Andrew Marshall Wayment's Blog, page 3

PICKIN’ POCKETS

When the ice melts in March and the world around me comes alive again, my fishing switch flips full-on and I love to pursue big browns on the Mini-Madison with streamers.  I have been fishing this particular stretch of river since 2004 and I dare say I know it better than anyone.  Fifteen years of intimate connection with a river will do that for you.  The window of opportunity before the spring runoff is pretty small and you have to hit it just right or you will miss it.

The bite started slow this Spring and it took me a few times before I finally found a decent brown trout in “the Long Run,”  a deep long run that has probably been the most consistent, accessible run at the Mini-Madison over the years.

On the next trip, I hooked only one fish, in the Slob Seam below the island.  The football-sized rainbow took a Jig-head Mohair Leach and bent the hook when it came up out of the water.  This was the biggest rainbow I have ever seen at the Mini-Madison, even bigger than Bob the Slob who this particular seam is named after.  Honestly, to lose that fish stung a bit.

During April, I took a few friends with me to the Mini-Madison, but try as they may they just couldn’t get any takers.  I put them in the good spots and even showed them my techniques, but the wary browns eluded them.  On my friend Jim’s first trip to the river, I put him in the Slob Seam and even showed him where the fish hold in the choppy seam and how I fish it.  Though he fished it thoroughly, he could get no takers.  He then let me try and, after about 20 casts, I caught a pretty fourteen-inch rainbow trout on a dead drifted crayfish pattern right where I thought he’d be.

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I came back the following Saturday and again fished the Slob Seam and hooked a monster brown trout right below the island.  The aggressive fish hit my home-tied Thin Mint Bugger the instant it hit the water.  The fish fought doggedly, but I finally got him into the net.  I wished that Jim could have been there to experience this.

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I brought Jim back the following Wednesday night and put him right back at the seam and he again had no takers, but neither did I, which is par for the course at the Mini-Madison.  Sometimes, it feels as if there are no fish around.

After fishing hard for two hours, Jim finally decried, “These brownies don’t like me!”

“It just takes a while to figure them out.  I promise you they are here.”  I earnestly replied.  As the sun sank in the western sky, Jim at least got to see some big browns rise for unseen bugs while they ignored Jim’s offerings.

The following Saturday, April 13, I took my good friend, Scott Johnson, with me to the Mini-Madison early that morning in hopes that one of us would find a big brown.  Scott brought two rods, a nymphing rod and a big streamer rod.  I decided to just leave my rod in the car and use whatever rod Scott was not using.  Honestly, my hope was to just help -him catch a nice trout.

The river had come up about 3000 cfs from what it was only three days before and the wading was a little sketchy.  We couldn’t get to the Long Run or the Slob Seam.  We struggled to find any good holding water that was safe to wade.  As a last ditch effort we decided to try up near the King Hole and the Courtyard, which is better fishing when the river finally comes down later in the Summer.  Notwithstanding, over the years, I have found a few good fish in this area during the runoff on the edges of the heavy current.

I pointed out to Scott where he should try, in particular some decent, but small holding water below a log jam just above a little cascade.  I had caught a nice trout out of this very lie in years past and I remembered it.  Rather than take my advice, Scott went above the log jam and fished the seam along the heavy current.  This water looks good, but I have rarely found fish in this spot in the past.  My money was still on the little pool below the log jam.

I watched patiently as Scott thoroughly fished every likely looking spot above the log jam to no effect.  I again suggested, “You may want to come down and fish below this log jam.”

When Scott finally made it back down to me, he said, “Why don’t you go ahead and fish it?” and handed me his rod.

Hoping to satisfy my hunch, I took the Orvis 8 Weight Streamer rod with a silver and white streamer with pink in the middle, which Scott had tied.  The fly kind of looked like a sparkle minnow to me, but it had a silvery top, a white rabbit Zonker strip on the bottom and Scott had colored the leather under belly with a pink Sharpie making a pink stripe down the middle.

I cast the fly in the lie below the log jam and stripped it through with no takers.  I then cast it a second time all the way across the hole almost to the heavy current on the far side.  I stripped it twice and then it suddenly felt as if my fly had snagged solidly in the rocky bottom below.  When I pulled back to double-check, a huge brown ripped straight up out of the water headshaking the whole time.  At such times, your eyes play tricks on you.  I honestly thought the fish was at least twenty-five inches.     

“Yah! That’s a monster fish!”  exclaimed Scott, who watched the whole show right beside me.  “Don’t let him get into that heavy current or you’ll lose him!”

The wily brown had no plans to cooperate, but instead, charged down the cascade below him into the torrential current.  I kept the heat on him as I tried to stay in the softer current and make my way downstream to a better place to land him.  As I tried to navigate the drop-off, however, I slipped and banged my knee on a rock.

As I regained my balance and worked to stand back up, Scott waded below me and helped me net the fish.  We measured it to be a solid 21 inches, a far cry from what I first estimated him to be, but still a great fish nonetheless.   Honestly, I felt like I had just picked Scott’s pocket (using his rod and his fly to boot), but he should have taken my advice in the first place and that fish would have been his for the taking.

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As I write this, the river is way to high and off-color to fish and will be until July.  But it was so good while it lasted.  I love to explore new water and experience new adventures while fishing, but there’s something to be said about fishing your home waters.  Both of my friends are experienced, diligent anglers, but the Mini-Madison was a challenge for them this spring.  If there is any edge that I have over them, it has to be my familiarity with this stretch of river and it’s wily trout–a little home field advantage, if you will.

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Upland Ways Happenings

The Arkansas River basin snow pack is at 140 percent this year and our winter isn’t over just yet.  We’re in that in-between season waiting patiently for the snow to melt and turkey to return to their leks and the caddis to hatch.  [image error]

Andy was recently featured on the Orvis’ Hunting & Shooting Podcast with Reid Bryant about his excellent book Idaho Ruffed Grouse Hunting…it’s an awesome and fun interview.  Give it a listen to!  You can find it on iTunes or any of the other podcast platforms.  I highly recommend reading Andy’s book…not just because he’s my brother. It’s a great read!  iTunes Podcasts

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I was recently interviewed by Tom Keer about my fall with my beloved Ithaca NID grade 1 .410 side by side.  Tom’s Field and Stream article is a great read and can be checked out here Tom Keer’s Article.

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Finally Christine Peterson interviewed me on 5 tips for camping with dogs for online Outdoor Life which can be checked out here OL article.

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Woodcock Hunting in The Deep South: One Man’s Trashbird is Another Man’s Treasure…by Matthew Lee, DMD

“What kind of bird dogs do you have?”

“Pointers”, I reply.

“We use to could walk up four of five coveys when I was young just out of my back door, no birds anymore, it’s a shame.” “Do you field trial?”

“No sir, I mainly woodcock hunt in South Carolina. I travel a few times a year too.”

“Woodcock? We never shot them. Sometimes the dogs would point ‘em though.” 

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I’ve had that conversation, or something similar to it, many times over the last ten years. Most people either have no idea what a woodcock is or consider them a second class (upland) citizen around these parts. I was born in the 1980s and grew up in a rural town in South Carolina. By the time I became interested in bird dogs, wild bobwhite quail in my part of the world were few and far between. Most of the quail hunters got rid of their dogs or transitioned into field trialing.  I’ve gotten quite a few strange looks when I admit to seeking out this funny looking little bird. “Will the dogs point them?” “Is it the same as a Snipe?” “Do you eat ‘em?” Yes. No. Yes. Woodcock aren’t as well known or as respected in the South as they are in the Northeast or in the Great Lakes region.

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I’ll never forget the first time I hunted woodcock. It was 2008 and a friend I had recently made through our mutual interest in bird dogs asked me if I wanted to give it a shot. To be honest I didn’t even know what a woodcock was at that time. I had a German Shorthaired Pointer then that despite my ineptness pointed birds and retrieved waterfowl. Thank goodness for strong natural abilities. We dropped the dogs and trekked into the woods. I can’t remember how many birds we moved that morning but it had to be close to twenty. After my shorthair bumped a few birds she started pointing. My buddy’s dogs had been on these birds before so they knew what to do. The cover was thick, you couldn’t see ten yards in front of you at times. We were running beeper collars to keep track of the dogs. I don’t remember how many birds we shot and that’s not really important. I know I shot my limit of Privet, Switch Cane, and tree limbs . What I do remember is experiencing my first bird dog figure out wild birds. I am not exaggerating when I say I dreamed about the sound of a beeper collar indicating a dog on point that night. I was hooked.

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I guess you could say I started hunting them because of the perceived lack of upland bird hunting opportunities where I reside. That may have been how it started, but that’s definitely not how I currently feel in regards to these misplaced shore birds. The more I pursue Scolopax minor the more I respect them. Their physical attributes and anatomy are, to say the least, unique. Their eyes are high and posteriorly positioned, it’s legs are short and it’s body is round. The long bill looks almost out of place on such a small bird. Recent data from the Eastern Woodcock Migration Research Cooperative indicated these little birds can fly as far as 500 miles in single night. Anyone who’s held one of these birds in their hand or watched one in flight would agree, they don’t seem like they’re built for that kind of travel. But somehow, they can take a short break, get a belly full of worms, and do it again the next night.  That’s impressive to me.

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Wildlife biologists believe we do have a small resident population of birds here in the Southeast. Nests are found from time to time by bird hunters. I have certainly heard and seen birds well before and after our season dates. But, the majority of the birds are pushed down by a combination of harsh weather to our North and favorable winds. As with any migratory bird, hunting can be hit or miss. When they’re here they here, and when they’re not well, they’re not and there’s nothing you can really do about it. A covert may be empty one day and loaded the next. When the flights are in it’s truly something special. In my opinion this makes hunting woodcock both frustrating and addictive. Throughout the months of December and January I’m constantly checking the weather to our North as well as moon phases. I’ve been told by other hunters that they migrate frequently with a full moon. Honestly, I’m not sure if this is true or just an old wive’s tale.

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Woodcock are truly a gift to Pointing dogs. Their camouflage is excellent, and they know it. They (usually) will sit very tight for a long period of time for a staunch dog. Although I’ve witnessed them running away from a dog on point numerous times. As a general rule of thumb, if the dog does his part, a woodcock will reciprocate. They aren’t particularly fast birds and as previously stated aren’t near as likely to flush wild as a lot of other upland gamebird species. The difficulty in shooting these birds on the wing is inherent to WHERE you find them. Or at least where I find them. I have seen and heard of people finding them in relatively light cover. I generally find them in cover where a machete would be an appropriate tool. I’ve had dogs on point less than 10 feet away according to the GPS and still not have a visual on them. Sometimes all you get is a brown blur through thick vines and tree limbs. Open chokes and a good retriever come in handy.

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Chasing wild birds behind pointing dogs is not a thing of the past in the Southeast. Quail are still present, albeit much less abundant than when my dad was a young man. I still pursue them. The South Carolina Bobwhite Initiative is working hard to restore habitat in a successful manner. I am optimistic about the future. Walking through muddy creeks and branches ducking vines and briars may not be as glamorous as the piney woods. You may want to trade your leather boots for knee high rubber boots and invest in some solid briar-proof gear. You may find yourself crawling on the ground under dense cover in front your dog to produce a flush. There may not be a covey rise but I’ve grown to love the twittering of woodcock wings equally. I have been fortunate enough to hunt multiple species of upland gamebirds in several states across the country. I have enjoyed them all, but I do believe I will always have a special place for the little russet fellow deep within my soul.


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The Trout & The Grouse

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I recently wrote a guest blog post on The Trout & The Grouse Journal.

It’s that transition time of the year.  I’m morning the loss of the upland gunning season and look forward to chasing gobbling turkeys and rising trout.  Hope you enjoy!

 

Setter Feathers!

BIRDS OF THE VOID

Idaho is home to six native species of upland game birds, ruffed grouse, blue grouse, sage grouse, sharp-tailed grouse, Franklin grouse, and mountain quail.  Idaho’s forest grouse are holding their own and provide unlimited opportunities for those willing to burn the boot rubber to find them.  There is no longer a season for mountain quail as they have been extirpated from the majority of their range in Idaho.  I suspect that cheat grass and its attendant wild-fire propensity has something to do with their demise.  Sage and sharp-tailed grouse are still holding on, although we are losing much of their habitat.

For a time, the ringnecked pheasant, a Chinese immigrant, thrived in Idaho, but I joke that they are now an endangered species because of clean farming practices and predation.  Unless you have access to some private property with suitable cover or pay money to Idaho Fish and Game to hunt planted birds, pheasant hunting is just plain tough in Idaho.  I hardly even bother anymore.

Chukar partridge–also an introduced species–have taken to Idaho’s rimrock country, as cheat grass has taken over and destroyed much of what once was primarily sagebrush terrain.  Chukars thrive in some of the most inhospitable country in the state.  For the dedicated (of which I am admittedly not), there is no finer game bird.

The state still has some awesome hunting for valley quail, another nonnative, but mostly on private property.  I’ve had days where I have seen hundreds of quail and the action was nonstop and I begged Shawn to borrow some of his shells as my two boxes were spent.  With the loss of favorite covers to posting and Idaho’s new trespass law, I suspect that those quail days are mostly gone for me.

And then there is the Hungarian partridge, or gray partridge.  Having hunted all over the state,  I would venture to say that Huns are more widespread and numerous than any other game bird in Idaho.  I’ve seen them on private property and on public land.  I’ve seen them up on mountain ridges and down on high-plains desert floors.  I’ve seen them in lush alfalfa fields and in and around the edges of cut wheat fields.  I’ve found them near civilization and far away in no-man’s land.  I’ve seen them up in the rimrocks near chukars and down along creek bottoms with quail and pheasants.  I’ve watched them hunker together in a blizzard.  They are hardy little suckers.  They are survivors. I say this tongue in cheek, but if there is ever an atomic bomb dropped on Idaho, the only game birds left surviving would be Huns.  I call them “Birds of the Void”  because they have filled the vacuum left by the decline of Idaho’s other game birds.

[image error]Love these little red-cheeked birds.In my younger days, Huns were pursued only incidentally as I searched for other games birds and my dogs and I stumbled upon them.  Of course, I missed way more than I ever hit as Huns are just plain fast.  I found them to not be very gentlemanly (unlike their quail cousins) as they seemed to mostly flush wild out of range.  They frustrated me more than anything and I dubbed them one of my nemesis birds.

[image error]Looks like sage grouse country, but it now primarily holds Huns.Over the last ten years or so, my negative outlook on Huns has slowly changed.  In fact, so much so, that I really love to puff their little gray feathers.  While it takes a little scouting and time to understand their habits and habitat, Huns can be found in excellent numbers in Idaho and oftentimes do allow good dog work.

Every October, Shawn and I spend a few days chasing Huns and have learned some good areas and how to hunt them.  We’ve had good success hunting sagebrush benches near dry wheat farms.  When the wheat is cut, the birds concentrate in the sage along the edges.  Honestly, this is some of the funnest hunting we’ve ever experienced.

This past October, we located tracts of BLM land near irrigation pivots and also found good populations of Huns.  On one such tract, we spooked a herd of cows in the pasture along side us and their stampede flushed a covey of Huns right into the corner we were already heading to.  Rainey beat us to the corner and went on point.  Lo and behold, when Shawn approached Rainey’s point, he flushed not one, but two big coveys of Huns.  Brother Shawn dropped one off the covey rise and then the second covey flushed and flew right at me.  I dropped one, but when the dogs went in for a retrieve, that bird flushed again and struggled to fly away.  I could not shoot as I was reloading and our friend Ron also was unable to take what would have been an easy shot.   We marked the bird down perfectly and looked for it for a long time, but never could find it, which was a bummer.

[image error]A pair of Huns always feels like an accomplishment.Notwithstanding, for the next hour and half as the day drew to a close, we chased those Huns all over that BLM tract and had some good shooting and dog work.  These crazy birds made what would have been mediocre into a red-letter day.  Of course, we celebrated afterwards with Mexican food.

I once tried to say on Instagram “Huns are fun and frustrating.”  However, I mistakenly wrote: “Huns are fun, frustrating, and fun!”  When I realized the typo, I did not go back and fix it because it summed up my sentiments on these challenging game birds.  They can be so darn fun and frustrating, but mostly fun.

I always say that I am a grouse (an kind of grouse) hunter, first and foremost.  But I must confess that I also have a soft spot in my heart for the Birds of the Void.

[image error]The Fox Sterlingworth 16 and a pair of Huns.

 

 

 

 

White-tailed Ptarmigan Hunting Colorado Style

It’s been a glorious fall so far here in colorful Colorado.  We’ve been several times into the grouse woods this September in search of blues and mountain sharptails…we’re seeing birds and getting good dog work but I have yet to fire a shell.  My dogs have had some great points and my FB English cocker Ellie flushed 5 blues across a logging road and I never got a good shot opportunity.  Who cares?  I’ve enjoyed the heck out of it!  I love this time of year as the air gets that hint of winter and the leaves start to change yet cling on to their desire of summer to never end.  The elk bugle across the hills.  It’s good to be alive and following bird dogs.  We’ve made it to another bird season.

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Karen and I returned from State College PA last Saturday and my dogs were so restless that I decided I’d get up early and head to the high country for white-tailed ptarmigan.  I haven’t hunted ptarmigan for about 10 years for various reasons.  It’s hard to find them and Colorado is full of active people hiking above the tree-line that truly frown upon shooting sports and nimrods in general.  Yep…they literally want that Rocky Mountain High!

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White-tailed ptarmigan are native to Colorado’s subalpine tundra that exists above the tree-line…11,500 ft or so here in Colorado.  They are also native to Alaska and Canada above the tree-line.  They have been transplanted successfully to other states like CA, OR, and Utah in areas with similar habitat.  They are a very interesting and tough bird to live at such extreme elevation.   The air up there lacks a few O’s.  They can pick up and fly from one 14,000 foot peak to the next in a moments notice which can make them seem like they’re here today and gone mañana.  Thus…they have a very dark but delicious breast meat.

We arrived at our destination before the sun had crossed the great divide…it’d been in the 90’s in Denver the past few days but was actually < 40 degrees Sunday morning making it perfect for ascending 2000 feet up with the dogs and shotgun.   I filled my water containers and placed the Garmin collars on the girls.  I retrieved a couple leashes so that I could walk the girls for the first couple hundred yards to avoid incidents on the major road below.   Thank heavens there were no tree huggers parked in the immediate area.  We started our ascend above the tree-line.

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Cinder was quartering nicely in front of me and Gretchen at 11.5 yrs old was gone…she was taking a nice cast off yonder.  Cinder quartered off into some willows and encountered her first porcupine…it surprised me that they too are found about the tree-line.

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I pulled the quills I could remove by hand and we proceeded onward and up.  I’ve found most of the ptarmigan at about 12,500 feet in elevation where there are boulder fields and subalpine stunted firs.

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I was climbing and thinking about my patients and their surgical procedures scheduled for the following day when my Garmin Alpha vibrated indicating Gretchen was on point ahead of me.  Gretchen was about 150 yards to the north ahead of me…moving at 12,500 feet is like traversing on the moon.  I quickened my already slowed pace hoping to get to where Gretchen was before the birds decided to blow out of there.  I spotted Gretchen about the time 3 small white birds burst from the boulder field.  Damn!  I started to high step it in hopes that there was a few stragglers.  Gretchen had moved on and was 50 yards below me.  Suddenly another white bird rocketed up right between my feet headed for the boulder field.  I made a nice right to left crossing shot with my 1927 Ithaca grade 1 NID .410 and the bird folded in the boulder field.

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Ok…so here’s where it gets stupid!

I thought to myself that I should set down my beloved .410 and traverse the boulder field empty handed but pride overhauled reason and I went into the field with my gun in tote.  Ten feet into the field and I was face down in the rocks…having slipped or tripped and who-knows-what-face-first landing on my beloved Ithaca.  The gun might have even saved my fall…a bit.  Graceful it was not!

Slowly, I got to my feet and looked at the gun…damn!  I gained my composure and grabbed the bird and headed back out of the boulder field.  I was thankful that nobody was around to watch my antics (or my crying).

My Garmin vibrated again and I noticed Cinder on point over near some stunted firs and then watched more ptarmigan flush.  I noted the right barrel was severely damaged but the left barrel was ok.  I decided to try and harvest another ptarmigan with the left undamaged barrel.  Gretchen was putting up birds 30 yards below me so I worked slowly down towards her.  Anther bird presented a straight away and I pulled the single Miller trigger twice to get the left barrel to fire and the bird hit the ground.  Cinder made a beautiful retriever to hand.  I missed the next two or three birds and finally connected with a third bird to complete a Colorado limit.

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I texted this photo to a couple of friends and my good friend Bret called me to say congrats.  I described to Bret what had happened and he asked if I was ok to hike back down to the truck.  Duh, I hadn’t thought about that because of the birds.  My right knee was throbbing and my pants were blood-soaked, my right 5th finger was swollen and so was my left forearm.

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I painfully worked my way to the truck passing a few tree-hugging, nimrod hating hikers on the descend.  Andy called me on the drive home and I gave him all the details about the hunt and how bummed I was about ruining my .410.  Andy cut me off and proclaimed hey! don’t you have insurance on that gun anyways?  Ha!  I started to laugh.  Yes sir…I had the foresight to get USAA to insure all my guns against theft and damage…even idiot cross a boulder field at 12,500 feet damage!  I can say that USAA has been incredible about this.  I have the gun scheduled to go to a renowned gunsmith from AZ and CO who specializes in classic American double guns.  USAA will cover the entire cost.  Thank Heavens!

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All’s Well In Colorado…setter feathers.

CHECK OUT THE HUNTING DOG PODCAST WITH ANDY WAYMENT

Things have been pretty busy since my book, Idaho Ruffed Grouse Hunting: The Heartbeat of the Woods, came out in August.  I am so grateful for the positive response and reviews  that I’ve received so far.  If you haven’t read the reviews yet, here is the link to amazon.

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I’ve been a friend of Ron Boehme on Facebook for awhile but learned of him beforehand on Steve Rinella’s, MeatEater.  I really enjoyed all of the episodes of MeatEater that Ron was in because they featured birdhunting.  I  first learned that Ron had his own podcast, The Hunting Dog Podcast, when he featured my brother Shawn.  I suspected that Ron was a character from all of these.

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Of course, I was honored when Ron asked me to be a guest on his podcast this week.  Even though Ron gave me a hard time about being a duffer of a shot, I can honestly say that I had a good time talking with him about hunting in Idaho and my book.  We had some good laughs, for sure.  And I can attest that Ron is a real character.  For those of you who have not yet listened, here is the LINK.  Go check it out!

Ron wrote/said a few things about Idaho Ruffed Grouse Hunting that I wanted to share with you.  In his introduction to the podcast episode, he wrote:

We dig into Andy’s new Book Idaho Ruffed Grouse Hunting, get some education, some laughs and some memories. Then go buy his newest book. Andy writes from the heart. No exaggeration, no impossible feats,  just a bird hunter/dog lover who shares his passions. If I could write a book, this one is how I would picture it!!

During the podcast, Ron further said something to the effect that: “From reading your book, I feel like I already know you and that we have hunted together.”

That’s exactly the effect a writer wants to have on someone.  Thanks Ron!  As I mentioned on the podcast, you are welcome to come miss birds with me in The Outhouse any time!

[image error]See Ron, it is possible.Lastly, I just placed another order for books, so if you want a signed copy, follow this link to find out how.

 

 

 

MEET THE AUTHOR OF IDAHO RUFFED GROUSE HUNTING

Greetings all! We are now in the thick of things in the Idaho grouse hunting season. Rainey and I have been out three times and have struggled to find birds. In three days, I had one quick snap shot at a ruffie that flushed wild. Of course, I missed! It was still good to be out and Rainey hunted hard.

On a different note, my book, Idaho Ruffed Grouse Hunting: The Heartbeat of the Woods is starting to get some great reviews on amazon.com. So go check them out.

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Also, I’m scheduled to do a Meet the Author/Author Signing event on Saturday September 8, 2018, from 2:00 pm to 4:00 pm at Barnes & Noble in Idaho Falls, Idaho. I’ve never done anything like this in my life, so I don’t know what to expect. Honestly, I hope people show up. I understand that most Idaho grouse hunters will be out hunting that day, but if you take a break, come by and see me!

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If you haven’t picked up your copy of the book, Barnes & Noble has a huge stack!

I look forward to meeting some of you and talking grouse and grouse hunting.

Thanks,

Andy

MISTY’S GROUSE

MISTY’S GROUSE

“There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”

― Albert Einstein

Have you ever had a moment while out fly fishing or bird hunting that you wish you would have captured in a photograph? Maybe it was a sunrise or sunset, maybe it was a gigantic trout, or maybe it was a special moment with a bird dog or hunting companion. With our smart phones and Go Pros, it seems that failing to record such moments happens less than it used to, but—like it or not—it still happens. So what if you got a second chance to capture a fleeting moment? Would you take it?

Misty was a bona fide grouse dog. Although she bumped her share in her youthful enthusiasm, she later learned to stick them with unbelievable intensity. This thrilled me to the core every single time during our seven years together.

During the late summer and early fall of 2016, Misty had some of her most memorable points. One morning before the season started, we hiked up into the Outhouse and about a hundred yards up the draw, Misty struck a stellar point on a blue grouse right along the creek. Since I couldn’t yet hunt, I took a photo. I’m so glad to have that photo to remember her. After that, I always wanted to get a clear picture of her pointing a ruffed grouse.

[image error]If you look up along the creek bank, you’ll see the blue grouse.

Once the season starts, it gets harder to put down the gun and take photos, but fortunately, during the fall of 2016, I had the good sense–on numerous occasions–to get the photo first and shoot later. After all, a grouse in hand only lasts a moment, whereas a photo lasts a lifetime (and maybe longer if you write about it).

On one Saturday morning in September of 2016, Misty and I walked Grouseketeer Ridge primarily in search of blues.  In the last few years, however, we have started to see more ruffed grouse along the road’s edges as the young forest growth reclaims the road. On this particular morning, we had just taken the left fork across the ridge and about thirty yards up the road, Misty locked up on point on a ruffed grouse in the middle of the road. It was the prettiest, most intense point I had ever seen. I thought about taking a photo, but wanted to take the bird so much that I passed up on the chance to capture the moment in a picture. Of course, when I walked past Misty to flush the bird, it unexpectedly flew to my left uphill and totally burned my biscuits. So, I didn’t get the photo or the bird. Honestly, the thing that stung the most was not having that picture. Nobody would believe me if I told them that Misty pointed a ruffie in the wide-open middle of the road. That just doesn’t happen very often.

The following week I hunted Huns with my friend, Josh, and his friend Lee. We hunted hard and found a few Huns. Misty even pointed a rooster pheasant before that season opened. When we finished with the Hun cover, I offered to take them up to Grouseketeer Ridge to find a few forest grouse.   We didn’t find a bunch of birds up on the ridge that day, but as we approached the last switchback before the road cuts through the gap to the other side, about a hundred yards from where Misty pointed the ruffie the week before, lo and behold, there again was a ruffed grouse smack in the middle of the road! Misty crept catlike toward the bird and struck a point exactly like the one she had the week before (on maybe exactly the same bird). I felt like I was given a second chance.

[image error]Misty’s Grouse.  I’m so glad I have this photo.

I like to say that my Momma didn’t raise no dummy, so I pulled out the camera and snapped numerous photos of this mesmerizing point while Josh readied for the shot. I then noticed that another grouse was hunkered down two feet to the right of the other, so I put the camera away and mounted the shotgun, thinking Josh would take the prominent one in the road and I would take the other when it flushed. As we approached, however, the better-hidden grouse to the right flushed first quartering left to right.  Josh and I both shot in quick succession, Josh first and then me a split-second later. Of course, with all the lead in the air the bird dropped. The other grouse then flushed uphill and Josh missed it. I let Josh claim the fallen bird (although he ended up sending it home with me anyways. Thanks a lot Josh!).  No matter.  With those photos, I had what mattered.

Sometimes moments like those come and go and we don’t think much about them. But, as I’ve reflected on this experience, the specialness of the moment was not lost on me. After all, what are the odds that this would happen two times in as many weeks? Misty was in her seventh hunting season and she was in the prime of her hunting career. I could not have known that this would be her last hunting season. Some may say this was nothing but a mere coincidence, but I’m not so sure. In my book, Heaven on Earth: Stories of Fly Fishing, Fun & Faith, I wrote: “Everything is a miracle!” I still believe that. Call it what you will, I choose to believe that this was a tender mercy.

[image error]I miss this girl every day.

ORDER SIGNED COPIES OF IDAHO RUFFED GROUSE HUNTING

I am happy to report that my book, Idaho Ruffed Grouse Hunting: The Heartbeat of the Woods, was officially released on Monday, August 13, 2018.  The response has been exciting, to say the least.  The book is currently the No. 1 New Release in Hunting and also No. 1 New Release in West Mountain United States Travel (I didn’t even know this was a category) on amazon.com.  I feel very honored and blessed by the support.

As many of you know, I offered a preorder through the blog and the response was excellent.  Thanks you so much for your support! The books were mailed out last week and those who ordered should be getting your books any day now (if you have not already).

The demand was such that I have decided to continue to offer signed copies to those who are interested.  I placed another book order last Monday and will continue to order as many as I need to fill the demand.  If you have a PayPal account and you live in the United States, please send me a payment for $29.00 ($23.99 for book and $5.01 for shipping and handling) to my account at andrewmwayment@gmail.com.  Please include your address in transaction so I know where to send the book.  If you prefer to mail the check directly, please email me and I’ll tell you how to do this.  Also, if you are not from the U.S. and you are interested in getting a signed copy, email me and we can work out the details on how to get’r done.

Lastly, if you like the book, please post a review on amazon.com or post something about it on social media using #idahoruffedgrousehunting to help get the word out.  This would be greatly appreciated.  I look forward to hearing your feedback.

Every day in the grouse woods is a gift!

Thanks again,

Andrew M. Wayment