OF HEARTH AND HOME

Every so often a hunter stumbles upon a place that really speaks to him, a place where he feels connected to Nature, to Nature’s Creator, and to the history of that area.  I found one such place this fall.  I first hunted this little valley in Eastern Idaho in the first part of November.  The small draw with its tiny creek feeding another small creek caught my attention in warmer days, but for one reason or another I never took the time to explore it before then.  With a grouse already in the bag from the Outhouse Covert that brisk morning, I was ready to explore.  I’m so glad I went.

A beautiful Ruff from the Outhouse Covert.

On the right hand, north-facing side of the draw are evergreen Douglas firs, or “Dark Timber” as we call it, and in the creek bottom are willows and quaking aspens.  Grazing cattle have taken out much of the cover in the bottom, but the left side of the valley still contains plenty of thick, broomstick quakies that will pull your hat off if you are not careful.  Up further on the south-facing slope are rocky spires surrounded by sage and buck brush.  I definitely liked what I saw.

The dogs and I made our way about three-quarters of a mile up the draw to what I thought was an old beaver dam that had silted up to the point where it no longer held much water.  Nevertheless, the earthen bank testified that in the past there was some sort of dam and pond there.  In my experience, beavers and grouse make good neighbors as grouse take advantage of the diverse-aged forests that beavers create by their industry, which made me like this area even more.

Although the little idyllic valley, its rocky spires, and the birdy-looking cover ahead called me onward, I had promised Kristin I would be home by noon and I intended to keep my promise.  The rest of this valley would have to wait for another day.  On our way back down, Misty bumped a grouse into a nearby quakie and when I pitched a stick for the re-flush, the bird used the cover to its advantage and burned my biscuits.  Of course, I gave it the two-barrel salute.  Oh well, one bird in the bag was plenty.

This past Saturday, I was able to return to this same valley.  I talked my good friend Scott Johnson and his son Cole into chasing grouse in the December cold.  A fresh blanket of about four inches of powdery snow covered everything except the steep south facing slopes and the creek itself was totally frozen over.  Although it was cold, we were dressed for it and the going was easy, although little Cole slipped and fell once along the way.

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Andy, Misty and Sunny at the mouth of my new covert, “Of Hearth and Home.”

Scott agreed with me that the cover looked birdy and was surprised that our dogs did not find any birds in the likely places.  We made our way up to the old dam site and kept going up the trail.  Just around the bend, we observed a small old cabin up against the mountain side.  For me, this site was totally unexpected.  Of course, we had to check it out and take some pictures. As a lover of grouse hunting literature, this site kind of reminded me of the old cellar holes, stone fences and apple orchards hunters stumble upon back east.

Brigham and Cole are standing where the old pond used to be. If you look in the background, you can see the rocky spires.

 

Andy, Cole and Gunner near the old Cabin.   

Although the metal roof still held fast, the wood siding had fallen off in one area.  Nevertheless, the inside was still mostly dry and protected from the elements.  The front door was no longer there.  Upon closer inspection, we noticed a stone fireplace inside with a metal stove pipe in the left corner near the door.  The cabin itself was pretty neat, but the hearth brought a new dimension to the rustic structure.  Whoever built this fireplace, took great care to create something that would last.  Whether it was their home or just the place they went to get away, the owner truly loved this place.  Scott and I commented that we could build a fire in this old hearth and still feel totally safe within the structure.

Scott Johnson and Cole and Gunner near the old rock hearth.

We left the place as we found it and continued up the draw.  Only twenty-five yards away, however, we came across a spring that came right out of the mountainside. Where the creek had been totally frozen over down lower, here it was free flowing and green watercress contrasted starkly with the snowy white back ground.  With the discovery of the spring, I realized that the cabin’s location was chosen because of its close proximity to this ever-flowing, pure water.  Soon I put two and two together and realized that the old dam a hundred yards down the valley was not a beaver dam at all, but was the handiwork of the same individual that built this cabin and its quaint hearth.  I wondered if he was a fisherman and if the now-gone pond once held Yellowstone Cutthroat, which are abundant in Trickle Creek downstream.  I wondered if the man ever walked the old trail along the creek with a double gun hoping for a grouse to fly or watched the south facing hillside or the pond with rifle in hand expecting a nice muley buck to come to water. 

Cole sits beside the fresh water spring.

I soon felt a kinship to this person, whoever he was. He must have loved the great outdoors for many of the same reasons that I do today.  Although he probably did not have much by way of material possessions, he had all that he needed.  In fact, to live in such a beautiful place, he must have felt like the richest man alive.  This was his little piece of heaven. As I’ve fished Trickle Creek and hunted my grouse coverts in this general vicinity, I too have felt extremely blessed to have such a place so close to home.

Gunner hunts the snowy cover.

Although we did not see any grouse this December morning, we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.  As we headed back to the car, I commented to Scott, “I think I will name this covert, ‘Of Hearth and Home.’”  I felt like this was the only name that captured all of my sentiments on this place.  I will definitely go back next year to discover more of its closely-held secrets.

Andy and Misty admire the old stone hearth.