En route to our late October South Dakota pheasant hunt, my buddy Dean, his awesome Vizsla Reuben, my GSP wonderdog Bruno, and I stopped to hunt ruffed grouse and woodcock just north of Rapid River in Michigan's Upper Peninsula paradise. We left Traverse City in the morning and just east of town purchased bags of fresh honey crisp apples at a favorite orchard to hand out as gifts to the SD farmers and ranchers who would allow us to hunt rooster pheasants and sharp-tailed grouse on their properties. After crossing the five-mile-long Big Mac Bridge, we drove a short ways westward on US 2 and stopped to purchase and eat four very tasty pasties at a road-side pasty house. My, oh, my, were they good! So good, in fact, we turned my truck around and drove back to purchase four more to eat when we reached our hunting lodge destination in South Dakota.
In early afternoon, we pulled my 4x4 Tacoma truck into the same grouse and woodcock habitat north of Rapid River that my friend Dave from Dallas and I had hunted in late September. As we got out of my truck to run our dogs, we noticed that a light rain had begun to fall as did also the temperature. The morning weather had started out beautifully sunny and warm in Traverse City, but by that time we had arrived in Rapid River, the skies became heavily overcast and a northwesterly breeze brought with it Canadian chill. As I surveyed our surroundings, I was amazed by how many leaves had fallen from the trees since my last visit here. "If the rain remains light, we should have a good hunt," I thought to myself as Dean and I equipped ourselves and our dogs truckside for our hunt.
Almost immediately, not fifty yards from my truck, Reuben flashed fixedly on point. "Steady," I whispered encouragingly to my backing Bruno as Dean and I positioned ourselves around Reuben and a large red pine tree for possible clear shots at whatever gamebird or gamebirds were hiding in the ruff before Reuben. But
before we could get ourselves into position, up from the ground whirled a woodcock perfectly from behind the pine and skeedaddled to safety. We both shot once and missed, scratched our heads in bewilderment at our misses, and decided not to pursue the one that got away. Instead, we proceeded to search for fresh birds.
"Well, the woodcock are finally here!" I announced to Dean and explained to him their scarcity in this same habitat that Dave and I had experienced during our late September hunt. The forest soil and leaf litter had dried remarkably since that time. "Let's find some more!"
The dogs quickly obliged and both simultaneously staunchly set on point just fifty yards down the trail. The set up here was nearly identical to our first encounter, only this time when a woodcock lifted from the forest floor, we both were uncertain whether our shots had hit their mark for the bird's escape route passed deeply into the cedars. We released our dogs to search for a possible downed woodcock. After a fifteen-minute unsuccessful search, we departed from the cedars and moved to the more open cover of the mixed oaks and aspens.
Here the intensity of the falling rain increased significantly, and we knew that we would be thoroughly soaked in no time. So we split up and hurried our paces to cover more ground before returning to my truck. "Boom! Boom!" I heard Dean's shotgun blaze. "Did you get any?" I inquired. "Nope. I missed a grouse," Dean replied.
Soon, I heard Dean fire a single shot. "Missed another grouse," he shouted.
We then reached my truck, quickly dried ourselves, dogs, and equipment, plopped into my truck and quickly turned on the heater and finished drying ourselves and hunting clothes.
"Four birds in 45 minutes--not a bad flush rate," I commented.
"Yes, good hunting but poor shooting," Dean replied. "Let's hope we shoot better in South Dakota."
We then headed west toward our South Dakota pheasant quest.
