Andrew Marshall Wayment's Blog, page 5

CLIMB THE MOUNTAIN

“May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds.”

–Edward Abbey

I’m a grouse hunter through and through. If I had my druthers, I would opt to hunt for blues, ruffs, or sharptails nine times out of ten. And in Idaho that generally means heading to the mountains.

Thursday of our week of hunting in Idaho, I wanted to retry my all-time favorite covert we call, the Royal Macnab, which holds sharptails, Huns, ruffed grouse, and pheasants in good years. But Shawn and I struggled there the previous Saturday.

“It’s Ron’s last day, so we should let him choose where he wants to hunt,” said Shawn.

“Why would we want to leave birds to find birds?” Ron Coiro asked. “That doesn’t make any sense.” Both Ron and Shawn wanted to go chase those crazy Huns again at our new covert. Admittedly, there was a pile of birds not far from home. So, I got outvoted.

“Okay,” I conceded, “but when we get tired of chasing those crazy Huns, then we should drive up to the Piney Strip and find some blue grouse.”

“I’m okay with that idea,” Shawn agreed.

“That sounds good to me,” added Ron. “I’ve never seen a blue grouse.”

That morning we pursued Huns in the grassy, sunflower covered foothills. And, as usually happens with Huns, we got schooled. We saw birds near the road, but when we put the dogs down they bumped the birds out of range. Shawn’s setter, Gretchen, found and pointed a tight holding covey, but I whiffed the shot. Next time I have to remember to pick just one bird. Try as we may, we just couldn’t find the coveys like on Tuesday. I recently wrote: “Huns are fun, frustrating, and fun.” On this day, they were more frustrating than fun.

[image error]Shawn and Ron search for Huns on a grassy hillside.

Around lunch time, Shawn and Ron finally agreed it was time to the head to top of the mountain. I’ve written before about this particular mountain. I killed my first muley buck up on top with my Dad and brother-in-law, Eric. I’ve spent numerous days there with the late and great Sunny and Misty pursuing blue grouse. If you read my book, Heaven on Earth: Stories of Fly Fishing, Fun & Faith, this is the place where Murphy (of Murphy’s Law fame) had his way with us as Eric bottomed out his horse trailer on huge boulders near the lake. Good times!

The first time I took Shawn up there in October of 2010, as we were driving home after a successful hunt, Shawn turned to me and exclaimed, “This place is sacred!” I had to agree as his declaration captured my sentiments exactly. So, needless to say, I was excited to return to this haven in the clouds this year.

Ron was amazed as we climbed up from the desert floor to the top of the mountain, 10,000 feet above sea level. With it being the end of October, there was already shin-deep snow on the north-facing slopes including our destination, the Piney Strip. Shawn opted to let Ron and I hunt the strip while he took a nap.

[image error]Ron, a New York rabbit hunter, on top of the mountain.

Ron and I postholed through the crusty snow hoping to find a few blues. With the snow, the cover looked harsher than usual and I’m guessing that Ron wondered if this was the equivalent of an Idaho Goose Chase. Experience has taught me, however, that it was only a matter of time before we’d find a few blue bombers.

[image error]The telltale sign.

About a half mile down the Strip, the trees and the snow petered out into a sage brush opening and I had that sixth sense that, if any were around, the birds were near. I then looked down at the thinning snow and saw fresh grouse tracks. Rainey and I followed the tracks, and within twenty yards, a big blue flushed across the opening and I missed the first shot. However, another grouse flushed and followed the exact same groove as the first. I swung, slapped the back trigger, and the big bird folded. As I was reloading, another bird escaped unmolested. Ron, who was out of range, watched the whole scene unfold. For me, this was my favorite moment of the whole week.

[image error]The author with a big blue bomber.

Ron and I finished pushing through the strip with no further shot opportunities and we took a few photos of the gigantic grouse.

[image error]A sixteen gauge Sterlingworth and a nice blue grouse.

“I’ve never experienced any bird hunting quite like this,” Ron commented. “That was awesome!”

“I wish we could have gotten you one to end your hunt,” I replied.

“Next year!” Ron proclaimed. I think I recruited a new convert to the joys of blue grouse hunting.

But as great as the blue grouse is, I cannot separate it from the mountainous places they inhabit. It’s like the blue grouse is the very essence or spirit of the mountain. For without them, the mountain tops would seem barren, especially in the late fall and winter when they migrate to the mountain peaks.

Though he may have meant something entirely different, when I hunt these special game birds, I can relate to John Muir’s statement: “Climb the mountains and get their good tidings.”

Sorta-double at Grouse Rock: A Continuation of Day Four in the Idaho Uplands & a Scaled Quail Pictorial Saga

A wise man once stated that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over expecting different results.

After hunting the Windy Mills covert on Wednesday, we decided to drive over to Grouse Rock in search of Ron and Andy’s favorite game bird—the ruffed grouse.  (I know…they’re both nuts…what more can I say?) Grouse Rock is an old friend, comfortable like a worn pair of leather boots or Orvis shooting gloves. A trip to Idaho isn’t complete without a visit.

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The trusty GPS took us up a canyon we’ve never been in before.  The dirt road reminded me of World War I trenches you see in old war movies.  It was so severely rutted from hunters transversing it during inclement weather.  There were times when I honestly thought it was impassable, but the Tacoma prevailed.  We finally arrived at Grouse Rock.  Andy and Ron headed up one draw and I decided to try my luck the next draw over.  There’s an old deer-camp logging road that I love to hunt up.  Below the road, there is a spring fed creek that contains an old growth of choke cherries the grouse love to hang in.  On the uphill side of the road is sage brush.  Andy and I have seen grouse get out of the sage when the ground is covered with snow but the majority of grouse we’ve seen have come out of the cherries on the down-road side.   I decided to give the setters a rest and got out Ellie, my 9 year old field bred English cocker.

[image error]

We headed up the logging road, but Ellie wouldn’t get into the creek bottom, but she persisted to run on the uphill side in the sage.  I was getting a little peeved and kept calling here back into the creek. Halfway up the road, Ellie got back into the sage.  Just as I was about to called her back a grouse vaulted out of the sage and sped towards the choke cherries. I stopped it with the Ithaca Flues 12 and an ounce of RST 7&1/2’s.  Ellie flushed a second grouse from the sage to the same fate.  I quickly reloaded just before a third grouse exploded from the sage. However, this grouse made it safely to the dense evergreens on the other side of the creek after a volley of a double-barrel salute.  I was still ecstatic with Ellie and my almost grouse double.

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I couldn’t wait to get back to Ron and Andy to retell the tale!  Meanwhile, Ron had collected his first Idaho ruffed grouse as a bonus.  Grouse Rock shined on us that day!

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The Colorado shortgrass prairie has gotten under my skin.  I love spending time on it and exploring the haunts of scaled quail.  Here are a few photos from recent trips…enjoy and be safe this season!

[image error] [image error] [image error] [image error]

FUSILLADE AT THE WINDY MILLS: DAY FOUR IN THE IDAHO UPLANDS

Fu·sil·lade

[ˈfyo͞osəˌläd, ˈfyo͞osəˌlād]

NOUN

a series of shots fired or missiles thrown all at the same time or in quick succession: “Marchers had to dodge a fusillade of missiles” ·

Tuesday night was chilly and Wednesday morning dawned bright and sunny.  The conditions made for a stiff wind all day long.  By Wednesday, I was feeling the fatigue of all-day hunting for three days and my immune system was down.  I began to develop a cold and a cough.  Nevertheless, I felt determined to hunt hard, if only for Rainey’s sake.

Since our old reliable spots hadn’t panned out, we searched for some new hunting grounds.  Our friend Josh May tipped us off on a new place to hunt sharptails.

“When you get there, park at the old abandoned homestead and hike south toward the old windmills.  The birds will not be in the old CRP, but in the newer CRP near the windmills,” Josh instructed.

[image error]Shawn gets his setters, Gretchen and Cinder ready for the hunt.

Shawn, Ron and I followed his directions, but found that the journey was more than meets the eye as we had to cross two deep ravines that we couldn’t see from where we parked.  In one of them, Shawn observed a flock of 30 sharptail flush unprovoked and fly toward the windmills.  The incessant wind blasted our faces the whole time we hiked.

[image error]Ron and Shawn at the Windy Mills.

After we crested the top of the second draw, it wasn’t long before we traversed into the newer CRP with much more variation in cover and food.  We knew it was only a matter of time before we found birds.  Within five minutes the dogs kicked up a covey and I sent out a few hasty shots, which caused more birds to flush wild and into the wind.

Shawn and Ron followed Shawn’s setters to the right and I headed uphill to the left towards the mountain range.  In short succession, Rainey and I were into more sharptails, than I had ever seen in one small area. We even kicked up a covey of Huns with no shots.  However, the wind made the birds jumpy and when they hit the wind, they swerved making the shots extremely challenging. In times past, I proudly thought that sharptails were easy, but these birds were kicking my trash!  I burned through 3/4 of my box of shells in short succession to no effect.  I think the wind was the primary culprit for my poor shooting, but the cold, fatigue–along with my desperation to get a bird for Rainey–were certainly not helping either.

After flushing all of the grouse into the next county, I turned back downhill to find Shawn and Ron.  They too had experienced flighty birds and long shots.  Neither Ron or Shawn had brought down any grouse with their 12 gauges.  “I wish I would have brought my Ithaca NID 10 gauge!” Shawn lamented.

[image error]Shawn and Ron cross the great divide to get to the Windy Mills.

We all decided to hunt downhill in a line hoping for a few closer opportunities.  As we pushed, one grouse flushed, caught the wind, and gave me a tough left to right crossing shot.  I swung as fast as I could with the Sterlingworth, shot twice, and thought I missed.  However, the bird flew about fifty yards and dropped suddenly and vertically into the deep draw.  Since Shawn was over that way the last time I saw him, I thought that either I wing-tipped that bird or Shawn hit it, but I couldn’t hear his shot because of the wind.  I decided to go over and check it out.

I walked straight toward where I saw the bird drop at the edge of the steep and deep ravine. I looked to the right and saw Shawn about fifty yards down at the bottom of the draw–way past where the bird dropped.

“DID YOU SEE A BIRD GO DOWN AROUND HERE?”  I yelled to Shawn over the wind.

With all the noise, the nervous bird directly below me tried to make for the escape and I caught up with it on the second shot.

“NO, BUT I SAW THAT ONE!” Shawn yelled.

Shawn birddogged his way back up the bottom to where the grouse had dropped and retrieved it for me.

[image error]Fetch!  We don’t call him the Bird Dog Doc for nothing.

At the top of the draw, we talked about the blasted wind, the spookiness of the sharpies and the tough opportunities they presented.  Ron soon made his way over and we talked about a new game plan.

[image error]Finally got the skunk off.  Rainey was pretty stoked too.

“I’m about out of shells boys,” I reported. ” I have two shells left and then I need to head back to the truck for more. I’ll hunt down with you until I run out.”

From where we pow-wowed, I walked no more than ten steps and another sharpie unexpectedly jumped right in front of me.  I promptly wasted my last two shells.  I then had to take the long walk of shame back to the truck.  By the time I made it back, I was totally spent and decided not to cross the great divide back to the wind mills. The sharpies had given Rainey and I way more sport than we could handle.

[image error]Sweet 16 Sterlingworth with our one grouse.  Notice how the wind ruffles its feathers in this picture.

The bottom line is that late-season sharptails are tough and, if you throw a stiff wind in the mix, they are pert-near impossible.  Did I mention that the blades of the old wind mills had long-since been destroyed by the very thing they attempted to harness?  We named this fun, new covert, “Windy Mills,” as no other name could quite capture the butt-kicking those sharptails gave us.  When Shawn and Ron made it back to the truck, we decided to go try and find some more genteel birds [forest grouse] to hunt.

[image error]Ron toasts a root beer to a great hunt.

 

HOMESTEAD HUNS: DAY THREE IN THE IDAHO UPLANDS

‘The sun at home warms better than the sun elsewhere.”–Albanian Proverb.

When Shawn comes every year in October, we hunt all over southern Idaho, from the west to the east.  During the week, we usually pursue valley quail, Huns, chukar, pheasant, sharptails, ruffed grouse, blue grouse, and sometimes spruce grouse.  On the first two days, we didn’t do well in our most reliable coverts.  Not to mention, we lost our best quail hunting spot due to posting on Monday.

With Idaho’s harsh winter last year, forest grouse numbers are low in my Eastern Idaho coverts.  However, Shawn had heard good reports of Huns not far from Rupert, our base camp.  So, on Tuesday, we decided to stay close to home.  This gave us the opportunity to eat at our one of our favorite restaurants, The Wayside (which I always thought sounds like a place where lost souls gather).  After all of the years of going there, the friendly staff recognizes the Wayment Brothers and expects us each year in October, which makes us love the place even more.  Shawn, Ron and I were all in good spirits after a hearty breakfast.   

After breakfast, we set out to try and find the plethora of Huns we had heard about. We had been in the general area many times over the years, but had not focused our efforts there.  On our first jaunt, we went to where Shawn had found Huns on Sunday and we found one small covey of three birds.  We decided to do some more scouting.

[image error]We found the Huns in thick grass.

We soon found a nice nice grassy area that looked like good cover.  While the harsh winter was hard on the forest grouse, the abundant moisture turned this area into a bona fide Hun factory.  The grass was thick and the sunflowers were everywhere.  In my experience, numerous game animals love sunflowers, Huns, pheasants, doves, quail, sharptail, and deer, just to name a few.   When we saw the area and the thick cover, we knew we would find Huns.  We even bumped a covey off the road.

[image error]Where there are sunflowers, there is game!

We only hiked about fifteen minutes before the dogs flushed another covey.  We tried to relocate that covey without luck.  We hunted a big loop and the dogs got up another covey in a little draw stuffed with sun flowers.  Shawn shot his 12 gauge Ithaca Flues and thought he missed, but Gretchen retrieved a Hun with a broken wing.  Shawn’s shot spooked a few deer out of the sunflowers and–while they made their escape–they kicked up another covey that flew up onto this cedar-covered hill.

[image error]Shawn with his 12 gauge Flues and a Hun.

Our friend Ron (an honorary Wayment Brother) marked the birds down perfectly and we all approached the dead tree on the top of the hill.  I walked into the midst of the covey and birds began flushing all around me.  I missed the first shot and then picked another bird, swung ahead of it, and made a nice shot with the back trigger–my first bird with the Sterlingworth.

[image error]First bird with the Sterlingworth.

The huge covey split in two directions and we followed the bigger part up to an area crisscrossed with ATV tracks, but could not find it.  So we then went after the smaller segment of the covey as we had them marked down fairly well.  Shawn’s setter, Gretchen made a beautiful find and, while I watched from uphill, Ron and Shawn approached her point. Three Huns flushed.  Boom! Boom! Boom! Two birds fell in quick succession.  I thought the New York rabbit hunter had shot a double, but it turns out Ron missed on the first shot, but stayed with the same bird and connected on the second.  Brother Shawn took the other bird.  I enjoyed watching it all transpire.

[image error]Big country.

When we made it back to the truck, we decided to see if we could find chukars up higher on the ridge.  Ron and I hunted up on top of the ridge with Rainey and Gretchen.  In a little divot where one would expect her to find a chukar, Rainey pointed a small covey of Huns and I dropped one with the 16.  I hustled over to help Rainey find it, but even though she scoured the area with intensity, we could not locate the downed bird.  I wanted to find that bird so bad because it was the first bird taken over one of Rainey’s bona fide points.  Gretchen, the old pro, came over and picked up the winged bird about fifteen yards to the right of where it fell.

“How old is your pup?” Ron asked.

“Six months.” I answered.

“I can’t believe how well she is doing for that age. You should be proud.” Ron complimented.

[image error]This girl’s got it!

Honestly, the dog work from both Rainey and Gretchen was the highlight of the day for me.

We hiked hard all day long and moved six coveys and took five birds.  That may not sound like a banner day to most, but we were pretty excited to find a Hun covert not far from home.  I was excited to take my first birds with my Sterlingworth, but even more so about Rainey and her accomplishments.  We celebrated the day at our favorite Mexican restaurant, El Nayar, with chicken enchiladas and tacos, a meal fit for kings.

[image error]Tacos and enchiladas.

I found a quote that sums up this hunt near home pretty well:

“He is happiest, be he king or peasant, who finds peace [and I’ll add some birds and Mexican food] in his home.”  (Johan Wolfgang von Goethe).

LOVE, LOSS & REPEAT: DAYS ONE AND TWO OF OUR IDAHO HUNT

Nature’s first green is gold

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf’s a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.

–Robert Frost, “Nothing Gold Can Stay”

Starting on Saturday, October 21, 2017, the Wayment Brothers began our annual week-long hunting excursion in Southern Idaho.  Before the hunt began, Shawn sent me a text message: “You around?  Need to tell you sum’n you’re gonna C-rap duder.”  Then he called me to report that he had just bought me a 16 gauge Fox Sterlingworth with an English straight grip.  “Santa came early for you!”

Needless to say, I was elated and at a loss for words.  Shawn and I arranged it so that the gun would be in Idaho by Monday, October 23rd, but we would have to travel to Boise to pick it up, which would be work as we had planned to hunt our very favorite quail hunting spot that day. We hadn’t hunted it since before the whole area burned in 2015.  We call this cherished cover, “The Trail to Quail.”

Saturday morning, Shawn and I hunted two of our favorite coverts in Eastern Idaho, the  Royal Macnab and Tommy’s Covey but, despite hunting hard, the sharptails and Huns were pretty slim and we came up with the big ol’ goose egg.  Shawn scouted and found a few Huns on Sunday before I finally made it to our mom’s in Rupert, Idaho that evening. Our friend, Ron Coiro, from Long Island, New York, beat me there.

Monday morning, we woke up a 4:30 a.m. and headed west to Boise with much excitement and hope for the day.  We planned to pick up my new shotgun first thing and then head to The Trail to Quail.  The gun was everything I could hope for and more.  In the book, Game Gun, by Richard S. Grozik, he said something that captured my first impression of the gun:

There is something very comforting about the sound of a Fox action camming shut.  The rotary bolt locks with decided authority, giving the hunter the feeling of security and peace of mind as he steps into the field.

I couldn’t wait to put the gun to work in our favorite quail cover.

[image error]My new Fox Sterlingworth 16 gauge. 

We then drove to our destination only to find it posted for the first time in 16 years.  For so many years, we had believed this cover to be BLM land open to the public, but Shawn had an app on his phone that clearly showed us for the first time that it was, indeed, private property.  I quickly researched the landowner and called to ask for permission, but was promptly and resolutely shot down.  And just like that, we lost our all-time favorite quail cover, a place where so many of our dogs had figured things out, Farley, Ginny, Sunny Girl, Geppedo, Misty, and even Dusty Boy (who was a knucklehead most of the time).  I almost understood what it felt like for Moses to be kept from entering the promised land.

As Shawn and I discussed this hard blow, I finally said, “It was never really ours to begin with.  We hunted here all those years thinking it was BLM when it was really private property.  It was just a matter of time before we were shut out for good.  I’m just glad we were able to hunt here for a long as we did.  It was truly amazing!”

Having fruitlessly searched for places to hunt around Emmett in the past, we decided against it that day, and drove east for some of our other quail coverts, The Miracle Half-Mile and another brushy creek bottom we’ll call Crazy Creek.  By doing so, we lost a half day of hunting.  We all were pretty quiet as we traveled, reflecting on our loss.

[image error]Shawn and Ron get ready to hunt the Miracle Half-Mile. 

We found a few quail in the Half-Mile, but they flushed wild and I missed my chances with the new 16.  Shawn shot a quail with his Ithaca Flues 12 gauge, but his young Setter, Cinder, ate half of it.   The rest of the birds escaped through the narrow, impassible lava-rock canyon.  We saw a few quail down in Crazy Creek, but we had no opportunities as they stayed in the thick stuff.  After a cold root beer, we headed home for some Mexican food, which always makes a tough day better.

[image error]Rainey overlooking the Half-Mile. 

To sum it up, our first two days of the hunt were tough and filled with mixed emotions.  Excitement turned to disappointment, loss, and mourning.  At the same time, I felt gratitude for a new classic shotgun, for the beauty of Idaho’s uplands, for coverts lost and experienced, and spending time with family and friends.

[image error]A Long Island rabbit hunter in Idaho.  

As a hunter, I believe that we are more in tune with the changing of the seasons.  We know that things cannot stay the same.  The poet, Robert Frost, wrote that “Nothing gold can stay.”  While I agree somewhat with Frost, one of my favorite bands, Carbon Leaf, captured better my sentiments on the passing of the seasons (and life in general for that matter):  “You know the seasons ought to be: Love, Loss, Hope, Repeat.”  Every fall, we go afield once again hoping to capture (or recapture) that fleeting peace, joy and excitement we find in the uplands with our bird dogs. Some days we find it and some days we don’t. The trick is to relish it while it lasts.

Colorado Grouse Camp 2017

[image error] Colorado grouse country ablaze

Smoke and heat was the theme for our annual Colorado grouse camp this year.   High above the Colorado river is where I started my day off…but not a single bird was located before the temps hit into the mid 80’s.  Surprisingly, this area has been very productive in the past but that day we never moved a feather.  Blue grouse are very tough to take inventory on because they’re a reverse migrator…they reproduce in the low country and move with their broods to the tree line as the season progresses.  Their diets changes as they migrate to their winter grounds.  They spend their winters in the boughs of Douglas fur or Lodge Pole pines consuming needles as their winter staple.

[image error] Scott Johnson and Scout

Scott Johnson and I met up at grouse camp, got caught up on life as we waited out the heat.  About 5 pm it was cool enough to get out and run the dogs on some Columbian sharptailed grouse.  We hit our favorite spot and moved about 5 birds which in our estimation was a significant decrease compared to years past.

[image error] Grouse River Gretchen chillin

 

O’dark-30 on Friday am I got up and headed down the rutted road to town to meet up with Bill Roden whom I hunted with last year…our friendship was forged via social media.  While driving to town, I ran smack into the largest flock of domestic sheep I’ve ever witnessed being moved to their shipping grounds.  They delayed me by an hour easily…the Basque gouchos did their best to guide me thru but holy sheep doo…there was a pile of range maggots.

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We completely goose-egged on Friday only moving one sharpie and all my favorite blue grouse spots had campers and tents.  It was the opening weekend of the elk muzzle-loader season that weekend.  We were flabbergasted by how many sports were in the woods.

[image error] Bill Roden in Colorado Sharptail country

Our final quartet member was in grouse camp when we returned that evening…dairy vet extraordinaire aka Blaine Nicks, made it to camp and was already enjoying libations when we pulled in.   Blaine has been bitten by the classic American double gun bug that I too an afflicted with!  We got up that am to a delicious breakfast compliments of Doc Blaine…mmmmm mmmm!

[image error] Doc Blaine’s Brekky

Saturday was a great day for birds…we found several sharpies with some decent dog work before the heat came and then we found a few blues in the evening in the dark mixed forest.  Blaine harvested his first columbian sharptail and blue grouse in the same day.  That evening we dined on sharptail grouse nuggets that were divine!  What a great trip and incredible bunch of guys to spend time in the outdoors with.  Can’t wait til next September…I’m planning to OUT DO our grouse camp with amenities galore!

Here are some more images from Colorado Grouse Camp 2017.  Enjoy!  Next is Idaho!

Setter Feathers…

[image error] Ithaca Flues grade 4 circa 1910
[image error] Tails and a Flues
[image error] Ithaca Flues 1910 12 bore grade 4 e and limit of sharpies
[image error] To die for with Frank’s mmmmmmmm mmmmmmm
[image error] Grouse McNuggets
[image error] Doc Blaine and company and a pair of Duskies
[image error] Doc Blaine and company with a Colorado limit of sharpies
[image error] Doc Blaine, Winchester 23 and blues
[image error] Ithaca Flues 12 bore, Ed Laytham engraving and sharpie
[image error] Cinder and a good retrieve
[image error] Doc Blaine and his first columbian sharptailed grouse
[image error] Circa 1927 grade 2 Ithaca NID 10 bore and sharpie

LOOKING UP FROM A DOWN YEAR

I don’t need fortune and I don’t need fame

Send down the thunder Lord, send down the rain

But when you’re planning just how it will be

Plan a good day for me

Don Williams, “Lord I hope this Day is Good.”

Have you ever had one of those years that totally kicks your butt?  For me, this past year was a trial in so many different ways.  To name just a few, last September, I took my son on his first hunt and he lost my favorite go-to shotgun, a Ruger Red Label 20 gauge. We looked long and hard for that gun on more than one occasion, but never could find it.  In October, we had to put elderly Sunny Girl down, which was such a hard decision to make (but I still feel it was the right thing to do).  This past winter was the longest and harshest that I can remember in Eastern Idaho (and I’m not much of a fan of winter).  And then, just before winter was over, we tragically lost Misty on March 18, 2017.  Talk about rock bottom!

As the saying goes: Once you hit rock bottom, the only way to go is up. Thank goodness for that!

Things started looking up when I committed to purchase a French Brittany puppy, Topperlyn Rainey Creek Ruff (“Rainey”) last Spring.  Picking her up in Montana in June and bringing her home was such a salve to my wounded heart.  Late July, we started to look for birds and I also took her fishing with me and she proved to be a good companion afield and astream (albeit a little hard-headed at times).  But we struggled to find birds.

 

[image error]Topperlyn Rainey Creek Ruff on top of Sunrise Ridge.

 Opening day, August 30th, we found a small covey of ruffed grouse on Grouseketeer Ridge, which I pursued, shot at, and missed.  To my delight, Rainey was not gunshy at all and helped me flush a second grouse which presented no shot.  We could find no other birds on the ridge, the Nub (the mountain peak above Grouseketeer Ridge), Windy Alley, or even down in the Outhouse Covert below.  In years past, we have always found birds in these coverts, but the harsh winter obviously had taken its toll.

 

[image error]Opening Day and first hunt with Rainey. 

 On Saturday, September 2nd, I took Rainey to another favorite ruffed and blue grouse covert, Grouse Springs.  Rainey found a covey of ruffs near the springs in the thick quakie foliage, which–try as we may–presented no shots.  She later found a covey of three blues up near the top of Sunrise Ridge, which I think she may have pointed (but she points everything including grasshoppers, butterflies, mice, rocks, etc.).  I had a shot at one of grouse, but missed.  Rainey and I pursued another grouse that landed not too far away after the first flush.  It got up again, but I whiffed the shot.  I was struggling with the Ithaca NID, not knowing where it was shooting or getting to the back trigger in time. Fortunately, we found a ruffed grouse in the last quakie patch on our way back to the car, and I took it with my second barrel–our first ruffed grouse together.

 

[image error]Rainey’s first ruffed grouse.  Labor Day, we hunted some unfamiliar turf with friends and Rainey found a covey of sharptails at one place (which season is still closed) and two ruffed grouse at another locale–one that she pointed and one that she bumped.  I didn’t have any shots that day.

Then, on Saturday, September 9th, we found the proverbial break in the clouds.  My friend, Matt Tower, and I headed to Grouseketeer Ridge hoping to find a few birds.  Matt and I walked almost the whole ridge pointing out where we had seen birds so many times before.  And then, as we got to the last switchback before the logging road cuts through the ridge, I noticed a big blue running on the ground below the tall, dark pine trees above the old logging road.  Rainey had seen it too and was already headed in that direction.

“There’s a grouse!” I stated excitedly to Matt, “We better hustle up the road because Rainey is going to flush it our way.”

Just as I expected, Rainey pushed the grouse across the logging road and it headed for a tall pine tree on the downhill side of the road. I missed with my first shot, but, without even conscientiously thinking, hit the back trigger and thumped the blue before it made to the tree.  Matt shot a split second after me and hit it too.

“Good job Rainey!” I praised as she came to see what all the ruckus was about.

I was so elated that we got Rainey’s first blue grouse and with my back trigger (without even thinking about it).  As I held the big blue, Rainey jumped up a few times and plucked a mouthful of feathers from it.  She too was exited.  She’s going to be a great grouse dog.

[image error]Rainey’s first blue grouse.

As Matt, Rainey, and I hunted up to the top of Dusty’s Nub overlooking the Snake River plain below, I reflected on the many trials of the past year.  From that majestic view, things were definitely looking up.

 

[image error]The smile says it all. 

 

 

 

 

 

A RICH MAN

“Would it spoil some vast eternal plan, if I were a wealthy man?”

-Tevye, “Fiddler on the Roof”

According to the standards of the world, I am no wealthy man.  I’m an attorney by profession, but I don’t own a nice home or drive a fancy car.  I have six kids, a beautiful  wife, Kristin, and most months, we just barely get by, but I am not complaining.

I have known some phenomenal bird dogs these past twenty years and I am currently owned by a puppy with so much potential.  Within an hour of my home, I can find good populations of ruffed grouse, blue grouse, sage grouse, sharptailed grouse, Hungarian partridge, and pheasant, and a few other upland species a little farther away.  I have my own private cutthroat trout stream . . . okay, I don’t own it, but I know it better than anyone else and I usually have it all to myself.

This past week was the weeklong sage grouse hunt in Idaho.  Last Saturday, a good friend, Scott Johnson, his son, Wyatt, and I headed north to hunt these grand birds at one of our favorite covers.  Over the years, we have always found a few flocks of sage grouse around, but we have always worked hard for our birds.  The vast sea of sage is intimidating and makes you feel like you are looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack.  We have learned from experience that the big birds like to hang around the shallow, open divots.  So, that at least gives us places to target.

 

[image error] Scott, Wyatt, and Ruger search for sage grouse. 

 

It had rained the previous night, but by the time we hunted, the cover was dry, although dusky, gray clouds blanketed the sky.  The temperature felt uncharacteristically cold for this time of year, which instilled a little more confidence that we would find birds.  Sometimes while bird hunting, this feeling of wellbeing overtakes you.  This was one of those times for me.  After about a half hour of walking, we walked up two sage grouse and one flew right by Scott, but he wasn’t ready and missed the shot.  I smiled as Scott tried to sell a few excuses for not getting the job done.

Scott and I soon came to a huge divot in a sage flat and we split up to sweep all of the cover around it.  It wasn’t long before Scott’s Labrador Retriever, Ruger, kicked up a huge flock of grouse on his end.  He quickly sent out three shots to no effect.   I on the other hand was 100 yards away and in no position to shoot.

My pup, Rainey, and I continued to work the sage around our side of the divot and I noticed some intense birdiness on her part.  As a puppy, she points everything including grasshoppers, butterflies, mice, and tweety birds, but her behavior was a little more focused than usual.  I followed her as she worked the tendril of scent and my vigilance paid off.  A grouse got up in front of us presenting a quartering right to left shot.  I missed the first shot, but swung ahead, and without even conscientiously thinking, tugged the back trigger.  The huge bird tumbled from the sky.

“WOOHOO!  Alright Rainey!” I hollered in excitement.

Rainey made it to the grouse before me and, in her excitement, denuded the bird of much of its plumage, but that was okay given that this was her first sage grouse.

 

[image error]The young guns admire Rainey’s first sage grouse. 

 

With all the shooting and excitement, Scott, his son, Wyatt, and Ruger soon made it over to us.  Ruger eagerly began to work the cover to the right of where Rainey had found her bird.  Within two minutes, he  flushed up another grouse and Scott made a nice shot with his twenty gauge.  The two year old, Ruger, made a nice retrieve.  At that point, we both had filled our one-bird limits and headed for the truck.  We then drove into town and ate Curry Beef at the local Chinese Restaurant.  Life felt rich.

 

[image error]My friends and a nice grouse found by Ruger.  

 

 

When I got home from the hunt, my wife asked me if I wanted to come with her to see a few homes in the Parade of Homes, which is an annual event in Eastern Idaho put on by numerous local home builders to show off their latest projects.  I usually shy away from such events, but wanted to spend time with my wife so I said, “Okay.  What the heck?!”

Admittedly, at first, seeing all of these new and expensive houses with lush furnishings, made me feel a little inadequate.  As these negative thoughts crossed my mind, however, I reminded myself of the beauty and excitement that I had just experienced in the seas of sage.  Most people who are pining and struggling to obtain such material possessions will never know the companionship of a good bird dog, the excitement of the flush, or the thrill of a nice shot.  How can anyone even put a value on such things?

I may not be a wealthy man after the things of this world, but I am blessed beyond measure.

 

[image error]A Rich Man

 

 

 

 

 

 

PRAYERS FOR RAIN

“He sendeth rain on the just and the unjust.”

Matthew 5: 45.

Let’s get something straight from the outset: My pup’s name is Rainey with an “E” not just a “Y” like the weather. Admittedly, my first two Brittanys were Sunny (Upland Autumn Sunshine) and Misty (Misty Morning Sunrise) after certain aspects of the weather, but Topperlyn Rainey Creek Ruff was named after a beloved cutthroat stream in Eastern Idaho and my favorite gamebird. Despite my intention to break from the weather theme, I wasn’t sure that the heavens got my memo last weekend when we went to pick up my puppy.

Since she was born on April 13th, my family has eagerly waited for Rainey to come home. Quite frankly, it felt like the longest eight weeks of my life. So, when the day finally arrived to head north to Montana—a state that I truly love for its beauty and wonderful fishing—like the hymn, there was a little sunshine in my soul.

Early Friday afternoon, my wife, Kristin, and four of our kids headed north from Idaho Falls through Salmon, Idaho, over the continental divide into Montana. In Idaho, the weather was beautiful, and we traveled through some of the prettiest country imaginable with Ponderosa pines down by the Salmon River and Douglas Firs at higher elevations near the continental divide. The white puffy bear grass was in full bloom at high altitudes.

As we dropped into the Bitterroot Valley we headed into a huge rain storm with black thunder clouds overhead. The weather put a damper on our spirits and Kristin and I questioned our decision to camp. Near Hamilton we drove to one campground, but found that every campsite was filled.

After Kristin rejected my suggestion that we rent a room, I then stated, “Let’s just drive all the way to Stevensville and see if we can get ahead of this dang storm.”

Near Stevensville, we found a campground named Bass Creek (which is funny because it is a boulder-strewn mountain stream and I’m sure there’s not a single bass throughout its length). The campground looked nice and was not full, but the rain continued to pour down. Honestly, I was not looking forward to putting up a tent in the rain.

“You think the rain is here because we are picking up Rainey?” I joked.

Before putting up our tent, I suggested that we say a prayer,  The family agreed and I prayed, “Dear Heavenly Father, we are thankful to be in this beautiful country to pick up our puppy. We really don’t want to get wet tonight. We ask thee to bless that we can get our tent set up, that the rain will stop and that we can stay dry and warm tonight. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

After we finished, I donned a raincoat and Kristin and I went to work. While the rain steadily came down as we set up the tent, as soon as we raised the last pole, the rain stopped. We only had a few sprinkles here and there the rest of the night and we stayed dry and warm. It was a direct answer to prayer.

 

[image error]We survived the rain, no worse for the wear!

The following morning, we could not go to Topperlyn Kennels until 10:00 a.m., so we drove around Stevensville, Montana to get a feel for the place. The sun was shining through the broken clouds. We found this really beautiful park near the Bitterroot River and we hiked a path that followed the river, which was swollen from runoff and rain. The sun was shining brightly that morning.

Along the way, we saw a handful of valley quail, which are not native to Montana, but have done well in this river valley after their mysterious introduction. Because of the biblical miracles, I have always considered quail as an omen of good things to come and found it interesting that we found some without the help of any dogs. The hour passed quickly and soon it was time to head up to Topperlyn Kennels.

As we approached the top of the sage-covered hill upon which the kennels are located, Lynda walked out to greet us with Rainey in her arms. Kristin and I got out of the car and introduced ourselves.  Lynda gave us both hugs. We asked if it was okay for the kids to come out and see Rainey and the other dogs. Lynda replied, “Of course!” She even let Rainey’s siblings out of the fenced enclosure so my family could enjoy the fun puppy pile. While all of the pups were beautiful and fun, I felt sure that Rainey was the one.  I was so impressed with Lynda, her kennels, and all of her beautiful Epagneul Bretons.

[image error]Emma and a pile of puppies.  They were all so cute and fun!

After parting ways, we drove home through Missoula to the interstate and the family enjoyed holding, petting and getting to know Rainey. We were all smitten. And the fact that we were passing through the very country Norman Maclean wrote about in A River Runs Through It didn’t hurt either. More than once, I thought about Paul Maclean’s quote in the movie: “Oh, I’ll never leave Montana brother.” Taking home Rainey felt like we were taking home a little piece of Montana.

So, what of the weather the night before? Admittedly, I am usually not a fan of the rain, especially when camping, hunting or fishing. Notwithstanding the negativity that I associate with rain, there is also a spiritual symbolism to rain that shouldn’t be ignored. You see, as evidenced throughout scripture, rain has always been associated with blessings from heaven.

[image error]Topperlyn Rainey Creek Ruff

Shortly after Misty passed away, on a particularly difficult day, I opened the scriptures hoping to find some peace. As I thumbed through the Old Testament, I happened upon the following verses in Job 5: 7-11:

7 Yet man is born unto trouble, as the sparks fly upward.

8 I would seek unto God, and unto God would I commit my cause:

9 Which doeth great things and unsearchable; marvelous things without number:

10 Who giveth rain upon the earth, and sendeth waters upon the fields:

11 To set up on high those that be low; that those which mourn may be exalted to safety.

At this low point in my life, I found solace from this scripture, though I did not fully comprehend its meaning for me. 

After this experience and bringing Rainey home, however, I firmly believe that the rain was simply a symbolic prelude to beautiful blessings that will flow into my life with this wonderful pup. I guess a little rain is not so bad after all.

 

[image error]Nessy meets Rainey for the first time. 

Colorado Mountain Merriam’s Turkeys

One of my favorite outdoor pursuits is chasing turkeys in the high country during their spring breeding season. Merriam’s are Colorado natives and they inhabit some beautiful country…country that also has my greenbacks, another Coloradoan.  It’s taken me 12 years of trial and error (& being schooled) but I now know where they’ll be during the peak of their breeding cycle…this isn’t a guarantee bird on the BBQ as turkeys are turkeys and as you’re well aware can be difficult to bag! Turkeys do whatever the heck they want.

The first two weeks of the season I saw very limited sign at the snowline…even talked to the local fish and game warden. His opinion was there were great turkey numbers this year and they were still below on private property. He was correct!

Saturday the 22nd of April at 0’dark-30 I was in the turkey woods listening to 7 or 8 different toms reveling in the nearby Ponderosas. I scrambled up the ridge to the snowline where there’s a flat area I know the birds love to strut. I’ve scared many a strutting tom off this area in the afternoons in previous seasons. I planned to sit there all day. I heard another tom up above the snowline as the sun started to peek up in the East. By 6:30 am I was surrounded by 12 to 15 turkeys, with a tom to my right strutting for his ladies and one directly behind me spitting and drumming. Another tom was heading to my Avian X decoys to thrash my jake…however he caught my movement and turned to escape! I rapidly raised my 1937 NID Ithaca 16 bore like a fleeting quail shot and fired the right barrel and he took off running so I fired the left full-choked barrel as he disappeared. I sat against the ponderosa awe-struct with a sickening depression weighing upon me. I had just blown the only chance I’d get today. I texted my brother Andy and our good friend Troy that I had just missed a nice tom with both barrels…then I texted Tyler Sessions and my wife the same depressing news. Clouds were starting to spit snow down on my turkey woods…I sat there and replayed over and over what had happened. I thought to myself that I had seen both barrels hit the bird in the head. I decided to walk down the hill a little to see if by chance my eyes hadn’t deceived me…AND there he was piled up on the forest floor. I was so ecstatic beyond believe!!  I’m sure the other hunters in the area heard me holler!

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