Andrew Marshall Wayment's Blog, page 21
October 29, 2012
THAT’S RUFF!: REFLECTIONS FROM GROUSE COUNTRY by GEORGE KING
Thats Ruff!: Reflections from Grouse Country. This is one of the original patches for the Ancient and Honorable Order of Brush Worn Partridge Hunters.In case any of you have been wondering what I have been up to, here is the latest post that I posted last week on Upland Ways:
Since I started bird hunting over fourteen years ago, I have naturally gravitated towards grouse—any kind of grouse. In Idaho we have five species, Ruffed, Dusky, Sharp-tailed, Sage, and Spruce grouse. I love every one of them. I love everything about grouse: their environs, their beauty, their thunderous flushes, and the thrill of taking one on the wing over my Brittanys. They are the essence of wild. While I pursue and enjoy other game birds, I am first and foremost a grouse hunter and forest grouse (i.e. dusky and ruffies) are my favorite.
Over the years, I have collected and read many books on ruffed grouse and grouse hunting. Some were great and some were so-so. My favorite bird hunting author is none other than the Poet Laureate of ruffed grouse hunting himself, Burton L. Spiller. Very few other writers capture those special little details, experiences, thoughts, and feelings of a grouse hunter like Spiller.
I just read for the second time, That’s Ruff!: Reflections from Grouse Country, by George King. The first time I read this book I absolutely loved it. In fact, I felt it was so good that I have wanted to do a book review ever since, but I was just not sure if I could do it justice. So I drug my feet. Upon the second reading, I decided it was time to say my peace about That's Ruff! In my humble opinion, George King is the best writer on ruffed grouse hunting since Burton L. Spiller, and I mean to take nothing away from great writers like Tom Huggler, George Bird Evans, Tom Davis, Ted Nelson Lundrigan, Robert F. Jones, Steve Mulak, or Bill Tapply, etc. whose writings I’ve thoroughly enjoyed. However, since Spiller, no one has fully captured the essence of the grouse hunter—or “Brush Worns” as King calls them—and the experience of grouse hunting, as well as George King. Like Spiller’s work, this book embodies a lifelong affair with the ruffed grouse and grouse hunting. At times, this extremely well written book is sentimental, funny, serious, sad, but never sappy. Time and again as I read through King’s stories, I was struck by how similar his experiences and thoughts were to my own. King accurately captures so many aspects of the hunt that anyone who has pursued the noble ruffed grouse can’t help but relate.
To give you a little taste of King's humorous side, I wanted share the following limerick:
A hunter whose name was Joe Tallerschmidt,Studied grouse with a great deal of scholarship,He learned that the name,Of this frustrating game,Is to shoot when you can and then hollerschidt. King’s poems and stories alone are worth the price of admission, but the book also lets you peer into the past to learn more about other great outdoor writers including Tap Tapply, Frank Woolner, and Burton Spiller himself. King knew and communicated with these iconic men. In fact, King was instrumental in the reprinting of Spiller’s classic books, Grouse Feathers and More Grouse Feathers. But for King’s efforts, these books would not be readily available to our generation of grouse hunters. I found it very enjoyable to get to know these great men a little better through their letters and King’s recollections. Amazingly, as King relates, Burton Spiller was so unassuming that he believed he was a nonentity and he really had no idea of the impact he has had on those who read and treasured his books.
One of the things that I like best about King as a person is that he is equally as humble as Spiller. I was impressed to learn that King was the founder of the Grouse Cover newsletter which he started in 1969 and continued until 1973, when he had to quit because of a personal illness. In That’s Ruff!, we learn about this newsletter and how it spread like wildfire to obsessed ruffed grouse hunters who were hungry for anything grouse and grouse hunting they could get their hands on. As you read the excerpts from this newsletter, you can see how it easily filled the void. This newsletter brought together grouse hunters from all over the country and allowed them to share in their unique identity and to commiserate in their incurable addiction. In fact, the subscribers requested that King create an organization of which they could all be a part. Pursuant to this request, King created the Ancient and Honorable Order of Brush Worn Partridge Hunters (or “Brush Worns” for short) and when a person subscribed to Grouse Cover, they were issued a certificate and also could order a patch showing they were officially a Brush Worn. To my understanding, after almost 40 years, Brush Worns still exhibit their certificates and patches with pride. I want some of those for myself!
I really enjoyed the portions of the letters from the Brush Worns that King shares in the book. To give you a taste of these characters, here are a few gems from one fellow Brush Worn, Ray Bane:
On Ray's shooting ability:
“If you gave me a full box of shells, and hung up 25 grouse on a clothes-line, I’d still miss a couple of them."On Ray's ambitions:
"All I want from life is one more shot at a grouse."On how much Ray Bane loved to hunt:
"I’d crawl right over a naked lady to go grouse hunting.”Does that sound like any birdbrains that you know? Shoot, I want to be part of such a great group. So many years later and I already feel as if I belong. And this group of crazy Brush Worns came together because of the efforts of King. Yet King never brags or seeks attention or personal praise for this accomplishment.
"Old Gate Ruffs" by Ross B. Young. You can see more of Ross's excellent work at www.rossbyoung.com.In closing, I want to share a few quotes from the chapter, "The Grouse Hunter's Heritage," which capture the essence of this book and our great sport:
On the ruffed grouse, King wrote:
The grouse, to the grouse hunter, is the very spirit of all the things around him – the breath of life in rocks and trees and fallen leaves, in fragrant bogs and mossy logs and mountain tops. I don’t know if the Lord made the grouse to fit the cover, or the cover to fit the grouse, but whichever it was, He must surely consider the result to be among His finest work.On grouse covers in his beloved Appalachian Mountains, King eloquently stated:
On the top of a mountain, the air is fresher, the sky is bluer, the wind is stronger, a man is taller, and sunsets last longer than anywhere else on earth. I hope I don’t find out someday that heaven isn’t "up," for if that’s the case, I’ve spent a lot of time on mountains thinking it was closer than it was.On grouse dogs, King declared:
It seems to me that any man who loves the grouse would have to love a dog, for these are two of his Makers finest creations. And though they are our favorites, they please us in exactly opposite ways: one the very essence of all things wild and free—the other the embodiment of loyalty and service. And now, in those brief few moments of the point, they are linked by a tenuous thread of scent, and primal instincts that neither of them can fully understand.Amen. What more can I say? George King has truly been there and has captured so succinctly the bird, the covers, the dogs and the sport we so intensely love.
So here is my final verdict on That's Ruff!:
Mark my words, this book is a sporting classic and will go down in history as one of the greatest upland bird hunting books ever written!
Thanks for finishing this lifelong project, George.
The first printing of this book has sold out. However, Dale Dalrymple at Dale's Decoy Den also loved the book so much that he helped the author obtain a second printing. Therefore, the book is again available through www.dalesdecoyden.com. I highly recommend this book to all who love hunting the noble ruffed grouse. Also, for $10.00 you can also order your own BrushWorn patch, but you'll have to beat me to it!!!
October 27, 2012
October 24, 2012
THAT’S RUFF!: REFLECTIONS FROM GROUSE COUNTRY by GEORGE KING
Thats Ruff!: Reflections from Grouse Country. This is one of the original patches for the Ancient and Honorable Order of Brush Worn Partridge Hunters.
Since I started bird hunting over fourteen years ago, I have naturally gravitated towards grouse—any kind of grouse. In Idaho we have five species, Ruffed, Dusky, Sharp-tailed, Sage, and Spruce grouse. I love every one of them. I love everything about grouse: their environs, their beauty, their thunderous flushes, and the thrill of taking one on the wing over my Brittanys. They are the essence of wild. While I pursue and enjoy other game birds, I am first and foremost a grouse hunter and forest grouse (i.e. dusky and ruffies) are my favorite.
Over the years, I have collected and read many books on ruffed grouse and grouse hunting. Some were great and some were so-so. My favorite bird hunting author is none other than the Poet Laureate of ruffed grouse hunting himself, Burton L. Spiller. Very few other writers capture those special little details, experiences, thoughts, and feelings of a grouse hunter like Spiller.
I just read for the second time, That’s Ruff!: Reflections from Grouse Country, by George King. The first time I read this book I absolutely loved it. In fact, I felt it was so good that I have wanted to do a book review ever since, but I was just not sure if I could do it justice. So I drug my feet. Upon the second reading, I decided it was time to say my peace about That’s Ruff! In my humble opinion, George King is the best writer on ruffed grouse hunting since Burton L. Spiller, and I mean to take nothing away from great writers like Tom Huggler, George Bird Evans, Tom Davis, Ted Nelson Lundrigan, Robert F. Jones, Steve Mulak, or Bill Tapply, etc. whose writings I’ve thoroughly enjoyed. However, since Spiller, no one has fully captured the essence of the grouse hunter—or “Brush Worns” as King calls them—and the experience of grouse hunting, as well as George King. Like Spiller’s work, this book embodies a lifelong affair with the ruffed grouse and grouse hunting. At times, this extremely well written book is sentimental, funny, serious, sad, but never sappy. Time and again as I read through King’s stories, I was struck by how similar his experiences and thoughts were to my own. King accurately captures so many aspects of the hunt that anyone who has pursued the noble ruffed grouse can’t help but relate.
To give you a little taste of King’s humorous side, I wanted share the following limerick:
A hunter whose name was Joe Tallerschmidt,
Studied grouse with a great deal of scholarship,
He learned that the name,
Of this frustrating game,
Is to shoot when you can and then hollerschidt.
King’s poems and stories alone are worth the price of admission, but the book also lets you peer into the past to learn more about other great outdoor writers including Tap Tapply, Frank Woolner, and Burton Spiller himself. King knew and communicated with these iconic men. In fact, King was instrumental in the reprinting of Spiller’s classic books, Grouse Feathers and More Grouse Feathers. But for King’s efforts, these books would not be readily available to our generation of grouse hunters. I found it very enjoyable to get to know these great men a little better through their letters and King’s recollections. Amazingly, as King relates, Burton Spiller was so unassuming that he believed he was a nonentity and he really had no idea of the impact he has had on those who read and treasured his books.
One of the things that I like best about King as a person is that he is equally as humble as Spiller. I was impressed to learn that King was the founder of the Grouse Cover newsletter which he started in 1969 and continued until 1973, when he had to quit because of a personal illness. In That’s Ruff!, we learn about this newsletter and how it spread like wildfire to obsessed ruffed grouse hunters who were hungry for anything grouse and grouse hunting they could get their hands on. As you read the excerpts from this newsletter, you can see how it easily filled the void. This newsletter brought together grouse hunters from all over the country and allowed them to share in their unique identity and to commiserate in their incurable addiction. In fact, the subscribers requested that King create an organization of which they could all be a part. Pursuant to this request, King created the Ancient and Honorable Order of Brush Worn Partridge Hunters (or “Brush Worns” for short) and when a person subscribed to Grouse Cover, they were issued a certificate and also could order a patch showing they were officially a Brush Worn. To my understanding, after almost 40 years, Brush Worns still exhibit their certificates and patches with pride. I want some of those for myself!
I really enjoyed the portions of the letters from the Brush Worns that King shares in the book. To give you a taste of these characters, here are a few gems from one fellow Brush Worn, Ray Bane:
On Ray’s shooting ability:
“If you gave me a full box of shells, and hung up 25 grouse on a clothes-line, I’d still miss a couple of them.”
On Ray’s ambitions:
“All I want from life is one more shot at a grouse.”
On how much Ray Bane loved to hunt:
“I’d crawl right over a naked lady to go grouse hunting.”
Does that sound like any birdbrains that you know? Shoot, I want to be part of such a great group. So many years later and I already feel as if I belong. And this group of crazy Brush Worns came together because of the efforts of King. Yet King never brags or seeks attention or personal praise for this accomplishment.
“Old Gate Ruffs” by Ross B. Young. You can see more of Ross’s excellent work at www.rossbyoung.com.
In closing, I want to share a few quotes from the chapter, “The Grouse Hunter’s Heritage,” which capture the essence of this book and our great sport:
On the ruffed grouse, King wrote:
The grouse, to the grouse hunter, is the very spirit of all the things around him – the breath of life in rocks and trees and fallen leaves, in fragrant bogs and mossy logs and mountain tops. I don’t know if the Lord made the grouse to fit the cover, or the cover to fit the grouse, but whichever it was, He must surely consider the result to be among His finest work.
On grouse covers in his beloved Appalachian Mountains, King eloquently stated:
On the top of a mountain, the air is fresher, the sky is bluer, the wind is stronger, a man is taller, and sunsets last longer than anywhere else on earth. I hope I don’t find out someday that heaven isn’t “up,” for if that’s the case, I’ve spent a lot of time on mountains thinking it was closer than it was.
On grouse dogs, King declared:
It seems to me that any man who loves the grouse would have to love a dog, for these are two of his Makers finest creations. And though they are our favorites, they please us in exactly opposite ways: one the very essence of all things wild and free—the other the embodiment of loyalty and service. And now, in those brief few moments of the point, they are linked by a tenuous thread of scent, and primal instincts that neither of them can fully understand.
Amen. What more can I say? George King has truly been there and has captured so succinctly the bird, the covers, the dogs and the sport we so intensely love.
So here is my final verdict on That’s Ruff!:
Mark my words, this book is a sporting classic and will go down in history as one of the greatest upland bird hunting books ever written!
Thanks for finishing this lifelong project, George.
The first printing of this book has sold out. However, Dale Dalrymple at Dale’s Decoy Den also loved the book so much that he helped the author obtain a second printing. Therefore, the book is again available through www.dalesdecoyden.com. I highly recommend this book to all who love hunting the noble ruffed grouse. Also, for $10.00 you can also order your own BrushWorn patch, but you’ll have to beat me to it!!!
September 23, 2012
TOMMY’S COVEY
TOMMY’S COVEY
Every October, Brother Shawn and I get together for a week of hunting in the Idaho uplands. To say we look forward to this every year is an understatement; we live for it! We have less than two weeks before the Holy Jihaud on the Gallinations begins this year. In contemplation of this great event, I wanted to share the story of our first hunt in October of 2011.
Brother Shawn and Pepper rest near a plowed wheat field.
Last year, our week began on Tuesday, October 25th. I left work at noon and, with my son, Tommy as co-pilot, I drove down to Pocatello where we had lunch at Wendy’s while we waited for Shawn to arrive from Colorado. We met up with Shawn around 2:00 p.m. and headed west to a small farming community in South Central Idaho.
Our destination was a place our brother, Scotty, had described as being loaded with Huns and sharptails. I used my DeLorme map to get us into the general area, but Scotty had described perfectly for us where he had camped while deer hunting and we found it easily and observed piles of feathers from the hunters before us.
Shawn and Pepper work up into the sage in search of Tommys covey.
The area was dry land wheat fields on bluffs sloping up to quakie and chokecherry covered foothills. The area did not look like prime sharptail and Hun country to me, as there was hardly any CRP around. Boy was I wrong! We hiked uphill and hunted around the edges of the plowed fields, but did not find birds right off the bat. In a brushy draw that we dropped into, Tommy and I kicked up one Hun crossing right to left, which I quickly missed.
As we worked across the draw, eight year old Tommy heard a big covey get up and said, “I just saw some birds!” He then pointed out to us where they had flown. The two deaf, dumb and blind bird hunters did not hear or see anything. Although we hoped this wasn’t a case of the blind leading the blind, we decided to trust Tommy.
Following Tommy’s directions, we headed up onto another sage-covered bench. Shawn took the higher road and Tommy and I followed the more direct course to where he believed the birds went. Sunny, Misty and Brandy got birdy in this little grassy area and the gray rocket flushed hard to my right and—to my complete surprise—I promptly knocked it down. The Hun was only winged and bounced quickly down the nearby draw.
I have to admit that my record on Huns is anything but stellar. In short, they are my nemesis and have put me to shame for the last fourteen years. So when the bird dropped, I wanted desperately to bring it to hand.
I chased the bird downhill with shotgun in hand and then thought to myself: Running with a loaded gun is not the smartest thing to do. So I set my gun down next to a bush without properly marking it with my hat. Big Mistake!
Puppy Brandy, my dad’s German Shorthair Pointer, followed behind me, saw the struggling Hun, and then went in for a nice retrieve. I felt euphoric as this was only my fourth Hun ever and the pup’s first retrieve. In our excitement, Tommy and I took pictures and celebrated with high fives.
Tommy took this picture of my Hun. I thought he did a pretty good job.
“We’re going to name this place, ‘Tommy’s Covey!’” I declared in honor of my hunting guide son. “We would not have found the birds without you buddy!”
Tommy celebrates our first Hun and Brandys first retrieve ever.
Tommy and I then started to look for my shotgun, but to no avail. I thought I had left it up on the hill next to a bush. We looked hard for half an hour before Shawn showed up. Shawn reported that he had shot a double over his friend, Gary’s gigantic GSP, Pepper.
I then explained to Shawn that we were looking for my shotgun.
“Why didn’t you mark it with your hat?” Shawn chastised.
“I know, I am a dummy,” I apologized, “but I was chasing down a live bird—a Hun—to boot! This is only my fourth Hun ever!”
We all continued to look hard with no success. I was getting extremely frustrated with myself and the situation. Fortunately, the setting sun was extremely bright and Shawn spotted something reflecting the sun’s light down in the small draw where Brandy had made the retrieve. We followed the gleam and there was my gun, not even close to where I thought I had set it down. I was way off! We had lost 45 minutes of hunting because of my mistake.
We worked our way down the draw and swung up along the roadway we had traveled in on, hunting the hillsides untouched by the plow. It was on these inclines that we finally found the sharptails in full force. I had an easy right to left crossing shot, but missed it because I did not keep swinging. This error had plagued me all season. Brother Shawn, who is a consistent good shot, killed a sharptail up on the hill.
We tried to find the rest of the sharptails that we thought had flushed over by the truck, but could not relocate them. Notwithstanding, we were stoked about our new covert, Tommy’s Covey, which Shawn plugged in to his GPS in the truck for future reference.
On the way to Rupert, Idaho we listened to the Avett Brother’s song, “Shame” as the sun set before us to the west. The song seemed to compliment the experience perfectly, especially given the fact that I had lost my shotgun:
”Shame, Boatloads of Shame,
Day after Day, More of the Same!
At home, Dad had some wonderful stew ready for us.
What a way to kick off a week of hunting in the Idaho uplands!
I can’t wait to meet up with Brother Shawn this year!
September 20, 2012
September 17, 2012
To Spay or Not…
The Society for Theriogenology just recently released their opinion on early spaying and neutering of our dogs…of course that means bird dogs! Here’s their opinion and it’s worth a reading!
Have a great Fall and be safe!
Setter Feathers…
GOOD THINGS HAPPENING AT UPLAND WAYS
I thought I would share the introductions and links to my two most recent posts. The first is from a story entitled, "Dusty's Nub," which is about a special covert named after a deceased dog and how those dogs are closer to us than we may suspect. Here is the intro:
On the backside of my favorite blue grouse covert that I christened, “Grouseketeer Ridge,” is an open hill above the timberline where blue grouse are often found in the sagebrush and berry bushes hunting grasshoppers, ants, and other insects. It is consistently a great place to find birds.
Scott Johnson, Mason, Cole and Tommy make their way across Dusty’s Nub back in 2010.I call this particular part of the ridge, “Dusty’s Nub,” after my knuckleheaded, accident prone, English Pointer, Tantry Bogus Dusty, or “Dusty Boy,” as I called him. For those interested, I wrote a story about Dusty, “Perfect Memories of an Imperfect Dog,” which was first published on Upland Equations at the following link. This story will be featured in my forthcoming bird-hunting book, Roadside Revelations: Tales of Bird Dogs, Family & Other Upland Equations.
Dusty was one lovable knuckle head.I named this area "Dusty’s Nub" for a few reasons. First, Dusty had this freakishly huge growth on his chest that I thought was cancerous. Come to find out from the vet across the street, it was just an abnormally huge nipple, or nub, which was a relief given Dusty’s susceptibility to illness and injury. The second meaning of nub comes from my family. When my oldest nephew Josh was little, he had a speech impediment and he would pronounce the word Love as Nub. Of course, my puerile brothers and I had a field day with that one. For example, I remember Josh saying: “I don’t want no chup o nub!” Have fun figuring that one out! . . . .
To read more from this story, here is the LINK.
The second story, "The Outhouse Covert" is a story about how we name our favorite secret coverts. Here is the intro to that story:
Finding and naming coverts has to be one off the funnest things about upland game hunting. And the name can’t just be any name. It has to be specific to that spot and it has to mean something. Some of my favorite coverts have names like, Grouseketeer Ridge, The Royal MacNab, The Miracle Half Mile, Hope’ s Hill, and Grouse Springs. I have written about these special coverts numerous times. Their names evoke so many memories that I cannot say them or walk through them without thinking of hundreds of experiences which only grow sweeter through the years. . . .
Despite its name, the Outhouse Covert is easy on the eyes.To read more from this fun story, follow this LINK.
Like I said, we are off to a good start and hope that you will continue to support us on our new blog, Upland Ways. The best is yet to come!
THE OUTHOUSE COVERT
Finding and naming coverts has to be one off the funnest things about upland game hunting. And the name can’t just be any name. It has to be specific to that spot and it has to mean something. Some of my favorite coverts have names like, Grouseketeer Ridge, The Royal MacNab, The Miracle Half Mile, Hope’ s Hill, and Grouse Springs. I have written about these special coverts numerous times. Their names evoke so many memories that I cannot say them or walk through them without thinking of hundreds of experiences which only grow sweeter through the years.
Despite its name, the Outhouse Covert is easy on the eyes.
On Thursday, September 6th, I tried a new covert which I had never hunted before. The birds that day were plenteous, but unfortunately, my shooting was just pitiful. Keep in mind that before I found this covert, I had already missed a ruffed grouse and a blue that day. Here is the account from my journal about my first experience in this new covert:
I had one more place I wanted to try right on the right-hand side of the road as we headed towards home. On an earlier hunt this year in this same area, I noticed a small creek descending down a narrow draw, filled with quaking aspens. I thought to myself: I need to try that sometime .
After parking, Misty and I worked up the two track and the cover looked okay, but not prime. Misty got quite a bit ahead of me and surprisingly flushed a bird right over my head, which I missed twice. I never make that shot.
She then went into this sage flat on the right-hand side of the road and blues started buzzing out. I snap shot at one, but was not in the best position and missed. I wanted to go a little further up the trail in hopes of finding more coveys, but it was getting dark quickly and I knew we would relocate a few birds on the way back down as they all flushed in that direction.
Sure enough, Misty ran up on this hillside and pointed. Again, a blue flushed right over my head and I missed him twice and watched him fly into a tall pine tree. Misty moved a little ways downhill and again pointed, presenting me with the exact same shots I had just missed with the exact same results. In my frustration, I even futilely tried to pull the trigger a third time, but I only had two barrels and two shots. So, all said, I missed nine times that day. That’s pathetic! I just had to laugh as it was a fun hunt and we had plenty of action. I’m thinking of naming the covert, “The Hive.”
While I kicked around this name for a few days, it just didn’t seem to fit. Sure the blues buzzed out like bees and my poor shooting sure stung, but this name just would not do. Something was missing.
Last Thursday, September 13th, a week from this first experience, my brother Jake and I, after hunting Dusty’ s Nub, as I wrote about in the story of that name, decided to try our luck at this new covert. I recorded the following in my journal:
From Grouseketeer Ridge, we headed down to the new covert, which I was going to call, “The Hive,” but it now has a new name. We hiked further up the draw than I had the first time and observed, to our surprise, an outhouse in the middle of nowhere. What a weird place to put an outhouse! I took a few pictures of Jake approaching the outhouse and pointing to it and smiling. At that point, I realized that this covert is now officially, “The Outhouse Covert,” because (1) it inexplicably contains an outhouse; and (2) my shooting was Pure-T Crap the first time I went there. The name seems just perfect!
Jake walks towards the outhouse in the middle of nowhere.
Jake and the covert’s name sake.
We did not find the blues as before, but we hiked up to where the draw opened up and it was truly beautiful as we observed castle-like rock formations and forests starting to take on their colorful fall foliage.
On the way back, Misty flushed some ruffed grouse in the thick trees off to the side of the two track, one of which I located in the tree. Jake couldn’t see it, but I told him pointing with my barrel, “Jake, it’s right there!”
“Jake, its right there?” Can you see it?
After a second, Jake finally saw the ruffie and walked toward it. It flushed straightaway and Jake missed it on his first shot, but hit it on his second. I was backing up Jake and shot a split second after his second shot and thumped it again. I felt bad for shooting Jake’ s bird and thought I should have had a little more faith in my brother’s shooting abilities, but Jake was gracious about my mistake.
After taking a few pictures of Jake with his bird, we walked under a branch overhanging the road, and another grouse flushed above us and Jake promptly missed it. So I was not the only one who’s shooting left a little to be desired. Notwithstanding, we were in good spirits because of the night’s success.
Jake with a nice ruffed grouse taken from the Outhouse Covert.
So the Outhouse Covert kind of just named itself. No other name would do it justice. Hopefully, in the future, my shooting in this fun little draw will rise above its crappy beginnings.
September 11, 2012
CHECK OUT OUR NEW BLOG UPLAND WAYS
I am happy to announce that Shawn and I have started a new blog, UPLAND WAYS, and, although we will continue to post occasionally on Upland Equations and Setter Feathers, our primary blogging focus will be on Upland Ways.
I want to thank all of the followers of Upland Equations and let you know that your comments and support have kept me going. Much of what I have written on this blog will soon be featured in my book, Roadside Revelations: Tales of Bird Dogs, Family & Other Upland Equations. This book is done and is currently in the editing stage. I am excited to share it with the world.
I do not want to give the impression that this is the end. Rather, this is just the beginning! You can expect excellence from Upland Ways in content, photography, and writing. We will continue to share photography, field and fishing reports, book reviews, original stories, etc. Shawn and I feel that we are better together than on our own. The things that you have enjoyed on Upland Equations and Setter Feathers will continue on, but even better at our new site.
To kick things off, I wanted to share the link to my first post on Upland Ways. The story is entitled, The Cowboy and The Hippie Go Hunting. Below is the intro to the story as a little teaser:
I have a good friend and hunting buddy named Scott Johnson. Two people could not come from more different backgrounds: Me, a long-haired, skateboarding, punk-rocking, hippie, as a teenager; he, a skinny, Wrangler and crap-kicker wearing, rodeo cowboy. Our wives became friends through church and, as a result, we began to hang out and realized that, despite our diverse life experiences, we really get along well.
Scott recently fell subject to the addiction of fly-fishing and, to top it off, he picked up a bird dog this summer, a chocolate Lab, named Gunner, so his outdoor affliction is complete. We have already spent quite a few days on the water and afield this year.
Gunner retrieves a beautiful ruffed grouse for the CowboyWe like to give each other a hard time about the other’s past. He liked Country Music and Heavy Metal, the latter which I despise and call “Butt Rock,” because it stinks, oh, so bad. He, on the other hand, hates the new wave and punk I listened to as a kid and thinks Depeche Mode is the lamest band ever. To each his own! We probably would have fought each other back in high school.This past weekend, I invited Scott to go hunt one of my favorite hunting spots, a covert I call Grouse Springs. I picked up Scott at his house at 6:45 a.m. and after getting some fuel and food, we headed east into the boonies. . . .
The emblem of the Hippie.For those interested in reading the rest of this fun story, here is the LINK. Be sure and check it out!
Thanks again for your support and expect great things from Upland Ways!
Andy
August 19, 2012
TENDER MERCIES ON TRICKLE CREEK
Psalms 40:11.
As we drove towards our destination, my younger brother, Jacob, vented about the heartache and frustration he felt from going through a bitter divorce. Our objective that night was to fish a tiny creek full of Yellowstone cutthroat trout, which I lovingly call "Trickle Creek." I figured this might ease the heavy burden that Jake is under for there is a peace I find on the water that I find in few other places.
As an attorney, I have seen firsthand how difficult and ugly divorces can be. I have heard that the three most traumatic things a person can go through in life are: bankruptcy, the death of a loved one, and divorce. Divorce is probably the most difficult because the person you formally loved is still alive, but does not want you anymore. In my experience, people going through divorce are consumed by it and can think of nothing else. I don’t blame them; their whole world has been turned upside down. I always tell my clients, "There is no worse kind of hate than love gone bad."
Once we reached the canyon, through which Trickle Creek flows, I told Jake, "Alright, we’re not going to talk about the divorce while we are fishing. Give it a rest and just enjoy yourself."
"I’m sorry, I did not mean to bring you down with all this." Jake apologized.
"Brother, don’t apologize," I replied. "I understand what you’re going through. I deal with this every day with my clients and I know that when you are in the thick of it, it’s hard to think of anything else. But it will do you good to let it go for awhile."
"This is the worst thing I have ever gone through!" Jake exclaimed, "How do you deal with the stress of this every day in your practice?"
"We are doing it, Brother. I go fishing!" I replied. "There is no better way to relieve stress or to ease a troubled mind."
At our first stop on an upper stretch of the little creek, Jake caught five fish on the fly in about five minutes while I caught none. With the sun setting to the west behind me, I just could not get close enough to cast without casting my shadow over the skinny water causing fish to bolt in all directions at my approach, not to mention that I busted off my fly on an annoying weed along the creek bank on one of my first casts.
Brother Jake casts his cares on Trickle Creek. When we drove back down the road to fish another stretch of the creek, the sun had descended below the surrounding mountains. I no longer had to worry about my shadow on the creek, but I kept jerking my grasshopper pattern out of the fish’s mouth while attempting to set the hook. I definitely struggled at first to catch a fish.
Jake casts to a big cutthroat. Jake and I fished together and took turns fishing the little holes. After I finally caught a nine-inch cutthroat, it was Jake’s turn and I noticed a nice cuttie in a riffle above the hole I had just fished. In fact, I watched the big trout chase a smaller trout out of his lie. Jake crossed the creek in order to get a good angle and, on his first cast, the trout swerved over to the Mother Chukar fly and sucked it in. After a good fight, Jake had a brilliant thirteen-inch Yellowstone Cutthroat in hand. It was the biggest fish I had ever witnessed from Trickle Creek. "Man, Jake, you are on a conquest tonight!" I exclaimed. "You are out-fishing the heck out of me!"
Jake looked at me, smiled and humbly replied, "The Good Lord is just showing me his tender mercies ."
A tender mercy."Brother, I have no doubt about that." I testified, "When you are having a hard time, He most certainly does that for those who seek His help. I have experienced that many times in life, especially on the water." We fished down the creek and hit all of the likely-looking holes and runs and the fish were exactly where we thought they should be, which is why I love this tiny creek. And at hopper time it really shines.
I finally started to hook into some fish consistently and when I landed a trout almost as nice as Jake’s, I turned to him and stated, "Maybe Heavenly Father pours out his tender mercies on older brothers who take their younger brothers who are having a hard time fishing."
Another tender mercy for big brother."I’m sure he does," replied Jake with a smile. "Maybe you need to have a tough time more often so that we have an excuse to go fishing together," I said in jest.
Jake just laughed. It was good to see him be light hearted for a moment.
We continued fishing until we could no longer see our flies on the water and then we headed for home in the twilight.
I would never wish on anyone what Jake is going through. I’m just glad I could take him fishing on Trickle Creek to help ease some of his stress and heartache and to help him experience some of the Lord’s tender mercies. Jake will come out on top of this trial, I have no doubt.
Simply beautiful!
