Our thoughts and prayers continue for those affected by Hurricane Helene. The loss of life, the mass destruction of property and homes, and the cost of rebuilding can in no way be fully comprehended unless you are there and are directly affected. Hurricanes are no stranger to those of us that live in the deep south, and sadly, they will still be occurring when we are no longer here. I just wanted to mention this so we don’t lose sight of this tragedy that could have just as easily been in our own backyard. Thankfully, we are experiencing fall-like weather now with hopefully more good days to come.
Though the crisp mornings urge me to think of migrating waterfowl and those wary old bucks that will be cruising the bottom-land hardwoods soon, my first thoughts turn to bird dogs, coveys of quail, and biscuits and coffee, when the leaves begin to change. This was engrained into my soul years ago probably due to the Magnolia dog food commercial that I watched so many times while waiting on school bus #85 that would deliver me to elementary school. The commercial featured a raw-boned pointer and a lady-like setter as they settled in on a covey of “birds.” Two gentlemen, with calming voices reassuring the two dogs, wade into the briars with the covey exploding in a whirr of wings mere seconds later. I can still see this vivid picture decades later. It has been quite a while since I have experienced what I just described.
Did you read our recent article about “bucket lists?” Well, I have another. I have never experienced the fall woods in Vermont, Maine, New Hampshire, or the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. Oh, I have been to Maine to observe and absorb the fall foliage but not in the company of bird dogs and a side-by-side. I’m getting the urge to visit a lodge that offers the pursuit of Ruffed Grouse and Woodcock. The setting is as vivid in my mind as the recollection of the commercial I watched on so many cold mornings knowing full well, the three “Rs” were just minutes away. Come along with me and see if you can be captured with what I describe.
Picture the rustic lodge decorated fully with worn, but classic, leather furniture in the main den. The stone fireplace holds the softly glowing embers from the logs resting on dog irons. This fire is not blazing with loud pops seemingly out of control, rather it is subtle, perhaps gentle is even more accurate in its description. Upon the bookshelves on both sides of the hearth are iconic books, covers worn from inspired guests and their thirst for knowledge and entertainment. Books like “My Health is Better in November” by Havilah Babcock, “A Sand County Almanac” by Aldo Leopold, and “De Shootin’Est Gent’Man” by Nash Buckingham.
On one end of the mantle are a couple of wooden duck decoys. These are not recent reproductions, but rather authentic hunting tools used by waterfowlers no longer with us back in the “glory days” of duck and goose hunting. On the other end, stands a Ruffed Grouse and a Woodcock, albeit a bit dusty, from the taxidermist advertising his work. Let’s move to the gun room.
Iconic shotguns are in the velvet-lined case just waiting, hoping, to be chosen for the journey the next morning. Parker and Purdey doubles, in all their splendor, are almost too valuable to wade through birch and alder flats. However, the scratches and blemishes in the checkering say otherwise. Each one is fondly shouldered to see which fits the shooter best. The aroma of Hoppes No. 9 just adds to the experience. High velocity #8s will suffice just fine for both grouse and woodcock. The fire struggles and begs for another log, alas though, breakfast comes early. Lights are dimmed and visions of thundering grouse erupting from thickets and whistling wings from timberdoodles in their erratic flight of departure are the perfect lullaby for the guests.
Alarm clocks are not needed. Can you imagine the stillness of a perfect night’s sleep in the Northwoods suddenly shattered by the loud, purely offensive rattle from a clock or your iphone? No, the drifting aroma of ground coffee down the halls that will penetrate not only your rooms, but your olfactory senses, is all that is needed. A stretch or two and a yawn, is all that is needed to stir you from your covers. Faces are washed, teeth are brushed, and bird hunting attire is donned. I could only wish the britches and shirts were from the old Abercrombie and Fitch. Notice is said “old.” Do yourself a favor and look up the history of this leader in sporting goods so many years ago.
Good mornings are exchanged, and cups of coffee are poured. Buckwheat pancakes with local maple syrup are served with a wink and a smile from the cook. This is a special treat indeed, and a rarity in most neighborhoods. Breakfast isn’t scoffed down, rather each bite savored as the day also will. To the trucks we go.
A brief ride in the old pickup will take you to the first destination. Fall color is in the height of her fury and the truck rattles as stone-bedded streams are crossed. Forget about those trout, at least for now. Can you hear the squeaky door as old blue grinds to a halt. The Brittany and the German Shorthair whine as you open the door of their crates. In a dash they make for the timber only to be whistled back. They too, long for the hunt. Shotgun shells make a distinctive “plunk” sound as they are dropped into the barrels and actions are closed. The time has arrived.
Bells jingle through the thickets indicating the whereabouts of the brace of dogs working in earnest for the first point. The fast pace of the bell begins to slow, the two hunters already know what is occurring. A gentle smile and a nod are all that is emitted as they close in. The dogs can be seen ahead with the staunch shorthair backing the spaniel. As the hunters pass the dogs, an explosion of not one, but two, grouse erupt from the forest floor. There is not much time for the fluid, shouldering of the double barrels. Guns are snapped into place and four shots erupt. Both birds clear the treetops gaining altitude for parts unknown. Is this embarrassment? Are there bursts of outrage? Only the concession of the birds winning round one is acknowledged. Granted, the two puppies aren’t very happy, but this isn’t their first rodeo either.
The day continues and eventually game bags become ever so slightly heavier with a few birds. Limits weren’t attained but who’s counting. Back at the truck a few pictures are taken so the hunt can be relived for years to come. The glow from a campfire can be seen as the truck makes the last bend in the road before arriving back “home.” It will wait though, as showers and dinner are next in line. Silverware, fine crystal, Waterford I believe it is called, holding a friendly cabernet, and the most succulent gamebirds are prepared for a dinner to behold.
Of course, now it’s off to the campfire to revisit the hunt and speak of shots missed and shots made. For decades they will talk about how the Brittany came to a point with both of her hind legs on a log she just crossed when the scent of the hiding woodcock reached her nostrils. Sips of water from the pristine brook never tasted better, for the dogs and the hunting gentlemen. A pause to watch the leaves flutter into the riffles of the stream was worth the time away from the hunt. The leg muscles and cramps were a tell-tale sign that more walking and exercise was needed if these excursions were going to continue. A pain worthwhile, for sure.
It all came to an end as quickly as it began. Trucks were loaded and partners in crime headed in different directions for home. Not to worry though, plans were already made for the next hunt. Keep in mind, as we anticipate the next journey, there will be a last one. Remember when I began this article with the allure for the hunt and the point of the covey? That has been a long time ago. When I mentioned Maine, New Hampshire, and the Upper Peninsula, keep in mind, I haven’t seen that country yet, at least with shotgun in hand. This is my new “bucket list.” Rest assured; I am going to do everything I can to make this happen too. Are you? Think about what your soul is calling you to do. Don’t put it aside. Keep me updated on what you experience, and I will share with you the outcome of mine as well. Until next time enjoy our woods and waters and remember, let’s leave it better than we found it.
