Ruffed grouse reign over all sporting birds, not only because they are a challenge to hunt, whether over the point of an English setter or the flush of a springer spaniel, but because, to the appreciative eye, they are artwork in motion, a palette of colors come to life, with wings.
"Ol' Ruff" is also a mysterious bird, and one whose future abundance in Minnesota isn't guaranteed, a reminder of which surfaced last week with the disappointing results from the Ruffed Grouse Society's annual National Grouse and Woodcock Hunt, headquartered in Grand Rapids.
While scattering into the woods of Itasca and neighboring counties, the hunt's 108 wing shooters were upbeat. With good reason: Minnesota has become the holy grail for ruffed grouse hunters, nationwide.
Buoying expectations among uplanders this fall, the state's Department of Natural Resources reported that ruffed grouse drumming counts last spring were an unprecedented 57 percent higher than a year ago.
Word of the uptick spread far, wide and quickly among grouse cognoscenti, evidenced by the pickups and SUVs bearing license plates from Pennsylvania, New York, Ohio, Tennessee and other states that have visited northern Minnesota this fall.
Loaded with dogs, double guns and maps, and piloted by blaze-orange-clad woods hunters, these vehicles manifest not only Minnesota's superiority as a grouse hunting destination, but — importantly for contextual reasons — the surrender of other states' forests as fertile grouse incubators.
What's more, and importantly, Minnesota is not immune to the types of timber-industry, demographic and sociological pressures that have contributed to forest-wildlife declines elsewhere, especially in light of the generalized absence of wildfires in ruffed grouse country, and the absence also of the early successional timber growth those fires promote.
A digression: