Never Cared Much for Retrievin'

Artemis, my aging GSP, never cared much for retrieving. Never really had to, I guess.  A few times I greatly regretted not insisting on this more, but those were generally fleeting pangs; Artemis hunts dead pretty well.

Today I decided to work a woodcock hunt into my Friday schedule, to honor old Spy (over whom I think I shot my first woodcock, in Maine... or maybe that was Butch...), and to tune up "Miss" for a week in the ADKs. It was a full moon, and it had been windy so maybe there'd be birds in my favorite coverts, I thought. I enjoyed the sound of the laptop closing, signalling the end of the week and a clean break for the woods. We headed for the Finger Lakes National Forest.

Miss was excited to be out, and it was windy, so I opted for two bells, each with a different tone, which has been working well for me. She was on birds quickly and I missed two in the first five minutes. I called Miss to heel and we took a little time out together.  Miss seemed to understand the little exercise, and didn't push to move or whine. She just relaxed, her nose opening and closing like bellows, but otherwise still. I soaked in the wet smeary fall colors, the mosaic of landscapes on the ridge, and cloudscapes in the sky. I breathed deeply the poignant aromas of wet autumn leaves mixed with a little pine. I admired the familiar lines of my LC Smith 20 gauge, which was a key to a door I thought permanently closed, but opened by Josh who encouraged me to just give shooting left-handed a try ( a massive turning point in my life, but that story is for another day). I recalled other friends, too, that I shared many memorable hunts with in these woods. I smiled at my good fortune, a gesture not lost on Miss, who perked up.  "Find a bird," I said enthusiastically, having firmly pressed the reset button.

She hunted flawlessly, pointing and holding woodcock among the head-high dogwoods. There were two in the bag in the span of 5 minutes, and a third fell from a group of three Miss pointed in a rose thicket. A dramatic turnaround and exhilarating flurry of upland bird hunting at its finest. I was thrilled, each time I saw the bird fold and Artemis follow up, locating and worrying the bird a bit before looking  up to be sure I saw her mark of the downed quarry.

After picking up the third bird and placing it gingerly in my shooting vest's game pouch, I thought it would be nice to get a good picture. There was a pond very near, with a barbed wire fence around it, which I thought would do nicely for an October sporting photo. The shot would take advantage of the pond in the background, and I could use the wire to hang the birds rather than the more typical placed-on-the-ground shot. I emptied my gun, set it securely against the fence, and reached in my pouch for a woodcock. I felt around  and found one, pulled it out and brought my other hand to it, to admire it again before hanging it and thus transforming it from quarry to food in my possession. I looked at it for a moment and vaguely wished I knew how to sex and age woodcock, when the bird fluttered and flew away, landing with a splash in the middle of the pond!

Every hunter has experienced that perfect moment that turns imperfect. The fantastic buck that eludes easy recovery, plaguing the hunter with all manner of self-doubt and anxiety. The great shot on a first drake Canvasback that lands in the cattails, besting the trusty retriever. But a woodcock escaping the game bag and splashing down in the middle of a pond?

I looked at Miss, who came when I called her, but had missed the drama. I looked at her the way a coach looks at his kicker who hasn't made one all year, but is needed now, to win the big game. I think my dog deeply resented me looking at her that way, judging by her facial expression. Or, she was thinking "this kind of thing only happens to the most idiotic of orange-clad men."

Artemis never cared much for retrievin' , but her number was called to make a play. I brought her to the water's edge. She smelled the bird and worked the bank a little. The bird fluttered and splashed a bit, drawing the dog's attention. She looked back at me. Sheepishly, I said "Miss, get the bird," while pointing out over the water. She walked to the water's edge, stepped slowly but confidently in, swam to the bird and retrieved like she was a duck dog doing a boring drill. All I could muster at first when she dropped the exhausted bird in my hand was "thank you.... good girl." But she already knew that.

Spidey was a Grouse Dog

 

Bonasa Northern Spy, Sept 6, 1997 - Oct 11, 2013

 

Last Friday Spy breathed his last.  I saw it coming, and dug a hole for him a couple days earlier.  He went to the earth in the side yard on a pleasant October morning with a couple grouse tail feathers and a 20 gauge shot shell. That evening after playing catch and shagging grounders and flies, Nolan and I stood over Spidey's grave and I told a few stories, and a bit after sunset a woodcock came in low over the field and set down on the lawn about 20 yards away.  It seemed fitting.

Spy was the last of his litter; Kate went before him a few years ago.  He was okay on woodcock, but he seemed to really enjoy finding grouse.  He was certainly more fleet of feet than either Kate or their dad Butch.  Rather than trail birds, he seemed to pin a higher proportion of them than did Butch.  I remember the first pointed grouse that I killed over Spy, his first season when he was a year old.  It was an October afternoon at Frye Mountain WMA in Maine.  The bird held very tight and I was expecting a woodcock. When it rocketed out I downed it with one shot from my 20 gauge SKB SxS; that was also the first shot I had taken on grouse with that gun, which I had picked up that summer. That gun and dog combination was together for 13 seasons.



 

Spy split bird dog duties with Butch for 4 years. In the era Before Kids, they got plenty of time on the ground.



Spy on woodcock, rookie season 1998 -- see the birdy?



Old dog on woodcock (bottom center).  Same old ATS Basic Beeper!



Spy's retrieves of upland birds were memorable... because they were relatively few, and usually were tough cripples brought back alive.  He pointed dead more often than not.

Ducks were different -- he had no problem retrieving them until ice-up.  Not very stylish, but he liked fetching them.

 

Rich and Spy, northern Maine 2008.

I don't recall the first woodcock I killed over Spy, but I vividly remember his last.  Three years ago, when Spy was 13, I'd hunt him up to a couple hours a day and Brody (1.5 yrs at the time) would get the lion's share of time.  We were in Minnesota and I was guiding a gentleman from PA.  Spy pointed this woodcock 3 or 4 times and each time we either didn't get a shot or missed.  It was getting late and the dog was getting tired. FINALLY, my guy from PA kills the bird, and I'm jumping around cheering, it was such a relief and I was so grateful.  So I leash Spy and lead him -- or more accurately, he leads me -- out toward the truck.  I've got my shotgun (same 20 ga SKB) over my shoulder, Spy tugging on the leash pulling me through the brush and saplings. He suddenly stops and I just about trip over him, and a moment later up flies a grouse.  My shotgun comes forward off my shoulder, butt-stock to cheek and shoulder, and pop -- drops the grouse.

Good old Spidey.  He was a grouse dog. 

 

 





New covert

I'm reading deer hunting posts and receiving photos of cervid prizes from grousers in New York with envy. Wish I were there with you folks. Here in Pennsyltucky, the woods are just getting good for grouse and woodcock and gun season for deer doesn't start for eight days. Bobby, my neighbor, introduced me to a new covert, just down the road from Lion Country Supply, that yielded both bird species. We came home with two woodcock, but should have had a few more.

Lilly, locked up along the railroad track that borders the new covert.

30-minute epic

Sunday afternoon, misty, foggy, Sandy on the way. Nolan's been plugged into the d!@#$% I Pad.

Must... Get... Kid... OUTSIDE! 

I offer a walk in the woods to check on our deer stands --- naaah. I offer to take away the Ipad until further notice if he doesn't get his boots on and meet me at the door --- whi-i-i-i-i-ining. How about we get Brody and look for a bird? -- Okay. (... ev-er-y-one's a win-nah!)

Okay then.  A bell & beeper, vest and shotgun, and a bit o' orange, and out the door.

Up past the barn to the red maples where we've found woodcock in prior seasons. Brody finds old scent - stop and go, searching.  Stopping long enough to activate the beeper, but no woodcock this time.  

He hunts farther down the maple stand, and bumps into a woodcock and gives chase to the edge of the big woods.  I give him a little "what-for" and we resume the hunt down the hill along the edge of the old field, to the other old field edge below the house.  Nolan and I scoot along, keeping pace while Brody works in and out of the woods, making bell music as he rolls along.  

Pretty soon he stops in the woods near the trail where Richie Feller and Angela dragged a deer out last fall.  Nolan and I follow this other music, SportDOG's bobwhite electronica, to the source -- Brody on point.

 

Nolan stays tight behind me as I walk wide around the dog and come in for the flush.  A timberdoodle whistles high for the sky, my gun barks, and the red gods smile. The bird plummets while feathers float softly to the ground as we walk toward Brody and the retrieve. The off-season retrieve training has been paying off, as last year he would've more likely mouthed the bird whereas now he's retrieving to hand.  Woodcock, at least -- still more work to do for consistency on grouse. I take the bird from Brody, and Nolan takes it from me to inspect and carry. Nolan is impressed with the shot, and I disguise my relief. With any luck, we won't find another bird.

But we do.  Brody works farther along the woods/field interface and into a little popple peninsula that juts into the field. This spot has held both woodcock and grouse in the past.  Into the aspen goes the dog, and out runs a deer -- a good-size one, but I couldn't tell whether it sported antlers or not. Ahead, bobwhite beeps are interspersed with tinkerbells, and Nolan and I follow Brody into the aspens. We approach Brody on point, and a woodcock lifts off out ahead, and glides across the field and down into the woods from which we just came. No shot. 

We continue on as before, working into the north breeze, and after we take just a few steps Brody's on point again. This time he's in the edge of the field pointing down into the woods to our left.  As we walk over a little knoll, Nolan get's a good look at the dog and we stop to admire the scene and discuss strategy. And the plan is a simple one -- I walk just inside the woods as Nolan trails along at the field edge. 

Our plan works to a tee, as the woodcock flushes away north down the field edge, with Nolan getting the perfect view.  My first shot misses behind to the right, but the 2nd barrel centers the bird and it falls. We wait as Brody goes for the retrieve, finds the bird, and brings it with speed right back to hand. Nolan, of course, is all proud of his dog, and full of questions about shooting -- were the shots hard? which one was harder? why'd you miss? 

We agree that two woodcock are enough today, no need to hunt further. We walk up the field to the house to get into dry clothes and warm up by the woodstove.  Our little hunt couldn't have turned out better, and I bet Nolan will remember it long after he's forgotten whatever game he was playing on the Ipad. The hunt will be re-lived at Thanksgiving when we eat these birds (prepared according to Pete's interpretation of March Woodcock). Oh, and Nolan's been jonesing to go turkey hunting next spring down in PA (thankyou PGC for the Under 12 Mentored Hunt Program!).  Time to look into youth sized shotguns... but that's another story.



Brody, Nolan, and two timberdoodles



Woodcock recipe

Ran across this recipe in the Upland Journal forums, everyone there raves about it--thought I'd pass it along.  Haven't tried it yet. 

The cant lose woodcock/venison/waterfowl/gamebird recipe

6-8 Woodcock -feeds 3 or 4 people
Fillet off breasts of the woodcock w/no skin
Cut off legs w/thigh, w/no skin.

Mix a marinade w/this:
Minced fresh ginger- about 3 quarter size pieces
Minced 2 large cloves of garlic
3-4 tablespoons of Soy sauce
1 tbs+- of brown sugar
Several drops + of Asian Sesame oil
Black pepper
1 oz+- hard liquor. (I used rum but whiskey etc would work)

(cut up some green onion-put aside)

Marinade WC meat for an hour or so.

Heat a pan w/1 tbs veg oil til smoking hot. Add meat and stir cook til meat turns color--keep heat high. Just a few minutes. Check to make sure it is rare! Dont overcook.

Just at end add a small handful of green onion.

Place meat on top of white rice or to side and add a little more fresh green onion on top.

Thanks to Ben Hong for providing me this recipe. This recipe will work well w/venison/duck and geese. And is good w/any gamebird.

PA Woodcock 2011 - Coming of Age

It's been so long since I've last posted to the blog that I had to renew my password. Apologies abound. Many significant posts missed.

2011 was the year that I had hoped for my 3 year old german shorthair pointer. No, it wasn't the trip to Wisconsin, which was wonderful but primarily served to show me that I didn't know how to to hunt over my pointer. It was only on the last day in Wisconsin that Lou and I figured out how to work with Lilly. At home in Pennsylvania, it was the warm weather and a flight of woodcock who just wouldn't fly south that cemented the late Wisconsin lesson, helping to convert a (hopeless) flushing dog owner into a (reasonable) pointing dog owner.

In the past 10 days Lilly has pointed - really pointed! - at least 60 woodcock, and bumped a dozen or so more. We stumbled upon these birds one afternoon, in search of grouse on the game lands down the road. A fluke, as many good things in life seem to be.

That first afternoon was pure chaos. The cover was thick, often 6-10 ft high, making shooting impossible most of the time. Lilly bumped many of the birds, but she began to point after I yelled "whoa" in frustration. I shot two birds that afternoon. And she retrieved both to hand. GSP retrieves: saliva soaked birds that were well tenderized. Impossible for me to find on my own.

Lilly, with the cowbell Jim Tantillo gave her on her inaugural hunting trip in 2009. The cowbell disappeared on the first day of 2011 PA woodcock hunting, victim to multiflora rose, hawthorne, locust, something....

After that I recruited my neighbor, Bobby, to serve as gun while I handled the dog. Bobby is a wonderful woodsman but is as new to dog hunting as I am to being his neighbor. On the first day we began to work out our technique. Lilly would point. I would walk in to flush the bird. Bobby would shoot. We killed two birds that day. Out of 10 or 20. Who's counting? Lilly occasionally broke point to flush a bird. But that was rare and I would call her in, scold her, and we would try again. The birds were accommodating.

We repeated our afternoons, several times, always killing a few birds. The points accumulated. The bumped birds declined. A ritual evolved. We would end the day picking ticks off of ourselves and the dog, listening to woodcock twighlighting. The surprising gift of warm weather in November.

Last Saturday found us with a colleague who owns an English Pointer. The pointer, a sweet dog, hadn't hunted in awhile, so we left colleague and dog to their own ways and hunted the late afternoon. Lilly pointed. We missed. She pointed again and again. We missed again and again. At one point Bobby looked at me and remarked: "there's only one hunter here, and it's the dog, not us." Touche. Or motivation.

I shot my first bird of the day at point blank range. Lilly picked the bird up. Dropped it. Refused to retrieve it to me. It was only half a bird. Breasts salvageable, but no lower half. Even a versatile hunting dog has its limits.

We hunted until the light was waning. On the way back to the car Lilly pointed a bird while heeling at my side. She pointed three more until, in the dusk, I finally dropped one. Lilly found it, 40 yards off, and retrieved it to my hand. Much better tasting than the previous bird!

The shooting percentages this last week were dismal, but that's ok. A transformation occurred. Between hunter and owner. Ain't no one going to tell me she's not the greatest woodcock dog. Ever.

Timberdoodle Time

Just 4 more days left in the NY woodcock season (last day Monday, November 14th, which coincidentally is the date of the Elmira, NY RGS banquet ;-)). The woodcock seem to be "in" in the ever-increasingly-shrinking Hector neighborhood, and the forecast of west/south winds the next few nights is not conducive to birds leaving in any big way (nor migrating in for that matter).


I had a brief and productive hunt with Brody recently -- moved 10 woodcock in about an hour and 45 minutes. Not big bunches, but rather a steady encounter rate of mostly singles. Same sort of thing we experienced in Maine.


Do your dogge a favor and get thee to a thicket!

Birds so far

Figured I'd fill space until Pete or Rich contribute the write-up on the Old T trip. Here's a summary of my bird season to date. Before I went to MN, I got Brody out hunting at the FLNF for a couple hours, moved 1 grouse, and Brody pointed two woodcock (2/2). I left Spy home when I went to MN -- I figured all that travel and crate time would be a bit much for a 14 yr old dog. In MN I was able to work Brody several hours scouting coverts and guiding a few hunters. (photos: MN double rainbow, Earl's ES Otto w/ Earl's DIY tricked-out mudflaps, Brody pointing a woodcock). On the way home I was able to hunt half a day. After I packed the car, the first stop on the way home was some paper company land in MN. Tried a couple spots ("fishing") but did not move any birds over a couple hours. The temp was nice -- 50s -- but it was very windy. The final spot was also on paper company land that had been cut periodically. Lots of stands of aspen from <5 old sapling to mature. I popped a grouse that I bumped. Wing-tipped him, and fortunately Brody caught it. Little while later Brody went on point where I saw a woodcock settle in. I walked up expecting a woodcock, but instead two grouse rocketed out simultaneously, away and high. I missed two shots at one bird. In about 15 seconds Brody was on point again. This time the bird came over me high and I dropped it behind me. Over the next 1.5 hrs we moved a few grouse (pointed, bumped or bumped by me) and a couple woodcock. Killed a pointed wc. The final action was a long walk to the beeper. I swung wide, and flushed a red phase bird about 30 yards ahead of Brody, and fortunately killed it. We hunted that place about 3 hours total. Brody handled nice -- I didn't have to talk much. I ran him w/ a beeper on point only, and a bell. Seems to work nicely. Got to have the beeper -- he's hard to see and ranges well out of gun range. The grouse seemed harder to handle this year -- sneaky runners and silent escape "hop flights" well out. The age ratio of grouse from the hunt was pretty heavy to adults. The birds I killed were two adults and one youngster.



Back in NY for a week, I ran Brody almost daily on the backyard woodcock. Just training runs, no guns. (photo pointing local woodcock on a rainy day). I hunted Brody one afternoon at the nearby state forest. Moved two grouse (no points) and one woodcock (pointed, bagged).




The last week of October I was in Maine. Work trip, but I was able to get out hunting a couple hours a few of the days. Had a great time in my old home coverts outside Old Town, but for the life of me I could not connect on a grouse! (just like old times). We moved on average 4 grouse and 3 or 4 woodcock per hour; got points on about 75% of the grouse. Did well on woodcock. Later, out in the vicinity of Grand Lake Stream, the woodcock were just as abundant but the grouse were more variable (1-4 per hour). I heard later that friends in Aroostook County were averaging 10 grouse flushed per hour... Anyway, I had the pleasure of hunting over a friend's springer, which served up a grouse and a few woodcock for me.



Back again in NY, the boys and I tried to find a backyard woodcock with Brody, with intent to kill, but we came up empty. I think our local birds had skedaddled. I got Brody out again to the local state forest, and in 2 hours we moved 4 spooky grouse and 1 woodcock (see Brody's mouth, below). Now with 10 days left in the woodcock season I want to get ol' Spy out for a last chance at a last bird -- a point, maybe a photo op, hopefully feathers in the mouth.

15 minute epic

Opening day for ducks (as well as the morning following the full moon and west wind that might bring a flight of mudbats) coincided with Nolan's last soccer game of the season as well as the long-awaited Insectapalooza at the university (and notwithstanding my lack of federal duck stamp), so the sporting life of this household didn't get started until the sun, under a heavy veil of clouds, had descended substantially in the west. Both the boys thought it was a good idea to put off supper for awhile so that we might bring Brody out to look for a woodcock.

And so, attired in boots, orange vests and hats, and toting side-by-side shotguns real and real-looking and a spear, we three trudged with Brody up past the barn and pigeon loft to a small stand of red maples above the pasture. We were going woodcock hunting.

A light wind was out of the southeast, so we entered the woods from the north to give the dog some wind to work with. I activated Brody's beeper collar and sent him in. Nolan and Collin followed me; we paused while I answered questions about the beeper and how we'd know if Brody found a bird. In a minute or so (probably less) Brody went on point. I found a good place for the boys to stand and watch while I went ahead to flush the bird. Collin was backing me up with his shotgun (minus caps), as was Nolan with his spear. My stomping about didn't produce a bird, and before long Brody worked cautiously ahead. He came to a stop after another 30 yards.

I brought the boys up to another opening where they had a view the dog, and again I went in to flush a bird. This time a woodcock whistled up. My first shot whistled up through the air past the rising bird, and the second shot tumbled the woodcock to the ground. There was no need for Collin to fire his pop gun, and fortunately no need for Nolan to hurl his spear. Brody over ran the bird, which allowed me to get there in time to take it from the dog soon after he picked it up (haven't progressed that far w/ fetch yet). The boys were pretty excited (so were Brody and I for that matter). They'd seen the dog go on point, the bird fly up, the shooting, and the bird fall. They each wanted a "smoky shell". It was getting late, and the odds of improving on the hunt were about nil, so I heeled the pup and we headed to the house. The kids took turns carrying the woodcock. They recounted the hunt over pizza, and after supper they did a fine job of plucking the bird. The only drawback of this perfect hunt is that their expectations may be a bit too high now. For what it's worth, it didn't seem like a flight had come in last night.

2009 WC Carnage Report

I know Keith likes his carnage reports--sorry I didn't post this earlier.  Perhaps Andy can provide some analysis of the data or an overview of how the nation's numbers were last year.

We got out again yesterday to help the state manage its pesky woodcock problem. Six birds, five points, one shot, one kill. NO grouse. hmmm.

Snippet from Minnesota

Bird numbers were good in NE Minnesota. Weather was balmy, a little on the dry side. Unfortunately I wasn't able to get my dogs on the ground much -- a couple hours for Brody on Saturday 10/9 and a couple hours more later in the week during scouting; an hour w/ Spy during the RGS hunt, and finally (after the work was done) about 6 hrs w/ Brody over this past Sat eve/Sun morn. This was our first hunting of the year anywhere.

Little things can make or break a hunt. Spy made the most of his hour of hunting last Friday by pointing 3 wc and 4 grouse; all 7 birds were quite killable and were shot at, but we bagged just two: a wc by my hunter (his first!) and a grouse that I killed on Spy's last point of the day (at his age -- 13 -- you never know when it's his last. Period.).

Brody showed alot of... "variation", and alot of progress in a short time. He bumped plenty of birds early on, and made some nice points - and more consistently worked birds nicely - as his time on the ground increased. He ran w/ alot of urgency initially, probably a combination of pent-up energy and inexperience (as well as the potential to race in his breeding), and later settled into an easy handling mode, but still covering ground quickly. In the end I killed a woodcock and 3 grouse over his points, and I let go alot of killable foot-flushed and bumped birds. All those bumped birds and the few killed birds are great training. It's those pointed birds that got away that I regret not bringing down to reward the pup.

The photo is Brody last Sunday morning/noon in MN. It was dry as chips, but the birds were abundant and Brody was getting the hang of it. I had just knocked down a grouse from his 3rd or 4th point in a row, and he pointed it "dead" -- you can see it through the veg below about 6 inches to the front-right of his nose, its head is up. Pup was in a stupor, standing paralyzed, drunk on scent, eyes were just slits.

Also that morning I got to educate Brody on porcupines. For anyone who runs an e-collar, you might want to take advantage of your next porky encounter by setting the transmitter on fry-o-lator and nicking your dog when he knowingly approaches the porcupine too close. You want him to see and smell it. He'll think the porky gave him the jolt. Don't say a word, just pet him when he runs over to you, and hunt on. Try to come back around down wind later for another lesson. This could pay off some day. Hopefully you'll never know.

Phoebe near Kenneth, Michigan

Here's another pic from the trip.  Woodcock were spotty, as usual.  Had a good first day on the eastern U.P. and landed these three bogsuckers with Phoebe.

I must say I got to see good work on woodcock from Bill's dog Maya and also from Rich's Conley, he of the earlier Pillsbury Doughboy fame.

My GPS crapped out on me last week, so Pete, no coordinates for you.  Sorry.

Woodcock 2010 opener

Finger Lakes and Forest, in all due glory.

More woodcock flushes than can be remembered.

In times like these, you learn to live again.

A brace of woodcock, old guns, true friends.

Trick or Treat

Took advantage of a few free hours on Halloween day, heading to "Cobert Covert," with the sole objective of stumbling into timberdoodles. This was my first hunt since Wisconsin, and Lilly worked well, Jim's new cow bell audible at all times. We bumped one bird at the end of the covert, but marked it well. Lilly locked up, a solid point. Tweet. Bang. I dropped the little fella into a tangle of multiflora rose. Just when I was preparing to crawl into the brambles Lilly made a nice retrieve. I breathed a sigh of relief. My pup had returned to her old ways. We celebrated by adding Andy's sticker, now earned, to the bumper.

Rock of Ages

Spy seems to have come down w/ anaplasmosis. Thought he was going to die last Mon./Tues -- shivers, couldn't stand, cried out in pain a couple times, could barely raise his head. But put him on doxicycline Thursday and he was ready to hunt again Friday -- 4 wc and 1 grouse point, 2 wc killed, 1 hr. He's his old self again.















I've gotten Brody out a few times since getting back from WI. It's always been maybe half an hour for exercise if nothing else. Tuesday afternoon (10/27) I had 15 minutes to run Brody before I had to pick up the kids. I put him down in a wet aldery area. Lots of white wash (day old?). Brody went on point.... but started flagging. He wouldn't take a step so I walked in and put up a low, weak-flying woodcock, which he chased out of sight. He came back around and continued hunting, and pretty soon went on point. Again tail flagging but wouldn't take a step . This time when I walked in a wc sprang up strongly. Easy shot. Bang. I missed. This time Brody just watched it fly away. I still haven't shot a bird over a long-held, statuesque point by Brody.

Wednesday afternoon. This time I had an hour. I brought Brody back to the same covert as yesterday. Ten minutes into it I bumped a woodcock that Brody didn't see. We continued hunting in the direction the bird flew. Brody was ahead, down slope among fir, cedar, and alders in a fairly soppy area, just about the right distance for land fall of the bumped bird. The bell went silent. I waited a bit for him to start moving again, and when he didn't, I moved ahead to find him. It took me a good minute, but there he was statue still in the thick wet stuff. A dark dog is hard to see in the dark woods. I moved ahead of the dog, approaching from the side. I was startled by a rustling of vegetation and a brown blur of hare hair hopped away. One jingle of the bell told me Brody saw or heard the bunny, but stayed put. I took two more steps and up twittered a timberdoodle flying right at me until it was about 5 yards away, at which time it turned away but quickly dipped low around a fir thicket and it was gone. Arghh! Brody had turned to rock, but my hands had turned to stone. Stoned by the woodcock. I really want to kill every bird pointed like that, to reward the good behavior.

So Thursday, a potential buyer of our house was visiting with a house inspector. I got them started, then got out of their hair for awhile. This gave me an hour and a half to try to get Brody into birds. Most of the first 60 minutes where uneventful. Then we worked along an old road lined by a stand of jack pine sloping down either side of the ridge into aspen and alder. I heard a grouse flush, so whistled Brody in to hunt the vicinity. He went on point about 30 yards into the pines. I walked in to flush, and a grouse busted out of the tree over my head, and my one shot did no harm. We followed, and again Brody pointed, this time looking up into the canopy to a spot from which a grouse burst forth. This time my load of steel 6s knocked it down -- Brody's first grouse on a solid point that lasted more than a few seconds.

Further down the ridge Brody's bell indicated he was moving slowly and pausing. In a little while the bell went silent. As I crept to his point from higher ground a bird flushed from about 30 feet up an aspen, and my shot broke a wing, at least. At the shot, the bird Brody had been pointing flushed.... toward me. I turned and took a going-away shot as it banked and flew down slope. The grouse went out of sight as I shot, but I did see a small cloud of feather dander hanging in the air in its wake. Shooting birds over Brody's solid points was just what I wanted. However a potential downside to this happy story is that both these last two birds were live on the ground so Brody then caught them (notice one bob-tailed bird in the photo). Time will tell whether he still wants to point, or if he thinks he can just run 'em down.

Last day for woodcock is Saturday, so I'll be out tomorrow trying to add a couple more birds to the larder for Thanksgiving appetizers.

Redemption at Jim's Comeuppance...and the House of Pain

I went to the Finger Lakes National Forest with Rich on Sunday to find Artemis a woodcock or two. It was the first woodcock hunt of the season for Artemis, having been benched for the Grouse Camp odyssey due to her master's absence from the continent.

I met Rich at the Ballard Pond parking area.



















We decided on "Jim's Comeuppance " as the covert de jour, and we were off. Light wind, 54 degrees, 3:15 pm. I was wearing LL Bean Cords with chaps over top, a stylish custom art collector's item orange t-shirt, and an Orvis strap vest, topped by a bright orange "Ugly Dog Hunting" hat. I carried my LC Smith 12 ga Ideal grade, loaded w 7 1/2s. Rich was also properly kitted up, though perhaps a tad over-layered.

We hunted through the "Walk in the Park" portion of the covert, and though Miss got birdy a few times, produced nothing. We came to the flats at the bottom of the slope and made our way towards the corner, where I shot a grouse two years ago. Artemis, up a head, came to a sharp halt and a woodcock exploded up and away. The wind, I thought-- she over-ran the scent. Moments later, Rich shouted "bird." A re-flush. Rich thought he knew where the bird put down, so we steered Miss around. She came into a nice point and Rich and I approached. As luck would have it, the bird came out my way. Bang bang. I actually saw the wings, both of them, fall. Feathers floated down behind. Miss was pointing a blob on the ground. I picked up the wings, for science. Rich offered good-naturedly that perhaps the birds needed to be let further out before shooting. Rich is full of good, sage advice like that.

So we had shot one woodcock. We continued on, and were presented one or two more shooting opportunities that resulted in no birds. Then, we reached the hardwood edge and Miss was convinced that we'd find grouse there. I did not doubt her, but this was a woodcock hunt. So we shinnied over the fence towards what I used to call "deeper in" but has now been re-christened by Rich and I as "House of Pain." Here, there is penance and purgatory for any and all that require it. You will hurt if you hunt in there. Mike O'Connor experienced this covert three years ago. He said it hurt. I have never disagreed. I will let Rich speak for himself on this.

We were flummoxed by a grouse repeatedly, both Rich and I missing shots at the wily rapscallion. Miss drug us through every hidey-hole, every multiflora rose thicket, every Devil's Walking Stick. Shots were missed; shots were made. I added another woodcock to my bag. As did Rich. More shots were missed. You would pull up for the shot and be raked across the face and hands by any number of razor sharp blessings of nature. Unlike those hunts where one hears groans after the shots, here, in the House of Pain, one hears groans and shrieks intermittently, especially as the bird flushes and the shot is attempted...

Finally we had had enough. We exfiltrated, got out while we still could, bloodied and stumbling, but somehow satisfied, as flagellant priests during lent. We worked our way back through the flats, past the pond, up the slope with spruces and the walk in the park. We were walking languidly now, enjoying the sunset. Miss was hunting, rather aimlessly. We had that "end of hunt" stupor going. I mentioned to Rich the famous comeuppance bush, and told Rich the story of Jim's Comeuppance. As I pointed at the bush for emphasis, Artemis approached it, slinking a bit. "It was just like that, but it was Kate" I said... and Artemis slammed into a point. I was speechless. Rich walked to the outside and I volunteered to go into the bush on my hands and knees to try to flush the bird up and his way. As I began crawling in, Artemis adjusted to the right. As I began to straighten my back to stand, the bird flushed out and away to the right. A snap shot and it was down. "That one was for Jim, and for Kate" I thought.

Thanks to Jim and his generosity in showing me this covert, I have had, almost annually, a good afternoon outing here. It is a once a year covert for me (for woodcock), one that I was glad to share with Rich this year. We enjoyed a magnificent sunset at the top of the hill, sitting on the foundation of the old farm house that once stood over the coverts. We enjoyed some tobacco and some rum, made plans for our four woodcock, and parted ways.

Home for the Holiday

The in-laws came Downeast for the extended Thanksgiving weekend. The past couple years my father-in-law, Ken, and I have hunted deer together at Thanksgiving, sort of continuing the tradition my dad and I began when I was a pup. My dad gave up hunting a few years ago, so our tradition now is for me to call him after I get in from deer hunting.


Thursday morning was crispy, upper 20s firming up the rain of the preceding day. I dropped Ken off in the dark to walk to his tree stand, then continued on to my parking spot. I had a quick half mile walk to where I'd left my climber attached to an oak looking over a fairly open side hill. The deer and bears had been feeding on acorns.


The bark of the tree was slick with an icy film, causing me to be extra careful and deliberate ascending to my perch. An hour into my sit, I was wondering when I'd be able to get out for a duck hunt... a flicker of white off to the left got my attention. Within a minute I saw it again. Through the developing fog I could make out the form of a deer facing me, head down nibbling acorns about 100 yards away, the tail occasionally twitching a flash of white. Cranked the scope to 7 power; when the head came up I could see antlers. Small antlers. This time of year, yearling head gear is first choice for choice eating... if you even have a choice. In my 8-10 hours of hunting this year, this was the first deer I'd seen, buck or doe. Around here, with a deer density well below 10 deer per square mile, it's always bucks-only hunting.


The buck was slowly heading in my direction, munching acorns. He drifted a little downslope, but still advancing in my general direction. Then he drifted into a beech thicket, and soon I lost sight of him. Then I couldn't hear foot steps. After 10 minutes of not seeing or hearing "my" buck, I started to worry he'd simply walked away. Or bedded down? I pulled out my trusty Primos "canned heat" doe bleat can. Baaa baaa. Immediately I heard foot steps, but my eyes straining through the fog failed to locate the source. Then I saw him.... walking away. Another bleat, and he's no longer walking away, now he's running away!

A year ago I used the same call to bring in (*almost* for a shot) a mature buck not 200 yards from this location. This year's buck most certainly was not high in the pecking order in these parts. A deer trotted through an opening 80 yards downslope, but I could not see antlers. Through another opening at 85 yards... I saw antlers. I was ready when the buck stopped in an opening at 90 yards. It disappeared at the shot. I kept the scope trained on the spot; 30 seconds later I saw a brief flicker of white, and began descending the tree. The buck lay dead where I shot him, the bullet entering the chest high behind the shoulder, breaking the spine. Not the preferred neck shot, but the carcasse damage wasn't too bad. And the tag was filled, duck/bird hunting opportunities awaited, no longer constrained by the concern to put deer meat in the freezer.

Propped up for draining.

Slid easily on oak leaves.

Yearling 3-point, field dressed 103. I gave dad a call, told him the story.



We arrived home for lunch to an enthusiastic reception.

Ken watched a large cow moose Thursday morning, and a doe the next. Angela hunted deer for the first time Friday morning. In 5 hours she saw no deer but plenty of sign. Seems eager to try again.

Saturday night we had a meal that needs mentioning. The whole holiday weekend was more or less a game feed, with woodcock and fresh deer tenderloin on the menu Saturday. I prepared the woodcock according to Pete's blog entry of October 08. Rave reviews from all -- the legs were especially liked by the women and boys, the breasts being craved by the men and the boys. So far I'm on the good side of the dog spirits.

The deer was delectible as well.

Spider/Black Lake Woodcock

My sister lives around the corner from the restaurant March. I haven't been there for years, as our last bill for four was around $500 and my brother-in-law graciously offered to bail me out. Embarrassment aside, Wayne Nish, the chef/owner, knows how to cook wild game (as opposed to farm raised). He published the following recipe for woodcock, memorable in that it not only uses those tiny legs, but it elevates them to the level of culinary centerpiece.

Four woodcock - legs in skin, breasts w/or w/o skin
2 cups upland bird stock
1 shallot, chopped
3 garlic cloves, crushed
1 TBSP coriander seed
2 bay leaves
1 TBSP fresh thyme
1 tsp peppercorns
1 tsp sea salt

The legs (prepare these first - roughly 1-2 hrs)
Put legs in saucepan with 1.5 cups stock, shallot, garlic, coriander seeds, bay leavs, thyme, peppercorns and salt. Bring to boil, then back down heat, simmer for 1 to 2 hrs (check occasionally to see if more stock is needed).

The breasts (cook when legs are essentially done)
This is the straight forward Tantillo/Weik method (let's call it the Kate method): season breasts with pepper and salt, light dusting of flour for texture, sautee in hot olive oil (smoking) to sear exterior, leaving interior bright enough to scare away those with PETA inclinations. I like to add a bit o' chopped garlic so that the breasts stand up to the legs (I think that is in keeping with the Kate method too). Cook breasts primarily on one side, so that a good crisp skin develops, to contrast with the succulent interior. Do not flip them too early. If you overcook them, the ghost of every good woodcock dog will haunt you until the next time you prepare this recipe, when you will undoubtedly cook them properly.

The plate (serves 4)
Symmetry is nice, keeping legs and breasts separate. These morsels are worth more than their weight in gold, so serving only one leg/breast per plate offers a warranted tease/lesson. A toast point can be used to soak the delicious braising liquid from the legs.

Grouse Camp Snippets

First, thanks to all the spouses and kids for your understanding/tolerance/encouragement about the grousers going off to camp in the Maine North Woods for a week. It was great to spend time with these characters and to recreate ourselves. I think it's safe to say that we all really needed this. Thanks a bunch.









Stella showed great intestinal fortitude by getting aggressive on bird scent and putting up a couple grouse before her camp experience was cut short by a trip to the operating room for sockectomy. I think that bird scent will be locked in her noggin for good, and Josh will be enjoying the autumn woods and bringing home many more birds with the help of Stella.





Pete's pup Lilly is full of hunt -- she didn't want to stop to pose for a photo atop this old log. She was fun to watch in the woods, stalking anything and everything, but especially grouse. I'm really looking forward to hunting over her a year from now.






Lilly was so birdy that you'd be on pins and needles, ready at all times for a bird encounter -- we had to remind ourselves that this was training. The hunting will come next year.






Camp was loaded with pups and 11-year-old dogs -- 4 of each, with Artemis in the middle. Baxter, one of the elders, didn't hunt but helped to entertain the ever energetic Conley (aka Meatloaf, white buffalo, and twenty other names). The pup appears larger than life in this photo due to the fact that he is larger than life.






Conley executing a stylish retrieve.... or a quick getaway.







Cody, one of the elders, put this grouse right over Path Walker. Bang Bang.....................Bang.
And that was that.







You could spend all day in the coverts above Drowned Road. Great views and hunting.





It was good to have a gunner like Richie Fella along to honor the dog's points. (it's not every Grouse Camp that one can say that about Richie Fella, so enjoy it Rico!)






A nice bird taken by a good shot over a pretty point.







Spy had this woodcock (bottom center) pinned. On this trip I recall seeing 4 of Spy's pointed birds (1 woodcock and 3 grouse) on the ground, which usually makes the bird bullet-proof. But we were 4 for 4 on these birds. Spy and Katie are littermates, 11 years old, spawn of Butch.





This, plus one more grouse (pictured above in Conley's grip), was the take for Rich, Pete, and Andy the last day of the hunt. When I got home and showed the kids this picture they wanted to see the birds... which of course by then were cleaned, wrapped, and frozen.

..... So I had to go out and get a fresh one....




Nearly had a woodcock tug-o-war a couple times, so I'd better bring home two (or multiples thereof) next time.