself under a pile of detritus.  The rest was shall we say, "history". Satisfied with one good point and a bird in the bag, we made our way back to the truck.    

On the morrow--at the bird's expense--K-Lee and I shared "the meal of victory".                 
 

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.