Written By: Brandon Smith. Mount Morris, New York
There is nothing like experiencing something for the first time. It is a reality that can never be replicated. Hunters, and anglers, especially know the everlasting power of those introductory adventures. The first deer! The first fish! The first point! The first flush! We all often recall those pioneering moments with uncanny detail, no matter the time that passes.
I am left in awe when I reflect upon those cardinal moments experienced with my now 3.5-year-old Springer Spaniel, Echo. He would be the first dog that I would train and handle entirely on my own. This would be the first time I would now bear the daunting task of raising a grand grouse dog, entirely to myself.
My wife and I made the trip to pick up our pup the second week of September, in 2020. It was a total surprise for our kids. An exciting first, for them both. That entire first year was spent preparing for the following October. Introduction to wing and scent eventually led to the first few flushes on pen raised birds. Exploring blowdowns, raspberry brambles, and the creek on our small 5-acre lot, led to large wood walks and adventures among our local State Forests. That first year was filled with lots of adventure and persistent obedience. The anticipation for our first grouse hunts the following October and the prospect of that first wild flush was always heavy on our minds.
It was the 4th of October in 2021 when Echo and I set off in pursuit of our first grouse or woodcock. It was a clear and, bright fall morning at a local WMA near our home in Western NY. We entered the woods slightly after the sun rose and started working our way up a large north facing slope. This notable cover is blanketed by a beautiful field of switch grass at its bottom and filled with hawthorn and medium aged poplar at its heart. Old growth hemlock borders it to the east and an abandoned apple orchard cap its northern peak making it a promising cover for us to find ourselves lost within. As we worked the first chunk of medium aged aspen and wild rose, I stood in awe of the graceful yet tenacious nature of the liver and white spaniel working diligently along the trail. The moment was not lost on me that October morning, as I stood reflecting upon that first year of obsessive training and hard work playing out right in front of me.
Roughly a ¼ mile into our walk I heard the undeniable explosion of a grouse as it thundered out from its elusive hiding spot. Perched head high on the branch of an old hemlock, the young bird erupted from its roost and was lost within the leafy abyss before us. A humbling bump, but I was filled with confidence that we were in the right place. We were doing the right things. We were in the game.
We slowly continued working North, destined for the abandoned orchard at the peak. We found ourselves in what seemed to be a small drainage roughly halfway up the slope. The drainage was choked with berry brambles and wild rose. A few clumps of red twig dogwood, ripe with berries, littered throughout as well. As my robust springer worked the cover in front of me, I became lost in the melodies of the small bell attached to his collar. That’s when it happened. From the base of a dogwood clump, erupted the angelic bird. Wings wide and with a fleeting whistle, a woodcock floated above the green cover and quickly disappeared into the tangles below. Captivated by the flush I never even raised the over under in my hands. However, we did it. A successful flush, in range, with my dog. Firsts for us both and something not soon to be forgotten.
On the 25th of October this past fall season, Echo and I found ourselves in that same familiar cover leading into the old abandoned orchard. We sneaked in quietly and slowly, working as we had in the past. Echo started on the switch grass edge and slowly gained elevation. Following him, we worked our way to the orchard at its apex. We hunted slowly, both enjoying the crisp sharp air of a cool Western New York, October morning. I watched closely as Echo ferociously worked the cover 30 yards ahead of me; hoping and anticipating a flutter of wings would emerge out of the brambles surrounding us. We made our way into the familiar drainage runoff. This time we positioned ourselves 15-20 yards higher on the ridge than we had before. I acquired a good view where the cover opened slightly into the orchard. The abandoned trees, ripe with fruit, enticed us into the rich landscape ahead, as the prospect of a flush brewed.
This time I heard it before I saw it. First, came the quickened tempo of the bell. The aggressive slam of the flushing dog into thick cover followed, and then the unmistakable whistle of a woodcock taking off from the ground completed the flush. In the matter of a second, crossing in front of me, I spotted the doodle fleeing into the orchard. Before I knew it the over under was at my shoulder, the safety was off, and I was slightly ahead of the bird in flight. I squeezed and unloaded the upper barrel. In humble disbelief, I watched as the elegant bird fell to the ground. I quickly marked the spot and made my way into the orchard about the same time Echo rushed out of the brambles following up my shot. There, below a beautiful fruiting apple tree, lay our first woodcock. In awe, of both the beauty of moment and the exquisite little bird, Echo and I sat there together. I let Echo take in a mouthful of scent and feathers, as I relished in the success of my resilient little spaniel. It finally all came together on one of our wild bird adventures; all the hard work, all the beautiful country explored, and all the moments shared culminated together with our first wild bird in the bag.
What a beautiful reminder that it was never really about the bird at all.
