Written By: Ralph Fatello. Hampton, NH
I have been hunting a covert that I call “The Cellar Hole” for the last 10 years. It’s basically an old foundation from the early 1700’s. There are trees that have grown up inside of what used to be someone’s old farmhouse here in New England. There are many of these old remnants of yesteryear all throughout New England. This spot has always been a place that holds birds. I’ve taken a few woodcock out of there every season, and I love hunting there as it’s one of my secret coverts that I visit several times each October and November. There’s always a single Grouse that hangs around this special spot, and I usually get just one chance at getting one each season. That bird has always given me and my shorthair Patch the slip over the years. Sometimes I get a fleeting shot at best, and other times, I just hear it. You Grouse hunters know what I’m talking about.
Well, when I walked up to the covert, I could see Patch had just stopped dead in his tracks. Then I heard the beeper go off. Typically I ask him “Whattya got?” If he moves? I know he’s just on a hot scent. But if he’s solid? I know he’s on a bird. But I always ask him twice. And if he’s still solid? I know it’s real. As I got closer to him, he was locked up so tight he never even glanced at me or acknowledged me. He was lazer focused.
Oh, this was real alright.
I wanted so badly to take a photo of his point, but thought to myself, “What if this is that day?” I can’t tell you how many times I’ve blown getting a shot at a Grouse by opting for the camera, rather than walking in, flushing the bird, and taking a shot. I can do it if it’s a woodcock, but Grouse usually don’t sit that tight for very long. I decided to leave the camera in my vest and hunt this one out.
Patch was in a tight bramble of thorns and grape vine tangle. It was difficult to get around him let alone out in front of him. But I managed to get around this clump of tangled vines. The whole time I’m looking out in front of him, halfway expecting to see the little russet colored Woodcock sitting there. But there was nothing. Patch moved up this slight ridge a few yards to re-adjust. I followed him closely when he stopped again, in a full point. I stepped in between two small oak trees, when I heard that all too familiar thunder flush.
The bird flushed from left to right in front of me. I was facing in the opposite direction, and had to swing my gun over my shoulder to get off a quick snap shot. The trees were blocking me from getting a second shot, and I could see the window through the trees, if the bird kept flying. But much to my surprise, I heard the sound of the “death beat” of the bird flapping it’s wings on the leaves. Wait, I got him? Patch meanwhile, ran up and in his excitement, ran past the bird at first. Because I was so close, I was able to walk a few feet and pick it up. I dispatched it, and then held that bird for a long time. A very long time.
The Cellar Hole Grouse was ours. Patch saw me holding the bird and came running up to me.
I bent over and let him gently hold the bird in his mouth. It was a bittersweet harvest. Much like a few other birds I have named over the years. The Bendy Birch Grouse, the Stonewall Grouse, and so many others. But none of them have given us the challenge that this bird has. Now I know, there’s probably more than one bird in there. But I’ve only ever seen one bird at any given time. So for me? This was that bird. I felt an overwhelming sense of remorse. I had just taken the Cellar Hole Grouse.
I’m not going to lie, I got emotional.
I thought about having it mounted, but I’ve already got several Grouse mounts in my man cave. Still, it was so pretty. A red phase Grouse with a mix of beautiful gray feathers. Turns out, she was a hen. And that saddened me even more. I’m hoping that by next fall there will be more birds in that special place. I do know that I won’t be hunting there anymore this year. I’m going to stay clear of that covert, and hope that by next year, there will be more Grouse in that special place. I just wanted to share this special moment with you all. In my 73 years on the planet, and Patch being 13years old, we still have that intense drive and passion for our native Grouse and Woodcock. We both share that common bond of our pursuit of the King of the North American Game Birds. The Ruffed Grouse.
And I hope and pray, that the Good Lord will bless us with more times together in the coverts that hold these magnificent birds. May The Grouse Be With You All. Happy Thanksgiving everyone.
