Afield: Gone grousing

NISSWA, MINN. — If you mourn the felling of an aspen forest then you are not a ruffed grouse or woodcock hunter.

I'll admit a freshly clear-cut forest is unsightly, at least to us humans. But to a grouse or woodcock, or a deer, or for that matter any number of wildlife species, a logged-off aspen woods signifies to them a future -- a health care plan if you will -- far more secure and promising than ours.

This entered my mind Saturday morning as I hiked across a clear-cut, shotgun in hand, my anxious dog Axel bounding unseen ahead of me, in a mishmash of dank green vegetation. It was opening day of the ruffed grouse and woodcock season, and Axel and I were where we wanted to be.

It was only an hour or two after sunrise, but already it was warm and humid. The sky was clear but hazy, July-like, and I knew there was tough hunting ahead for man and dog. To that end I carried in my hunting vest two wineskins full of water, one for me and one for Axel. I also planned to hunt near a tiny creek meandering through the area so Axel could get some well-deserved relief from the unseasonable heat.

Forty-five minutes into the hunt I had yet to flush a grouse or a woodcock. Grouse drumming counts were up 43 percent from last year, yet the same walk a year ago produced a five-bird limit of grouse and at least 10 flushes.

It's possible, I thought, that poor reproduction occurred, maybe because of the cool summer. Ruffed grouse populations are assessed by counting drumming males during spring, and those counts don't factor in such occurrences are poor summer brood recruitment. Or maybe Axel and I were zigging when we should have been zagging.

Axel doesn't know about drumming counts. He just wants to hunt. The dog was busy covering real estate, visible only occasionally because of the thick foliage, but always within earshot. Around his neck hung a beeper collar, a nifty device that emits a certain tone as he travels, but when he's pointing a bird the signal changes pitch.

That's just what I heard a minute or two later -- the point signal.

I advanced through the thick foliage, gun ready. Before I could even see Axel a grouse flushed. The bird tried to escape by flying low and straight away, but it fell when I shot. Then more thundering wings. Two or three more grouse flushed unseen. Then another bird was in the air, arching to my right above the head-high ground cover but below the upper tree branches. It was a rare easy shot. Axel made the retrieve. Moments later he brought me the first grouse. Both birds were adults.

With renewed vigor we continued to hunt. Shortly we jumped a whitetail doe, and she bounded across a tiny woodland meadow, tail waving. Then Axel bumped a grouse from nearly where the deer had appeared. The retreating bird stayed low and did not offer me a shot.

By now I was hot and sweaty and Axel's tongue was dragging. We had moved away from the creek so, while we took a short break, I squirted a bit of water into Axel's mouth.

Axel is nine years old, past his prime as a hunting dog. He still hunts with much enthusiasm, but because of the heat, he suddenly seemed old to me. After a minute or two, though, he jumped to his feet and was once again ready to go.

Further ahead Axel froze into a point along a forest edge. I moved ahead, ready. Two grouse flushed from a nasty tangle of hazel brush, and I couldn't get a shot at either of them.

As the morning wore on, Axel needed water and rest more frequently. By 11 a.m. we had turned and were angling back toward the truck but, more important, toward the creek where Axel could thoroughly cool off. Along the way he pointed again. This time I circled ahead of the dog and then turned back toward him, hoping to sandwich the grouse between us. The ploy worked, and Axel retrieved the third grouse of our hunt.

The creek wasn't far away and Axel quickly found it, much to his delight. After a cool dip, he was abruptly young again. But his master was soaked in sweat so we headed for the truck.

It was 82 degrees when we arrived, hotter than that I had thought. In roughly three hours we had flushed 11 grouse, and three of those birds were secure in my game bag.

Whether or not the results of my hunt on the unseasonably warm grouse opener foretells happy hunters and tasty grouse dinners this hunting season has yet to be determined.

Bill Marchel, an outdoors photographer and columnist, lives near Brainerd.