Written by: Trout Whisperer. Two Harbors, Minnesota
Image provided by the RGS & AWS photo archive
Small red and green sign on the door glowed, open. Not one vehicle in the parking lot, I thought, everybody works here, must walk. I opened the door, nobody, and I was gonna back out and leave when a ladies voice said, pick anywhere, I’ll have coffee in a jiff, just mixing my batter.
Any chair I wanted, well I took one I could look out the only window of the place from, and without even me ordering, she was pouring me coffee, asking how I would like my eggs, like she already knew I was even ordering eggs, didn’t hand me a menu, off she want telling me about the high school football game last night that her grandson scored a touchdown in when another guy walked in, and place being empty, I found it exceptionally odd, he walks directly up to me, says, you want some company, I was thinking, people around here are pretty relaxed when I said sure, have a seat.
She comes back, another cup, as she’s pouring, he gets a, hey Russel, any birds for me to cook up this evening. He holds four fingers up, sipping, she smiles, the regular then, he nods yes, sipping, she heads for the kitchen.
He says you look like your hunting, I nod yes, telling him I’m in the area for four days, got here last night, weather looks good, just hope to find some birds.
He sets his cup down, well, if you want, you can come with us, this is my last day here, I got a set of dogs, we’ve been on birds for nine days, more fun with another hunter, he left me to dangle my answer, he needn’t have, I said, well, that would be great, and thanks. Well easy on the thanks, we aint shot nothing yet, but it should give you a good start.
Two kids come in, they sit at the counter, both boys wearing athletic letter jackets, as we go over, guns, shells, you gotta lunch, there aren’t any lunch counters where were going, so have Molly make you one, in due time I did, not knowing one thing that would be in the eventual lunch, and, thinking breakfast was over, he asks Molly, can I have two to go, she asks, handing us two bag lunches, dry, yup, they like em dry Molly, we stand there waiting, as the boys gobble up some really brown hashbrowns, she comes back, yet another sack, and out the door we go, and on the far side of the small parking lot is a fairly good sized motorhome, with a sleek and lengthy trailer in tow he’s headed for.
Opens the door, out pops two Brittany’s, he reaches in the last bag he walked out with and gives each one its own pancake. There both magnificent looking dogs, identical in appearance to me. I offer, fine looking dogs, he says thanks, this one is Sarg, that one is Gent, same litter, when they hunt together, some days, they are simply the best, so I salute them for their service, when they don’t, and yesterday was a don’t day, I call em the a**hole brothers, I couldn’t control my laughter, he had the effect I think he was after, he almost smiled at me, I was thinking, the dogs like dry cakes, I now know precisely why.
Again, the generosity, he says, you lock up here, Molly don’t care, even makes the place look busier, just ride with me, and for the first and only time in my life, I ever got driven in a captains chair to a grouse covert. It really was a nice way to go, and before I forget, days end, sitting in that almost recliner front seat being chauffeured back, oh it was so blissfully nice.
We ooze out of the small town, he aint hard on the gas pedal, the windshield being so large, everything was easy on the eyes, I was thinking, I wish I had some more coffee right now when he says, shooting quite a few broken bands here of late, well, more than any year I can recall, which leads me to, how long you been coming here, this is my sixteenth, I start in northern Maine, hit it hard, woodcock and partridge, dogs get a day off after Maine, over there, my brain, partridge, the word does sound a feather off to this grouse hunter, he continues, Vermont one or two days, lots of leaves there, eindy roads must be good for them, upper Michigan a week, Wisconsin, back in grouse-ville, I like villas the best, rusk is good tho too, then here to Minnesota, spend ten days, Molly, she’s my oldest sister, so we catch up, she says one day she will come to Hollywood and visit me, but I doubt it, she coulda come at least once by now.
Hollywood, oh I had to ask, like anybody else wouldn’t ask him, so what do you do in Hollywood, he slows for a stop sign, looking both ways, but he rolls through it, with, I work four months out of each and every year, some days sixteen hours a day, seven days a week, but I make a year’s wages, and in two years, I’m retiring, with a full pension from the carpenters union where I make sets and props for movie studios, I’m the lead, have been ten years now and then I’m gonna stay in Arizonia till the quail season ends, be the first time ever for that, I aint married, don’t own a house, just me and the dogs, and then I hunt my way across the country, cant get enough bird hunting and this year, gonna cut over the top of North Dakota, want to spend some time by Plentywood Montana, been awhile since I chased Huns, sharpies, they fly like school buses to me, wish they tasted better, but a good bird to barrel right there, and the roosters, they have the longest tails I’ve seen on any pheasant, even Nebraska, so I’ll skip south Dakota this trip, tana should be good, that’s all I been hearing.
He slows, takes a left onto a gravel off the blacktop, the change of sound in the tires, the drumming was gone, the scrunching commenced, I felt it for a change, I wasn’t driving, when maybe just a few more miles he pulls over, parks, his spot, not mine by any means, we gathered our gear, he waves the dogs and they bounce into action, I click the over under shut, he says, oh good, they look sharp today, so move in quick.
I answer yes, but I’m thinking, he drove, his dogs, he’s guiding for crying out loud, I’m feeling like, I’ll honor a few points before I loose a barrel. Underfoot, leaves are damp, it’s soft walking, understory is sparse to say the least.
I was in mid thought about why this would be his last day here, the forest around was telling, he had been on time, I may have been a little late in my arrival as the Brittainy’s are casting back and forth at no more than fifty feet, in tandem, paired like blackbirds murmurations until, not sure, Sarg or Gent, in a blink, stolid stalled locked step ’t and then its twin, crept in, nose barely off his brothers trembling hind, a sidestep, another, then vibrating of second dog in place occurs, it throws my own in second gear.
I wait, he waves me forward, stiff arms me to move, I’m being told, I can sorta feel the thrust from his actions, he means move, I do, rrrrr-blur is rising, swings my left to right, barrel rising, find the bead, level it, bird, I don’t feel the trigger pull, I hear him shoot, when my boom erupts, bird folds, I’m wondering, well who got it and he’s instantly calling the dogs, dead bird, dead bird, he yells, mark yours down, when they get mine, I’ll put um on it.
In a breath I exhale, this guy, he saw the entire show, I was busy with one set of wings. I didn’t say it, I should have, but he had it going on, he was fully in it, and it was humbling to witness.
I stood still. As commanded, the dogs fetched mine as directed, mystery solved, he says that’s a good start, he salutes the dogs, says looking at me, fanning his birds tail, I sure like those a**holes. I said, I do too.
