Written By: Gary Tunkavige. Sparta, NJ
I call the covert Spring Willow. A whimsical name. I wish I could say that I thought up this name, but that was done by someone else. It is an abandoned farm on a ridge set back from the Delaware River separating New Jersey and Pennsylvania. A winding driveway leads to a frame farmhouse now being consumed by vines and brush. There is a large barn on the verge of collapse and several other small out-buildings. The remnants of small pens likely held chickens and goats. An old farm lane starts behind the buildings and parallels a ravine with a spring fed brook running through the center. My now gone setter, Briar, pointed his first woodcock beside this brook at six months old. The lane leads back to a one time pasture, now choked with autumn olive and multiflora rose. Throughout, the cover is thorny and thick.
It is located on what is now federally owned land. A dam was to be built on the Delaware River creating an enormous impoundment. This was a bad idea, and after much contention resulted in eventual de-authorization by congress. But not until most of the affected land had already been “acquired” in the 1970’s. Some acquired by willing sellers but some acquired from the owners less than willingly. It was designated a National Recreation Area. Hard feelings among the locals persists to this day.
It once held fair numbers of grouse. I can remember the one I took in that rear pasture. There was one that I often flushed, but never got a shot at, in the cover behind the old barn. But they are gone now. Not just from Spring Willow, but from the entire state. In New Jersey, ruffed grouse started to dwindle in the mid 1980’s with the decline of suitable habitat. They dwindled and they dwindled under the watch of the agencies charged with management of our wildlife. And then came West Nile virus, the last nail in the coffin. The state has made some token effort to create young forest habitat, but it is too little and it is too late. They have closed the hunting season for ruffed grouse, but it is a moot point. They are gone now. You stand a better chance of seeing a rhinoceros than a ruffed grouse. The loss of an indigenous species. It is very sad. It is now just worth hunting for woodcock stopping off as they follow the Delaware River south.
When I first found this covert, I saw an old slat of wood nailed above the barn door to which someone had carefully carved the words “Spring Willow”. At first this puzzled me. Then not far away I saw the small pond formed by damming the spring fed brook. A large willow tree, now broken down and leaning into the pond remained near what was left of the dam. Of course! Spring Willow!
Whenever I hunt Spring Willow it makes me wonder. Who lived here? At one time it must have been a grand place. The owner had lined the walkways and pond with carefully placed rocks. The pasture had once been well fenced, the house lovingly maintained. And they thought enough of the place to give it a name. Did the lady of the house plant lilacs in the yard? Did the smell of fresh baked cookies greet the children on Christmas morning? Was Spring Willow grandpa’s farm? Did the grandchildren spend the summer there tending to the chickens and baby goats? Was there the sound of children’s laughter as they waded and splashed in the now weed filled pond as they hunted for frogs and turtles? I always left Spring Willow with a tinge of sadness.
I rarely hunt Spring Willow anymore. What had been sufficiently thick cover fifteen years ago for grouse and woodcock has now grown into a nasty, prickly impenetrable jungle. My setter bravely takes it on like a gallant gladiator but comes out bleeding from shredded ears. Resorting to dropping to my hands and knees to pick my way through no longer has the appeal it did before I became Medicare eligible.
Spring Willow will continue to decay and will soon be just a memory as are the grouse that were once found here.
