Pennsylvania Game News - October 2008 - 19

whistle in my mouth and my eyes following my Lab, Jake, looking for that extra tail beat that might signal that his all-smelling nose had located something. My ears were clogged with the sound of corn slashing at my clothing, so at first I wasn’t sure what I heard. Jake reached the end of the field, turned around and sat with a depressed look on his face. Dan and I joined him in the tall grass that surrounded the field and contemplated our next move. It was there, standing in a kneehigh mix of foxtails and other wild grains, that I was able to confirm that there was, indeed, another bird about, but it wasn’t a pheasant. I’m a relatively young hunter and have developed a tenuous love-love type relationship with the ruffed grouse. I love to hunt them and they love to make a fool out of me. So when I first heard the thunderous drumming of a bird about halfway up the mountain, I had no intention of going after it. In my mind, the day was complete. There were two birds in the bag, three spent shells in the pocket and a heart full of confidence. No way was I going to risk the frustration of being scared to death by a little bird that would certainly not give me any chance for a shot. Trying to forget about the grouse, I turned to Dan and said, “Let’s move around to the bottom of the field and spread out a little more. I really think there is a runner in here somewhere.” I don’t know whether Dan had not heard the grouse, heard it and felt the same way I did, or had just delegated decision making to me, because he simply turned and started walking to the lower end of OCTOBER 2008 the field. As we crossed the field the drumming seemed to get louder. I began to chew on my whistle in disgust. I couldn’t hear the corn trying to cut me out of my clothes anymore. Finally we reached the far end of the field. My empty over/under was slung over my shoulder as I strolled along behind Dan, whistle in my mouth and my eyes following my Lab, Jake, looking for that extra tail beat that might signal that his all-smelling nose had located something. I looked at Dan and shrugged. He smiled and started towards me. The grouse had stopped drumming by the time we arrived at the edge of the field and remained so while Dan walked over to me. When Dan got close enough that I wouldn’t have to shout I asked, “Do you want to go up there after that thing?” He never answered. But the grouse let out with one of those loud, low thumpers that make you wonder if Farmer Johnson is starting his tractor right there in the middle of the woods. Dan turned and began to walk towards the hill. I laughed a little and then followed. We walked to the far top corner of the field and listened. It took a minute or two, but the grouse did his part and gave me an idea of how far up I had to climb. We started up the hill and almost immediately I felt defeated. The brush was so thick and we had to make so much noise to get through it that I was certain that bird would be halfway to Ohio before we got anywhere close to it. When I decided we had gone far 19
Pennsylvania Game News - October 2008

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