Although my driver’s license confirms that I am a resident of the
Commonwealth of Kentucky, come hunting season it’s a bit misleading as I am
often hundreds, if not thousands of miles from home. And being that I am a
Bluegrass state grouse/woodcock hunter it is no surprise that Michigan
doubles as my second home, since annual pilgrimages are made with my dogs
(and buddies) from late September thru October. But grouse are a tough one
to put in the bag, so special tactics need to be implemented if success is
expected to be attained.
…As I
watched Cinnamon (my female Chessie) work a stand of aspens during
Michigan’s 2003 season, my buddy (Pat) excitedly uttered his infamous
phrase, “Watch Sage (my male), I think he’s getting birdy.” Well knowing Pat
-- and “think” being the operative word here -- I frequently respond to this
reply with nothing more than a mere “ok.” See, even after all our years
hunting together, Pat still has issues with differentiating a happy,
wiggle-tailed dog from one that is birdy. However, this time he was right as
Sage “froze” (my dogs will hold game -- point) in stride just ahead of a
birch deadfall. Slowly moving forward to better position myself for the shot
-- and thinking we might have a woodcock pinned -- I noticed the brush stir
in front of Sage, whereupon he immediately pounced. The grouse took to the
air and didn’t make it any further than my first barrel…
While
most of us are aware of the mystifying population cycle that ruffed grouse
undergo in the Great Lakes region, all does not have to be doom and gloom
when the cycle is low and bird numbers dismal. However, continue to use
those “along the road and logging path” tactics -- so common during the
early season and peak of the cycle -- and expect bird contacts to be very
limited. You may even begin to think in err that the grouse have become
non-existent.
…
Shortly after the above grouse was delivered to hand -- and as my buddies
and I reminisced and admired the beautiful, gray-phased male -- Cinnamon
caught sent of a ruffie and sent it flying. Feeling a bit embarrassed for
letting my guard down and not watching the dog, we heard -- then saw, yet
another grouse escape unscathed. “Cinnamon, here,” I sternly shouted, but as
she was making her way back towards us I noticed her wind-milling tail which
always indicates a bird is near. Seeing that Pat was closest for the shot, I
told him to “Get ready,” because “She’s on one.” Sure enough, we hear the
thunderous flush of a ruffed grouse and Pat took it with his second shot…
While
the above scenario may sound all too familiar of an Upper Peninsula grouse
hunt, we were quite a ways south. In fact -- although we discuss it annually
-- we have never even made it to the U.P. and don’t really see the need to!
No, our hunting takes place just north of Saginaw Bay in some coverts that
have been very good to us for the past six years. But -- our success is
based largely on the way we (I) hunt, not the geographical location of the
state.
As
indicated, grouse numbers fluctuate every ten years with one end of the
cycle being a boom and the other bust. However, step away from those beaten
paths (trails, logging roads, etc.) during the “bust” years and you may well
be surprised with the rise in flush counts and birds in the bag (if you
shoot straight!). True, the hunting will be tough (thick cover and tight
shooting conditions) and your distance from the nearest road/trail may be
measured in miles, but the birds are there for those willing to put in the
extra effort. And more often than not, the birds will behave more
appropriately (less skittish) as you will probably be the first hunters to
apply pressure on them, since the opening week barrage.
…
Deciding to follow-up on the birds Cinnamon had errantly flushed -- although
I take full responsibility -- we headed in that general direction picking up
woodcock as we went. About seventy yards from the initial flush site,
Cinnamon again got birdy and began to track what appeared to be runner.
“Find it, girl,” I uttered and with that a grouse blew out from my right
causing my heart to skip a beat. Fumbling with my safety, I managed to rush
a shot from my first barrel and faired no better than a limb pruning shot
from my second. Or so I thought.
With
the bird now well out of sight, and Cinnamon in hot pursuit, I “hammered”
several blasts from my whistle to no avail. “Cinnamon… over HERE,” I
shouted, but nothing. Finally, hearing the telltale sound of something
approaching, I look and see she has the bird in her mouth. I guess a pellet
from the second shot found its mark and Cinnamon knew it. Again, she makes
me look like a fool! When will I learn?
