EYE OPENER IN THE BEAVER MEADOWS

“The question is not what you look at, but what you see.”

–Henry David Thoreau

I have been hunting a covert I named “Grouse Springs” for over ten years now. I usually visit once or twice a season and it has almost always been productive.   Grouse Springs consists of sage and buck brush covered foot hills leading up to a pine-crested ridge. The face of the mountain is interspersed with shallow quakie-filled draws that usually hold ruffed grouse and sometimes a blue grouse or two. There was a time when I preferred to hunt the blues, but not anymore. Over the years, Ol’ Ruff has given me plenty of good sport.

Last Friday afternoon, I went to hunt this beloved covert for the first time this year. Its quakies had recently dropped all of their leaves, which makes for better shooting opportunities at fast-fleeing ruffs. However, I did not find any birds in Grouse Springs. I was also surprised when the dogs and I came up with a goose egg in the next draw over, “Grouse Alley,” which has also been consistent over the years. Due to the lack of birds, the dogs and I pushed through other little patches of quakies that we would usually overlook with nothing to show for our efforts.   I thought to myself: Hmm. . . where are the birds?

Misty and Sunny Girl drop into Grouse Alley.

When I made it back to the car, I glanced across the road at the old, battered beaver ponds, which have been pounded into the ground by the numerous cattle that graze the area. Despite the poor shape of the cover, I noticed that the willows along the mostly dry creek were tall and healthy. Out west, ruffed grouse are sometimes called “willow grouse” because of their affinity for eating the buds. I had never even thought about hunting the willows across the road from Grouse Springs because of the usual sad shape of the cover.

On a whim, I cast the dogs toward the creek and the beaver ponds. The dogs and I first pushed downstream along the edge of the quakies on the other side of the ponds. The cover was marginal at best because of the extensive grazing in the area. Not finding any birds there, I decided to hunt my way back to the car right along the tall willows growing from the dry creek bed near the road. My hunter’s sixth sense kicked in and I felt I was about to find a ruffie, despite the fact that the willows are about thirty yards from the thicker quakies.

Within five minutes, I heard a grouse flush and I waited for it to make for the trees before shooting. Of course, I missed. The dogs and I followed the grouse, which soon flushed up into a tree. When I shook the tree to make it fly, the bird bolted and I missed miserably. Despite my poor shooting, I was pleased that I had guessed right about a grouse being in the willows. To paraphrase Paul Maclean from A River Runs Through It, I almost felt to say: “All I need is three more years till I can think like a grouse.”   Admittedly, I will probably need an eternity before I can shoot ruffies consistently.

Having found a grouse, I just had to follow the beaver ponds upstream to satisfy my curiosity. The dogs and I worked our way up and found a series of mostly dry beaver ponds, which had been obliterated by cattle. As we pushed upstream, my Brittany, Misty, slammed on point on the edge of the quakies. As I walked toward her, a ruffed grouse flushed hard in the blinding sunlight. At the sound, I rushed my first shot and then flat out missed the second straightaway shot. I call such poor shots and missed opportunities “groaners,” for obvious reasons. As I tried to reload my gun, another grouse flushed close by presenting what would have been another easy shot. I followed the second bird, shook the tree it had landed in, and it blazed out of the cover so fast I could not even get off a shot.

Ruff in a tree just before the shaking.

The dogs and I walked another twenty feet up the creek bottom and another grouse flushed right beside me without presenting any shot, but landed in a nearby tree at about eyelevel. Misty ran to the tree, barked excitedly, and the grouse flew up to a higher branch in the thick quakie patch. I will not shoot a sitting grouse, but I have no problem with trying to make them flush for a shot. My attempts at shaking a tree and getting off a shot, however, had not panned out so far that day. So I told Misty to shake the tree. She jumped up, but could not quite reach the right tree due to the thickness of the broomstick grove. Without another solution, I grabbed the tree, shook it and the bird flushed.  I quickly raised my gun and dropped it. Though I was pleased, I would have much rather taken the earlier bird over Misty’s point. Oh well, beggars can’t be choosers!

The dogs and I did not find any other birds in this area. By the time I made it back to the car, it was 4:00 p.m. so I really did not have enough time to drive far to get in another hunt. As I drove out to the main dirt road, I decided to continue to hunt this same creek, but higher up the drainage. I drove as far as the creek paralleled the road. When the creek veered away from the road, I decided this was a good a place as any and parked the car.

The Beaver Meadows is a succession of beaver ponds.

The dogs and I headed up the left-hand side of the creek as the sun began its descent in earnest. Within two minutes, Misty flushed a grouse at a spot where the quakies almost reached the willow-lined creek. This bird flew harder, higher and farther than any ruffed grouse I had ever seen. I then walked quickly toward the birdy area and watched another beautiful, red-phased grouse flush quietly across the creek to get away from us.   Smelling the bird, Misty ran around excitedly, but could not pinpoint its source.

I briskly walked upstream hoping to get across the creek for a chance at this grouse.   About fifteen yards upstream, I came to an old beaver dam and easily made it across. The dogs quickly followed me. When I reached the right area, Misty circled around and went to work. One grouse got up and flew back across the creek and I made a quick shot on that one. As I shot, another grouse flushed unexpectedly up into a nearby tree. Misty made a nice retrieve of the first grouse.

After bringing the first bird to hand, I picked up a stick and threw it at the grouse sitting atop the willows. The stick hit the branch upon which the grouse sat and it flushed hard back over the creek. I raised the gun and connected on probably the toughest shot of the day. Misty again made a nice retrieve, but instead of bringing the bird to me, she took it to elderly Sunny Girl, who then brought the bird to me. I’m not sure why Misty did that, but I thought it was interesting behavior. It was the mature, red-phased grouse I had seen.

The red-phased ruff is one of God’s most beautiful creations.

With the sun setting, I followed the chain of beaver ponds up another hundred yards and looked for a good place to cross over and hunt the other side down. Once across, the cover on this side was even better. As I walked, another grouse unexpectedly got up at my feet and flew straightaway. I promptly blew two holes in the sky: Another groaner, for sure, but a perfect way to keep this grouse hunter humble and to end the hunt.

The view from the Beave Meadows.

As I drove home, I was struck by how many times I have driven past this battered creek and its chain of beaver ponds over the years, never once considering it as prime grouse habitat or taking the time to explore. However, on this day, I looked a little deeper and followed a hunch and it paid off. The great French novelist, Marcel Proust wrote something that captures the essence of this hunt: “The real voyage of discovery consists of not seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.” My eyes were definitely opened this day. While my shooting left much to be desired, this was the best day of ruffed grouse hunting I have ever experienced. I can’t wait to go back to the Beaver Meadows to learn what other secrets it hides.