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I feel sorry for a grouse if the dogs find one, the triple threat of springers do not seem to want to leave a bush unsniffed. I do better with one dog, I seem to track the hunt with my two eyes, one pooch, but out front it’s pure puppy here, there, everywhere.
My hunting companion, quite familiar with it all, leads me from a parallel course. I have but to hike the old logging road, he’s busting brush just like his dogs. I cannot see him at all.
He calls out, Rids on point, Rids, easy Rids, the point is invisible to me, I hear the flush, foliage far too thick for me to fire, and nothing from him either, grouse one, three dogs and two double barreled lads, zero.
He pops out on the ancient path, didn’t see it, I said I heard it, that was it, I point to where the sound faded, he says you wanna go after it, I said my legs will wait here, you and the trip’s give it go.
The understory even though he’s wearing a bright blaze orange vest, swallows him in a very few steps. I spied a log, shade dappled, oh this is too easy, I take a perch. Halfway through a hand apple, one single shot.
He’s back, removes the grouse from his game vest, it’s a very mature red phase. I congratulate him with a handshake, the three dogs are bouncing around ready to go as he says, that’s a nice-looking log, he rapidly joins me.
- The Trout Whisperer
