Sitting in a bar with my friend on the eve of the bird hunting opener, I casually asked the guy next to us if he was heading out to hunt grouse in the morning. As it turned out, he was an avid hunter, eager to pull out his phone and show off pictures of his family’s hunting trophies. But when I asked him where he was planning to hunt, his tone shifted. With a mischievous grin, he simply said, “everywhere.”
I couldn’t blame him. After all, I wasn’t exactly offering up our hunting plans either. We all like to keep our secret spots out in the wilderness just that—secret. It’s like asking an angler where the crappies are biting. You’ll get an answer, but good luck getting any specifics. (Speaking of which, if anyone knows where the crappies are biting, feel free to share.)
I’m not a fan of getting up early. In fact, when people ask about my weekend plans, I usually say I hope I get to sleep in. But during bird hunting season, it’s a different story. No way am I getting left behind. I can be ready in 15 minutes flat, and on Saturday morning, I was. We headed out into the crisp, almost-fall air, hopeful that we’d find some grouse. The leaves are already starting to turn brilliant bold red, fiery orange, and a mellow yellow. It was hard not to stop and take pictures of the scenery around every corner.
We had been worried about the grouse population. Back in the spring and early summer, we saw and heard them everywhere. Last year’s season was great, and it seemed like this one was shaping up to be just as good.
Then the flood hit, and it felt like the grouse disappeared. We hoped they weren’t harmed or decided to move out after the heavy rain did so much damage to the local landscape.
My friend, who wakes up early for work every day, reassured me that the birds were still out there. She was right, though it took some searching. There were signs everywhere: patches of ground where they’d been pecking and scratching, little trails snaking into the woods, and droppings scattered about.
On the way in, we didn’t spot any. But as we headed back, my eagle-eyed husband stopped short. “Do you see that?” he asked, pointing at something in the middle of the trail. I thought I saw what he was seeing, but I wasn’t sure. I hung back as he crept closer. When he fired, I realized I hadn’t been looking at the same thing at all. But I did see the bird get away!
That was the only grouse we found that day. Tonight, we’ll be having grouse from the freezer, a holdover from last season—hopefully making space for more in the days to come.
Update:
My husband didn’t like how this story ended. When our chores were done, for the most part, we headed out again. This time, the birds weren’t as elusive. Out of a flock of six, one paused while its companions flew off. We took our shot, but my husband’s trigger pull yielded nothing. He reloaded, hoping for better luck, but by then the lucky grouse had already escaped to live another day. We’ll get that one next time.
As we continued down the trail, we wondered if we had missed our only opportunity for the evening. Just as we rounded a bend, I spotted him first. I stopped in my tracks. The grouse was focused on me instead of my husband, who took advantage of the moment to line up a careful shot.
With that, we brought home our first bird of the season. I’m looking forward to getting back out there and tracking down the one that got away!
