“I have hunted grouse in all sorts of place and under all sorts of conditions, and I boldly assert that the greatest handicap a grouse hunter is ever called upon to face is a mental one.”

Burton Spiller-“Red-Letter Day”

For me, shooting is such a hit and miss proposition–no pun intended.  I’ve written about days when you suddenly receive that “perfect feeling” and it seems you can’t miss.  And then there are days when you struggle, but pull it out at the last moment, a little redemption, if you will.  And then there are days when you can’t shoot your way out of crap-filled paper bag.  Yesterday, I had one of those days.  

I left work early on Friday to go grouse hunting with Rainey, my friend John, and his GSP Una.  We decided to hunt the creeks, which I dubbed “Easy Pickin’s’” and Butt Kickin’s.”  For this hunt, I usually do a loop by starting up the creek bottom that is Butt Kickin’s and then cut east across the mountain side into the creek bottom that is Easy Pickins and hunt down to where that creek enters into the larger creek below.  There, at the fence where the private property begins, I head west across the hillside along a two track back to the bottom of Butt Kickin’s. From there, I hike back up to the truck.  On good years, there can be grouse anywhere along the circuitous route.   

About a quarter mile from the truck in Butt Kickin’s, Rainey started tracking scent and she worked the bird for about fifty yards and then she finally pointed at the beginning of a couple-of-acre quakie thicket.  Una came in from the right and pointed right next to Rainey.  What a picture-perfect view!  When the bird flushed, I thought I was ready, but it juked when I least expected it and I shot behind it twice. I did not feel bad about that miss even a little because the bird burned me fair and square. 

About seventy five yards up the valley, there is an area where bottom narrows between two hills which is choked with quakies and chest high berry brushes that just screams of grouse.  The way it is tucked in between the hills makes me think of a subway station because of the plethora of grouse we usually find there.  So, I call it the “Subway.”   GSP Una circled a service berry bush in the Subway and a grouse cut right in front of me, presenting an easy shot which I missed twice because I did not get my cheek down on the gun.  To pour salt into the wound, the bird lit in a tall Douglas Fir right beside me.  Ugghhh!!! I groaned realizing I just missed an easy opportunity.  Amateur Hour!

With the bird sitting on a limb, I picked up a tree limb and tossed it up there to make the bird flush for another shot.  Upon the first throw, the bird simply flew to a higher branch in the same Douglas Fir.  I searched for another limb and pitched that one with a vengeance.  Instead of flying away from me, the bird then roared over my head at Mach 1.  I spun around while raising the RRL 28, squeezed the trigger, missed the fleeting grouse on the first shot, and then dialed in and dropped the grouse on the second.  It took us a long time to locate the downed grouse.  I’d rather shoot a grouse that flushed from the ground over a tree flushed bird any day.  But I pocketed this bird as a consolation prize.  We found no more birds in the Creeks and John had to leave early for Una’s training session with a professional trainer. 

So, I drove over to the hill into another creek bottom with numerous familiar coverts along smaller tributaries of the main creek, which include the Quick Draw, Thunder Dome, and Sweet Redemption.  I started with the Quick Draw, a narrow side draw off the creek line with berry bushes and quakies that has numerous springs in the tight bottom  At times, this little draw can can be loaded with grouse.  Rainey and I hiked all the way to the top and moved no grouse. Finally, as we made our way back down to the truck, Rainey struck a nice point on the sidehill in some dark timber.  I circled around her and saw a nice, mature gray-phased grouse that was now pinched between us facing Rainey.  I stepped forward, but Rainey also advanced.  The grouse felt the squeeze and instead of flushing away from me as I expected, it blasted right past me.  I promptly missed that bird twice. I honestly had to tip my hat to the wily bird as it truly burned my biscuits.  There’s no shame on a miss like that.  

Once in the truck, we headed back up the road from whence we came and stopped at the Thunder Dome, which is a covert aligned by a small stream with beaver ponds strung along its length like pearls on a necklace.  Because of the beaver activity, and the resulting habitat they create, this covert can also be loaded with grouse at times, but not on this day.  Rather, we were chased off by a big black thunderhead that grumbled repeatedly at our presence.  The covert was definitely living up to its name.  

When we made it back to the truck, I checked the time as I needed to be home around 5:30 to get ready for a friend’s wedding.  It was 4:00 p.m. and I decided I had just enough time to try one last covert, one I call “Sweet Redemption” because that is where you go when you need to redeem yourself from shooting slumps.  

As we worked up the creek bottom, Rainey came into this chokecherry thicket and froze.  With the low-lying branches, I could not maneuver directly to her, so I swung around hoping to pin the bird between us.  As I moved in, however, Rainey moved off point.  Multiple times, she cat-crawled to another point and I tried the same maneuver, but we could not get the moving bird to sit still.  Rainey crept up to the last Cedar cluster in the bottom before the little valley opened into a sage flat.  I kid you not when I say this, but this was some of the best bird work I have ever seen Rainey do in all of her 8 years.  She tracked this bird about a hundred yards through thick cover.  Oh, how I wanted to reward her for it!  The elusive grouse realized the jig was up and as I swung around, to cut off its retreat, it flushed right toward the cedar thicket.  I raised the gun, slid off the safety, sighted the bird, and tugged the trigger. 

Click!  What the . . . ?

I opened the gun and realized I had forgot to reload.  D’OAH!!!  I groaned at the perfect lost opportunity due to my own stupidity.  I quickly reloaded as Rainey ran into the same cedar grove.  Not surprisingly, the grouse blasted out of the cedars towards the thick quakies to my left and I snapped off both barrels to no effect.  Obviously, there would be no sweet redemption for me in this cover this day.  I looked at my watch and it now read 4:24 p.m.  I should have been leaving for home before then.  But, oh how the failures of the afternoon still stung!

Instead of taking my lumps and calling it good, I walked right past the truck and crossed the dirt road to the creek bottom below.  With Rainey’s excellent dog work all day, I just had to try for one last shot of redemption.  I had hunted this area before and found a few grouse.  With the thick willow-lined creek and the surrounding quakies, it just screamed of grouse. As if on cue, Rainey started getting birdy near the biggest willow cluster straddling the creek. Instead of going into the willows, however, she veered into the more open quakies to the left.  I could not ask for a better set up.  Again, she did the cat-like crawl to try to pin down the bird.  Again, I swung around to get into position for the shot.  As I did, I saw the bird on the ground for a split second and then it flushed hard through the timber.  I raised the gun to my cheek, found the proper sight picture, and–feeling that I was dialed in–tugged the trigger.  But I did not see the bird go down.  Rainey pursued and we both combed through the woods, but did not find any downed bird.  

“I can’t believe that I missed that grouse!” I complained, “I know I was on it. This is just not my day!”

The storm cloud from earlier finally caught up to us as we walked back to the truck.  I realized that–due to Rainey’s stellar work and the extreme challenge the grouse presented– this was one of the funnest days of grouse hunting that I’ve had in a long time, despite my ineptitude with the shotgun.  I thought about the name of the covert across the road–“Sweet Redemption”–and chuckled because I found none today.  Given that fact, I decided that this last covert needed its own name, but what to call it?  Based upon the persistence of a shooting slump and the perfect missed opportunity, I decided to name the bottom: “I’ll Be Damned!”  I laughed out loud as I realized this is the perfect name for the experience. I made it back to the truck at 4:45 pm as the rain started to pour down and I knew I would be late getting home and to the wedding reception. 

Sometimes the days where we miss because of the craftiness of the grouse and because of our own follies are the ones that we remember most.  While they sting at the time, they can bring smiles to your face for years to come. I can’t wait to go back and try again.