Afield: Only a hunter can love the cold November woods

BRAINERD — Last week, on a dreary and cold day, dog and man went afield after a nine-day reprieve. The 2008 firearms deer season had ended, and my plan was to reacquaint myself and my dog Axel, an 8-year-old Deutsch Drahthaar, with the grouse woods, and hopefully to secure a bird or two for supper.

As Axel and I entered the woods, a brisk wind howled. Leaves, dry and crispy, sought harbor from the gale and the limbs of bare aspens were waving farewell to another fall. But there is no arresting the November wind. I figured only a hunter could appreciate the starkness.

Just minutes into the hunt, I happened upon the remains of a deer. It was a buck with spiked antlers, and after a brief examination, I figured the animal had been dead for about a week. Not an ounce of meat remained on the carcass.

How the buck had died I could not determine, but canines -- wolves, coyotes or foxes, or all three --had been in on the feast, if not on the kill. That I knew because Axel lifted his leg on each nearby clump of grass, thus assuring his presence in a canine olfactory world we humans cannot fathom.

I'm easily distracted in the November woods. As I dodged between trunks of aspen and alder, I searched for clues left by various critters, deer in particular. I noted a buck scrape here, a rub there, and the occasional pile of frozen droppings under mast-bearing oaks. When I was in school, history was not my favorite subject, but scouting for clues left by whitetail bucks was not on the curriculum.

Axel and I had hunted grouse in this woods many times, and the dog knew where to search. It wasn't long and his beeper collar signaled he was pointing. Axel had made a wide sweep ahead and then had worked his way to the downwind side of a patch of hazel brush, and was now standing rock-solid with head held high, eyes intent like only a dog on point can possess.

November grouse are usually skittish, so I was surprised no bird had taken flight when I was within 5 yards of Axel. Then, with a whir of wings muffled by the gusty wind, a grouse flushed from beneath a deadfall. Rarely do ruffs provide a hunter an easy shot, but this bird flew low and straight. There would be grouse for supper. Axel ran to the downed bird, picked it up and brought it to my outstretched hand.

A few minutes later, a grouse flushed wild 25 yards ahead of me. I had time for one hasty shot, but my load of 7 1/2 shot and the fleeing bird failed to intersect.

Next we worked a particularly attractive bit of grouse cover. The area held late-fall grouse fair -- hazel catkins, ironwood buds, even a few dried berries remained on the red stems of gray dogwood. Axel messed up on one grouse, and I saw the bird sail away high among the upper branches of the oaks and aspens. The dog barked as he usually does when a grouse flushes without him first pointing the bird. I find that habit interesting. Is he apologizing for his error, or does he bark out of frustration? I think the latter.

Shortly, Axel pointed again, this time near a downed oak that I knew was a stage for a drumming male grouse. Axel was more careful with this bird. The cautious dog pointed, then crept ahead, navigating carefully, stepping as if walking on thin ice. I circled wide to the right and ahead of the dog.

Now Axel was staunch. Only 30 yards separated us and he was pointing into the wind, directly at me, his attention riveted on a pile of tree limbs left by a logger. I moved ahead and the grouse flushed nearly at my feet. This time I connected and the grouse tumbled to the forest floor.

Before my hunt ended, I had fired four more times at grouse, but none of the birds ended up in my game bag.

The Minnesota ruffed grouse hunting season continues through Jan. 4, 2009. The daily limit is five birds with 10 in possession.