Some years ago we penned the following article, which we reproduce here in order to give our readers some idea of the pleasures and perils which so endear to us the pursuit of “that best of all game birds, the lordly Ruffed Grouse.”
First allow me to introduce to you my companion – old Tom Rood, as thorough a sportsman as it has ever fallen to my lot to encounter – a perfect gentleman, a first-rate shot and well skilled in all that pertains to woodcraft. Tom is possessed of an abundance of this world’s goods, and spends most of his time in the forest, as his nut-brown phiz and wiry frame attest. When he is not shooting or fishing he is abroad communing with nature. There is a vein of poetry and also a slight tinge of superstition in his make-up that with his overflowing cheerfulness make him one of the most entertaining companions I have ever met. Our present trip originated with him, as he had the day before, while resting on the bank of the river, at the mouth of the brook, seen, to use his words, a “spectre patridge.”
While lying at full length on the grass, this bird had flown across the river and alighted within a few feet of him. As he looked up, at the slight noise she made, she walked up within two yards of his head. Examining her closely, he discovered that on the side toward him her eye was gone. Just as he had noticed this, she turned her head, and Tom solemnly averred that her good eye was as large as that of an ox; and far more brilliant than the purest diamond. Her feathers were of a pale cream color; her ruff was light cherry, as was the band across her tail. Taking this in at a glance, and wishing to secure so unique a specimen, he reached for his gun, when this spectre bird slowly sank into the ground, and Tom, awestruck, left the uncanny spot and started for home. When nearly a hundred yards away, he heard a roar that caused him to look back, and there was the spirit, going like a streak, up the run. You should have heard Tom tell the story, and have seen the weird look in his eyes as he described the scene.
Bu hikaye The Upland Almanac dergisinin Spring 2017 sayısından alınmıştır.
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Bu hikaye The Upland Almanac dergisinin Spring 2017 sayısından alınmıştır.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
Already a subscriber? Giriş Yap
Tail feathers - STANDARDS AND PRACTICES
\"An armed society is a polite society,\" the NRA says in one of its dicta, cribbed from Robert A. Heinlein, a 20th-century American science fiction writer.
Day's End - IN PRAISE OF FENCEROWS
Driving north along the Hudson River, I gazed at a pastoral autumn scene: sere fields of faded yellow harvested corn, stubbly and broken amongst the clods of black earth, almost smooth from my vantage point. Spiky brown veins of wild growth marked barriers between plots. Occasionally, the gray bones of a mature oak rose among the brown shrubs to stand over the yellow fields. A sentry, keeping silent watch as white frost crystals slowly melted into invisibility.
That Time of Year Again
Without doubt. The most idyllic form of hunting in Ohio is seeking the woodcock. - Merrill Gilfallan, Moods of the Ohio Moons: An Outdoorsman's Almanac (1991)
I Don't Wanna'!
I'm an old hand at being retired, though - have been practicing for 25 years.
Hunting the Huns: Alberta's Big Sky Country
The prairies of southern Alberta are vast, beautiful and full of prime bird habitat. Crop fields are interspersed with abandoned farms, rolling hills are intersected by coulees and creek beds, and Hungarian partridge and sharptailed grouse occupy some of the best and most picturesque habitat on the continent.
Side Dish - End of Season
Sporting trips are not only about sport, as many other experiences are discovered alongside. And my trip to Lakewood Camps in Maine was certainly just that.
AN EXTENDED STAY
There is no reason to leave Michigan in the fall unless the opportunity of a cast and blast adventure at a historic sporting lodge in Maine comes calling.
KEEP IT HANDY
If you think shooting a ruffed grouse on the wing with a shotgun is tough, try shooting one in flight with a still camera.
A Longtime Love Affair
It's possible to hunt your favorite birds in a lot of different places, I suppose, but I don't do that.
Profile of an Artist: Harley Bartlett
Harley Bartlett was born in 1959 near Pittsburg, Pennsylvania. However, having lived in Rhode Island for most of his life he considers himself a Rhode Islander.
