Greetings from Rapid River, the Land of Hiawatha, on the north shores of Little Bay de Noc, in Michigan's magnificently beautiful Upper Peninsula! My friend Dave from Dallas (pictured here holding ruffed grouse in these photos), my German Shorthaired Pointer Bruno--the Wonderdog, and I were here to enjoy a combination five-day bear and upland game bird hunt. This blog entry reports only our bird-hunting adventures with my GSP woodcock-banding partner Bruno in the state and national forests north of spectacularly scenic Little Bay de Noc, northeast of Escanaba.
Dave, a former USMC officer and helicopter pilot, is an avid and highly-skilled archer and waterfowl hunter, but he had never hunted bear or upland game birds. While preparing for our trip, I convinced Dave to bring his shotgun so that we could enjoy bird hunting with Bruno for an hour or two each day before going to our tree stands in the mid-afternoons to hunt black bear until darkness arrived in the nearby thick cedar swamps.
For at least a week before our arrival, Rapid River's weather had been violently rainy. The currents in all the local rivers were near spring melt-off intensity, and their water levels were wickedly near flood stage. It was little wonder to us why the place was named "Rapid River". The cedar and alder swamps that lined the local rivers' banks were frequently too flooded to access let alone to hunt in, but weather and wetness be damned, we were here to hunt grouse and woodcock, so we chose to hunt in similar habitats farther away from the rivers that were in higher grounds and fortunately not as wet.
Late Sunday morning, September 26, we did a quick drive along the forest trails north of Rapid River to scout these accessible, not-as-wet-yet-promising-looking grouse and woodcock habitats. Not 15 minutes into our drive, we spotted four ruffed grouse as they flew across the forest trail before us. Bruno, as always, was seated on the back seat of my four-door Tacoma 4x4 TRD, Off-Road pickup truck, and his excited reaction informed us that he, too, had spotted them (naturally, he's a bird dog, what else would you expect?). So I slowly drove fifty yards past their entry point into the cedar swamp into which they had newly flown and parked the truck on the south side of the trail. There we rapidly rigged up and walked back to their swamp entry area. Not twenty-five steps into the thick swamp, Bruno froze rigidly on point. Using hand signals, I silently directed Dave to position himself into the only thin shooting lane available on his side. I then walked slowly around and ahead seven yards of my still staunchly-pointing Bruno. As I carefully placed my last boot step on the mossy, wintergreen-covered cedar swamp floor in my attempt to secure a winning-shot opportunity on these grouse, a thunderous explosion of grouse wings erupted! Dave and I stood shotlessly, stupidly silent, while Bruno remained smartly still, as three grouse launched from different ground loci before us. As so often times the case is while upland bird hunting, the cover in the cedar swamp was too thick to clearly see and cleanly shoot at the escaping grouse.
"Whew-wee (that's Texan for "WOW!" y'all)--they're fast! Like lightning!" whistled Dave. "There's one more somewhere close by," I whispered to Dave as I hand-signaled to Dave and Bruno to proceed slowly ahead. After creeping softly ahead another 15 yards, Bruno pointed again, only this time less solidly while searchingly and inquiringly looking upward into the cedars before us. I hand-motioned to Dave to look for grouse in the cedars just ahead, and just as I finished signaling that message, the fourth grouse catapulted from ten-feet up in the cedar branches 10-15 yards before us and escaped towards a two-track trail we had walked past when we first pursued the grouse into this swamp. No chance getting a clear shot at that rocket.
So we returned to the main trail on which I had parked my truck, quietly searched for birds on the side of the trail from whence these grouse had originated, and after finding none, proceeded to walk down the two-track trail toward which the last grouse had flown. Swiftly, within fifty yards, Bruno became birdy, then froze on point along the right edge of the two-track. I silently positioned Dave into a clear shooting lane. I then quickly and quietly moved ahead on the two-track towards Bruno, and as I approached him, a single grouse launched straight-away down the right edge of the two-track. Being a Northern Michigan good sport and host, I let my guest Dave fire first. Dave missed! A surprisingly unexpected event for Dave is a very good shot. Not wanting to let this excellent shooting opportunity be wasted, I took a single shot, which sent grouse feathers flying and dropped the grouse thirty yards away just inside the swamp's edge.
"Nice shot! Dave cried.
"Thanks, but from my perspective, it was a gimme," I replied. "Fetch!" I commanded the still statuesque Bruno. Both Dave and I saw where the grouse had fallen but were surprised when we discovered that the bird hadn't dropped dead as it appeared it had to us. Instead, the hearty bird had enough life energy to scramble unseen another 15 yards to hide under the thick bottom branches of a white spruce. Didn't matter, though; my Bruno, who's a retrieving machine, quickly found and retrieved the grouse back to me and placed it gently, still alive, in my hand.
"Awesome!" Dave said after he watched Bruno complete his bird-dog magic. "I want one of his pups!"
"Sure, Dave, but really, this is no big deal for a well-trained bird dog. It is, however, a big deal for us bird hunters. We wouldn't have recovered this downed bird ourselves or have likely found these birds in the first place had we not had my buddy Bruno here to work his wonders for us."
Five ruffed grouse flushes and one bird in the bag in our first hour of bird hunting (no double counting of birds in this tally)--not a bad start to our upland bird hunting adventures in the Great Lake state's Upper Peninsula! Great Lakes, Great Hunts! (Great fishing, too.)
So here you have it--another example for why I think my buddy Bruno is a bird-hunting Wonderdog! Thanks, pal.
Monday morning, September 27, Dave, Bruno, and I spent the morning mostly scouting for more good grouse and woodcock habitats along the state and national forest trails north of Rapid River. We did, however, decide to give one particularly promising-looking place a quick try, which our bear guide recommended (he also guides grouse and woodcock hunters after the bear season ends in late September and more leaves have fallen from the trees in October). So, upon arrival to the place, we equipped ourselves with our shotguns, vests, and shells and Bruno with his Dogtra 2500 T&B e-collar. I'm a certified Michigan woodcock bander (one of roughly 75 in the state) and a Michigan DNRE ruffed grouse and woodcock cooperator (one of approximately 185-190 in the state), so I spend 100+ hours/season in the fields and forests with my GSPs banding woodcock, field training, and hunting upland birds; the Dogtra 2500 T&B e-collar is a great e-collar--I've never had one fail me at any time, and I highly recommend them!
Dave and I decided that we would hunt together but on opposite sides of the trail on which we drove in. Within five minutes, Bruno snapped firmly on point in a small aspen and pine stand on Dave's side of the trail. I instructed Dave to position himself slightly to the side and behind Bruno in a clear shooting lane, while I approached from the opposite side of the trail and from a direction opposite that Bruno was facing still firmly on point. As I entered the aspen stand 20 yards in front of Bruno, a single grouse apparently got nervous that Bruno the Beast was starring it down and flew at head level through the leafed aspen branches directly at my head. It obviously hadn't see me. Instinctively, I ducked. If I hadn't, the grouse would have certainly smacked me in my face. Fortunately, Dave refrained from shooting; through the aspen foliage he had seen my hunter-orange hat and shooting vest that I was wearing. I laughed at our missed opportunity at that fine grouse and told Dave that I should have raised my shotgun stock's butt six inches above my head and clobbered the fleeing grouse as he cruised directly overhead. The grouse had flown so close he actually winged my cap with his wing tips! In all my forty years of bird hunting, I've winged many grouse, but never before has a grouse winged me.
Tuesday and Wednesday mornings, September 28-29, we were determined to find some woodcock. Dave has never seen or hunted woodcock, and we surprisingly hadn't encountered one yet on this bird hunt, despite the several awesome-looking habitats we discovered and hunted. So, on Tuesday morning, we went bird hunting for 1.5 hours, during which Dave made a very fine shot to kill his first ruffed grouse ever. Dave's a fast learner, and he was getting this grouse hunting down fast. He was on the score board now, and his confidence was building.
Bruno pointed six grouse this morning, and Dave scored on one of them. I concentrated on getting Dave as many good shots as possible and finding some woodcock these last two days of his first hunting trip to the U.P.'s Big Woods.
On Wednesday morning we awoke at 6 a.m. Sunrise promised that it would be a brilliantly bright, blue-skied autumnal day. During breakfast in our rented cabin, I asked Dave whether he wanted to pursue more bird hunting or concentrate on getting a bear. During the first four days we had spent nearly twenty-five hours on stand, but we hadn't seen a single bear at our baited tree stand sites. Not surprisingly, Dave said that he really enjoyed bird hunting with Bruno and would prefer going bird hunting rather than bear hunting today, the last day of our hunting trip.
"Let's go!" I agreed. I like bear hunting because black bear meat is really delicious to eat when it's properly dressed, butchered, and cooked, but bird hunting is infinitely more fun, especially with a well-trained dog like Bruno and good friends like Dave. Whereas bear hunting is usually a solo activity, bird hunting is usually a social one.
We hopped in my truck and while driving decided to give the habitats a try on the eastern side of the loop we had been scouting north of Rapid River. Oh, my, that proved to be a fortunate decision! We encountered more logging operations and traffic here, but we found some great aspen stands to try. The first one we visited produced birds immediately and repeatedly! Bruno pointed extremely staunchly with head lowered and leveled just inches above the forest floor. I mentioned to Dave that Bruno's point made me believe he'd found woodcock. I told Dave to stand five yards behind Bruno as I stepped in front and to the side of Bruno to flush any hidden birds. Sure enough, I was right: "Tweedle! Tweedle!" two timberdoodles cried as they cork-screwed upwards through the aspen boughs. "Easy shots," I thought to myself from my perspective. I held my fire and waited for Dave to shoot, but he didn't fire. I turned back to Dave for an explanation and asked, "What's up?"
"I saw them fly up but lost them quickly in the foliage. Fast little buggers, aren't they?"
"Yes, and evasive, too. Welcome to woodcock hunting," I smiled.
As we continued onward through the aspens another ten minutes, I separated briefly from Dave and Bruno to let them hunt together, while I scouted bird-worthy habitat on the other side of a trail that was several hundred yards away from their location. While away scouting, I heard Bruno's e-collar signal that he was on point and had discovered more birds. Before I could return within visual and shooting range, Dave had pushed up birds that were hiding in front of Bruno. I heard Dave fire twice.
"Did you get one?" I inquired as I approached them.
"I don't know. There were two grouse. I shot at one, and I'm not certain if I hit it."
"Did you see it fall or any feathers fly?"
"No..., but I didn't see it continue flying either."
"Well, let's go check." I asked Dave to direct me and Bruno along his line of fire. He was uncertain exactly where he had stood when he fired. We searched in the thick aspens a good 15 minutes but didn't locate any downed bird.
"Ah, I must have missed it," he conceded hesitantly.
We then proceeded across the trail to hunt in the larger expanse of aspen that I had just scouted before Dave fired minutes earlier. Therein we found five more grouse with which we failed to connect. The aspen foliage was still thick here, and, as every good grouse and woodcock hunter knows, grouse and woodcocks' best friends are the thick covers offered by young forests.
As we walked back to the trail, Dave quipped, "You know, I can't stop thinking how I missed that first grouse. I keep playing events over and over in my mind, and I'm now confident I hit that bird."
"Hmmm...Dave's quickly becoming a grouse hunter," I thought to myself. "Okay, let's go and check again," I told him. "Been there, done that several times myself," I thought.
We returned to the aspen stand where Dave had fired twice at one of two grouse that he and Bruno had discovered together. This time, I drilled Dave as to the exact location from which he fired, the direction of his line of fire, and the approximate distance from his point of fire to the point at which he could no longer see the grouse. The information Dave provided was different than that which he offered during our first search, but it helped me successfully direct Bruno to search in previously unchecked aspen where Bruno soon pointed the grouse lying beautifully spread-winged on the leaf-littered forest floor 15 yards from his statuesque stance and 15 yards further from where Dave had last glimpsed the fleeing grouse.
"Here she is!" I cried joyfully. Bruno was still pointing the fallen bird as Dave approached, and as soon as Dave saw this fallen beaut and queen of upland game birds, he beamed a smile as large as Gitche-Gumee. I commanded Bruno to retrieve the bird, and he swiftly complied and returned it gently to Dave's hand. And with that gesture, Bruno signaled to Dave that they were now friends for life forever!
In summary, Dave and I hunted birds in the region north of Rapid River 6.5 hours. Bruno pointed 20 ruffed grouse (no double-counting of birds in this tally), of which we shot three--both respectable achievements. Surprisingly, we found only two woodcock--a dismally low number. Did the weather negatively influence the number of woodcock we encountered? Were we hunting in the region's best woodcock habitats? (Please recall that I had written that the region's tag alder swamps that lined the river banks were inaccessible and flooded.) Stay tuned; Bruno's next blog entry offers possible answers to these questions.
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