WE ONLY GET SO MANY OCTOBER DAYS

“I never lost a moment’s time in hunting: . . . I counted only that time lost which I spent working.”

-Burton Spiller

It’s Friday morning and I am tired or working. Any week in the practice of law always carries with it the attendant negativity and stress. So when noontime rolls around, I call it good and sneak away for the rest of the day. After a Mexican feast with an old friend, I run home to change into my hunting clothes and pick up my dogs, Sunny and Misty.

We head east toward our grouse coverts listening to good tunes and enjoying the grandeur of Fall’s beauty. With the warm sun shining, it truly feels like a day in late September rather than mid-October. To be sitting in an office on this glorious afternoon would be a crying shame.

October is the height of creation.

The dogs and I first head to a covert we have not yet tried this season. I hope to find a ruffed grouse or two along the old logging road. We soon find where a ruffie had recently been ambushed by a predator, but find no living grouse. No problem, we still have plenty of daylight.

Our next stop is Grouseketeer Ridge. I do not expect to see any blue grouse, but hope to find the ruffies that led me into the Hornet’s Den back in September. As we approach the area where we found the ruffs in early September, a grouse flushes and lands in a tree. Surprisingly, it is a blue grouse. I have never seen blues on this ridge in Octobers past. I walk briskly toward this wary grouse and it flushes straightaway giving me an easy shot, which I make on the second try. As the dogs retrieve the downed grouse, another one flushes unexpectedly. I think to myself: What are blues doing on this ridge in October?

As we walk up the logging road about 25 yards, Misty points on the edge and another blue grouse rises straight up and I shoot under it both times cursing myself for missing an easy shot over a nice point. At this point I realize that something special is happening on Grouseketeer Ridge. I leave this blue sitting in the tree for seed, believing that we will get some sportier opportunities.

Ahead of us on the trail, I see two more blues on the edge of the logging road. I command Misty to heel and we walk quickly toward them, but they flush before we can get into shooting range. Man, there is a pile of birds on Grouseketeer Ridge, even more than on the day it earned this name!

As we walk up the steep incline to where the logging road forks, we take the left fork up to Rock Heaven. Somehow, I just know we will see birds up by the Mountain Ash thickets. Sure enough, I spy one grouse standing on the road’s edge right above the Mountain Ash. I command Misty to heel and we walk towards the big grouse. It flushes hard downhill and I swing hard and catch the bird before it makes it behind a tree. To my surprise, another grouse flushes only nanoseconds after the first and I swing on it too, but miss the chance for a double. We struggle through the thicket to locate the first downed grouse, which is only winged. Misty makes a nice retrieve, but will not bring the bird to hand. When she drops it, Sunny Girl swoops in and finishes the job. With two grouse in the bag, the day is already a stellar success. We follow the road through Rock Heaven up to the overlook and the view is stunning as always, but we find no more grouse.

A fine braces of blues from Grouseketeer Ridge.

So we head back down to the Fork and along the rest of Grouseketeer Ridge. As we walk, two more blues flush wild offering no shots. I again leave birds sitting in trees hoping for better opportunities. Fifty more yards up the road, Misty flushes a few more blues out of range. At the big switchback leading up to the Gap, patient Sunny Girl finds and points a grouse.  I am pleased as a peach and walk toward her.  However the grouse flushes behind her and I miss behind it with both barrels. I tug the trigger a third time to no avail thinking: Darn it! Now I’ve missed two birds over points! We find no more birds on Grouseketeer Ridge, Dusty’s Nub or the Steps, but I can honestly say I’ve never seen more birds on this mountain, even in September when it really shines.

For our last hunt, we drive down the road to the Outhouse Covert, which has been one of my most productive coverts for the past two seasons. The entrance to this special covert is decked out in a blaze of fall colors which would put a smile on any grouse hunter’s face. The dogs love it too. With two blues already in my bag, my goal is to find a ruffed grouse.

At age 12, Sunny Girl has not lost her passion for the hunt.

About a hundred yards up the road, Misty flushes a few blue grouse out of range. I take a poke at one, but miss. We reach an area where a downed tree blocks the road, and a grouse flushes hard straightaway from under the downed tree and I miss it twice as it disappears up the road. I am certain that we can find this grouse again. Another seventy-five yards up the road, Misty gets birdy and then follows scent into the thick chokecherry thicket on the hillside above the road. I know she is on a bird and when it finally flushes in the thicket, I shoot at the blur passing through the timber feeling like I am behind when I pull the trigger.  To my surprise, the grouse drops and then rolls head over heels down to the roadway I am standing on. Sunny retrieves it, and I notice it is a beautiful, mature, gray-phased ruffed grouse cock. I am so stoked by the dog work, my lucky shooting, and my good fortune.

Sweet success.

Even though I do not yet have my limit of four birds, I decide that three is plenty. I turn back down the road and head for the car with a smile on my face. The only thing that would make this day any better is to catch a cutthroat out of Trickle Creek and that is exactly what I plan to do with my new Badger Tenkara Rod. Once back to the car, I load up the dogs and drive up the road to fish a favorite stretch of the creek.

Misty hunts along the roadway in the Outhouse.

After stringing up the rod, I tie on one of Shawn’s Chubby Mormon Girls and start fishing the familiar water. In a deep hole, I have a large fish rise and I miss it. I cast the fly into the hole again and the same yellow cutty rises again. I stick him, but he is off in a flash. This has to be the biggest fish I have ever seen on Trickle Creek.

Yellowstone Cutthroat and my Badger Tenkara Rod.

In the skinny water, the fish are skittish, but I manage to catch four or five beautiful Yellowstone Cutthroats, none the likes of the one that got away, but special nonetheless. My love for this special canyon, its birds, its little creek, and trout abounds.

As I drive home, the song “Little Wonders” by Rob Thomas comes on the radio. I’ve always loved the song, but at this moment, the lyrics seem to capture my sentiments exactly:

Our lives are made in these small hours

These little wonders, these twists and turns of fate

Time falls away but these small hours

These small hours still remain

I think to myself: If I would have stayed at work today, I would have missed all of this beauty and excitement. I truly feel grateful that I did not. After all, we only get so many October days.

We only get so many October days.