Yuba

               The 2015 upland bird season in southeast Washington provided a better bird year than 2014 and I found my Llewellyn setters hunted better than ever. My pup, Laurel Mountain’s Yuba was in her first season afield. She was born with severe hip dysplasia; hence, we don’t work her very hard or long, but she has a bird drive and desire to hunt second to none. She nearly out-hunted her three year old cousin, “Lynn Hill’s Finnigan”, pointing double digit pheasant early in the season when the birds were less wary. Yuba pointed many hens, held steady to wing about forty percent of the time, and instinctively backed Finn with style and as much grace as she could muster. As the season wore on, the pheasant became scarce with survivors growing ever educated, but our final day was one to remember….

Heading home after a cold, fruitless morning, I spot some pheasant feeding in wheat stubble along a brushy ditch. Steering my old Ford onto the shoulder, I bail out with Finn and Yuba in tow hoping to get Yuba her first rooster. Turning Yuba loose in the brush, she discovers a pheasant super highway laden with tracks in the fresh snow and the pursuit ensues. Knowing the birds are in cover, a couple blasts on the whistle directs the girls toward the ditch to our right where they brilliantly search every tuft. They generally cover ground full tilt, but the scent here is overwhelming and they adjust pace to methodically canvas the area. My mind momentarily drifts, but I soon realize I have lost track of Yuba. I last noticed her on the ditch edge to my right where she dropped in several minutes prior. Finn is momentarily still out front, and I struggle to hear any footfall from my stocky little tri-color. She must be on point.

Easing toward the ditch, I grip my old 16-gauge double, searching, yearning to see my future rock star pup locked up. Finn disappears into the ditch bottom twenty yards out and the world once again falls silent. Light snow swirls in the air and tips me off to Finn being downwind of me. My desire for this moment is embracing and time slows to a crawl. Yuba has proven a formidable hunter, but has yet to be rewarded a bird in hand despite her many accomplished points. Leaning over the ditch I peek past a large tuft of reed canary grass only to find Yuba locked up with aplomb and Finn backing. My chest swells with pride as I delicately drop into the ditch bottom only yards from Yuba.

My approach is deliberate and I work the thick mats of grass thoroughly to kick out a pheasant, any pheasant. Now mere feet from Yuba, her intense gaze into the grass telegraphs the bird’s refuge. The safety on my old double clicks forward as I kick into the grass and simultaneously glimpse Yuba nearly come out of her skin in anticipation. A stunning, young, wild rooster explodes from the grass underfoot. He was deeply buried, even below my footing on the frozen grass, and his long ascent provides more than ample time to put a steady bead on him. His flight path leads straight away down the ditch, directly over Yuba and Finn, Yuba nearly flipping backward as the rooster clears her forehead. The rooster clears a safe shooting height as I weld the bead to the rooster’s belly. My old double recoils against my shoulder, but the sound and jolt are lost in the moment.

The young rooster folds and my autopilot engages the gun’s safety as I holler dead bird, sending the girls clambering to the prize. Yuba is ecstatic, to put it mildly. I have taken birds over Finn all season while Yuba backs, but this one is hers. I have not trained the girls to retrieve, so I race to the bird and lavish the girls with praise as they nuzzle and huff the fresh, warm feathers. What bird dog daddy could ask for more than a solidly held point from his pup on her first rooster with her cousin instinctually honoring?

While carefully sliding the rooster into my vest pouch, Yuba sits at my feet, trembling and crying. Her eyes wide and dark, yet glowing like that of a child on Christmas morning. She yearns for more, and I release the girls to find one more bird.

 

Pheasants Forever Promotes Family Fun and Getting Outdoors

While many were braving the wee hours, and elbowing their way into good deals downtown, seven families thought better of the Black Friday chaos and opted to attend the annual Family Hunt, courtesy of Blue Mountains Pheasants Forever (BMPF). The Family Hunt is a special event that BMPF sponsors to express appreciation for our membership’s support to the Chapter and our youth program.

Families met at the Clyde Shooting Preserve (Preserve) on Friday morning, November 24th, eager to enjoy a quality pheasant hunt. The BMPF youth committee chair, George Endicott, coordinated the event with Kit Lane, owner of the Preserve. “The hunt went very smooth. Folks at the Preserve worked diligently to plant birds and keep families hunting through the morning” said Endicott. The Preserve has been a generous supporter of BMPF for a number of years.

On a typical hunt, pheasant are planted, followed shortly by the release of the bird dogs. Participants hunt their way through the designated fields, following up on the elegant and stylish canines on point. The most memorable moments of a hunt are made of a pointing dog at work, and the explosive flush of a dazzling rooster. Participating family members of all ages enjoyed what some would call an epic morning afield.

The Family Hunt is actually the culmination of six annual BMPF-sponsored youth shooting events. While habitat enhancement is the crux of the BMPF mission, youth education and involvement in shooting sports delivers an immense value to local communities.

Beginning in June, three monthly scheduled trap shoots are held to introduce children to wing shooting and firearms safety. Each trap shoot consists of five stations where the shooter is presented with five clay targets, thrown in random directions from a front and center automatic launcher. Children are afforded the opportunity to learn proper stance and shooting technique, as well as how to lead a flying target.

Two significant events are held in September, as BMPF hosts the Family Challenge Trap Shoot, and the youth pheasant hunt. The Family Challenge Trap Shoot involves parent/child teams shooting together in a friendly competition among participating families. Small prizes, sweetened by modest bragging rights, are afforded the teams who bust the most clays.

Later in September, BMPF sponsors a youth pheasant hunt during the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife-designated youth hunting weekend. The BMPF supplies pheasants, bird dogs, and designated venues for this special hunt. Participants are split into groups based on their experience levels, and everyone is afforded an opportunity at a rooster. For some participants, the youth hunt is their first hunting experience. It exposes children to the inciting experience of hunting with a well-trained bird dog, and the irreplaceable adrenaline rush from the king of upland birds erupting from under foot.

All BMPF-sponsored youth events are open to anyone age eighteen and under, with the exception of the youth hunting weekend in September, which requires hunters to be under the age of sixteen. Parents or adult mentors are asked to participate in events with their children. All events are free to participants, and all new participants are signed up as BMPF members, courtesy of the Chapter.

For more information on BMPF youth events, contact George Endicott at 509-529-3937. For general Chapter information, feel free to drop us a line at bmpf@bmpf258.com.

Upland Review

I developed a magazine with the idea of showcasing the annual activities and accomplishments of Blue Mountains Pheasants Forever, Chapter 258, through photo essay. I also included a couple additional hunting articles.

I retain the magazine as a separate publication from the Chapter with a plan of developing it into a free online magazine to showcase fledgling outdoor writers and the beauty of upland bird hunting.

Give it a read at Upland Review.

Anticipate the Flush

Every bird dog has its own style with nuances that tell a different story in a variety of hunting situations. In this post, I explain the subtleties in the posture and eyes of my oldest Llewellin setter, Finn. What has your pointing dog been telling you over the years?

Give it a read at Uplander Lifestyle!

Time, Birds and Faith

Training your own bird dog can be a daunting task – especially for the first time owner.

Always remember though, a great bird dog takes 3 simple ingredients – Regardless of your training regime and techniques – Time, Birds and a little bit of Faith.

In our latest Uplander Chronicles post, Uplander writer Brad Trumbo of @tailfeathers_upland talks about how Time, Birds and Faith all play important roles and go hand in hand when developing a young dog.

“I am no professional dog trainer. Hell, I am hardly an amateur trainer. And like many uplanders, I train my own dogs on limited time. Therefore, I am a man who expects results, and quickly. But upon receiving my first setter pup, I was promptly enlightened of the true meaning of “a long road ahead”.” writes Brad.

We live in an era where we demand results instantly. In a world dominated by instant gratifying technology, patience can be tough to hold onto. Check out the full story at Uplander Lifestyle!

Shedding the Blues

 

Walla Walla Union Bulletin, April 29, 2018.

I spent the last several minutes marveling over the roster’s brilliant plumage. The girls were electrified, showered in praise as I slid the rooster into my vest. It was late in the season; the thick reed canary grass was crusted hard with snow and broken over the precipitous swale the girls were working. It was our last day of the season. Turning back for the truck, I was already looking ahead to September when the grouse and deer seasons would open again, dreading the long wait ahead.

As an avid upland bird and deer hunter, the enigma of deciding which is most inciting between working birds with my setters and putting the moves on a wily buck can be vexing. I spend the bulk of the off-season reminiscing of past hunts and planning for the next. Spring turkey hunting is a reasonable distraction, but there is another option that heats up around March: shed hunting.

Shed hunting is the art of searching for shed antlers. Each winter, deer, elk, and moose drop or “shed” their antlers to grow a new pair for the following fall. In much of the western United States, elk and mule deer inhabit the high country most of the year, but that’s not typically where you find sheds. When the snow flies, critters move down into the lower elevation “winter range”, which is typically where you want to look. In southeast Washington, mule deer can be found herded up among the bluffs above the Snake River and the foothills of the Blue Mountains.

Shed hunting is a common practice among hunters; however, for those of us obsessed with big game and working dogs, shed hunting promises to bridge the gap between the two worlds during the offseason. It can be a rewarding and downright challenging hobby as sheds blend in quite well with the surrounding vegetation. If I had a shed for each one I’ve passed within a few feet, my friends would have a lot fewer sheds. This is where Rover comes in.

Dogs with the appropriate nose, prey drive, and retrieving instinct can pick it up quickly. I won’t dive into the particulars of training a shed hunting dog, but I will say that the techniques can be quite similar to training your pup to hunt upland birds, and the same breeds are capable. Using an antler with a wax-based scent product and some practice time afield finding and retrieving the antler can feather your dog’s metaphorical cap, not to mention put a lot more bone in your pack at the end of the day.

Part of the shed hunting challenge is remaining focused. I get distracted enjoying the scenery and wildlife as I hike; hence, I walk by more sheds than I find. Having your four-legged companion participate in the search allows you to cover a lot more ground as a team, but the real advantage is that your pup doesn’t have to see the antler to find it. Finding a shed is always rewarding, but the finds are so much sweeter when you spy your pup galloping proudly back with a nice four-point shed.

Your pup will significantly improve your shed hunting game, but there are other key considerations as well. Timing can be crucial. March is a great time to begin shed hunting because most deer and elk will have shed by mid-March. You may also have great areas to choose from but do some homework on the habitat. Well used game trails and fence crossings appear to be a slam-dunk, but bedding areas and important food sources are the prime locations. Animals spend more time in these areas, increasing the odds they will shed there, where an animal on the move can drop an antler anywhere in the county.

If you want to get serious about shed hunting, treat it like any other hunting trip. Be prepared. Wear appropriate apparel, carry food and water, as well as some basic first aid supplies, and don’t be afraid to cover some miles. Possibly the most important tip of all; double check the regulations before heading out. National Parks and critical winter range may have strict regulations on if and when shed hunting or dogs are allowed.

Whether you’re a novice or have hunted sheds for years, a shed-hunting canine can be a game-changer. While solitary miles under a sixty-degree bluebird sky in April or May can sooth the soul, a hunt with man’s best friend can be epic. Turkeys are gobbling among the sparse timber across the canyon. A dull roar drifts up from the slightly swollen headwater stream tumbling below. You look up to see your pup barreling down-slope toting a considerable mule deer shed, which she delivers to hand; her fifth find of the morning. You are both ecstatic, and wagging furiously, she turns to find another.

BMPF Sets Youth Circuit

Published 24 May 2018 in the Walla Walla Union Bulletin.

“Pull…” a shooter calls out, followed by a white clay launching from the trap, sailing to the left; a random, unexpected direction. The sleek over/under shotgun tracks smoothly until the bead connects, and upon recoil, dissolves the clay into a fine dust.

In support of the national Pheasants Forever No Child Left Indoors initiative, the local Blue Mountain Pheasants Forever (BMPF) chapter sponsors a youth shooting circuit each year beginning in June. The circuit consists of four monthly scheduled trap shoots introducing youth to wing shooting and firearms safety. Each trap shoot consists of five stations where the shooter is presented with five clay targets, thrown in random directions from a front and center automatic launcher. Youth are afforded the opportunity to learn proper stance and shooting technique, as well as how to lead a flying target.

The Family Challenge Trap Shoot rounds out the trap events and puts the skills learned in prior months to the test. Parent-child teams shoot together in a friendly competition among participating families. Small prizes, sweetened by modest bragging rights, are afforded the teams who bust the most clays.

Following the trap circuit, BMPF also sponsors two fall pheasant hunts that again test the skills learned from shooting trap. The BMPF supplies pheasants and designated venues for the youth hunting weekend in September, and again in November for a special family hunt. For the September youth hunt, participants are split into groups based on their experience levels, and everyone is afforded an opportunity at a rooster. For some participants, this event is their first hunting experience. It exposes children to the art of upland bird hunting with a well-trained pointing dog (courtesy of chapter members), and the irreplaceable adrenaline rush from the king of upland birds erupting under foot.

The Family Hunt is held the Saturday after Thanksgiving as a token of appreciation for the BMPF membership’s support of the chapter and youth program. This event serves as the culmination of the annual shooting events. Held at the Clyde Shooting Preserve, the Family Hunt provides youth and family members the opportunity to experience a unique, quality pheasant hunt provided at a professional establishment.

On a typical hunt, pheasant are planted, followed shortly by the release of the hunting dogs. Participants hunt their way through the designated fields, following up on the elegant and stylish canines on point. The most memorable moments of the hunt are made of a pointing dog at work, and the explosive flush of a dazzling rooster. Participating family members of all ages enjoy what some would call an epic morning afield.

All BMPF-sponsored youth events are open to anyone age eighteen and under, with the exception of the youth hunting weekend in September. The youth hunting weekend is designated by the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife and requires hunters to be under the age of sixteen. Parents or adult mentors are asked to participate in events with their children. All events are free to participants, and all new youth participants are registered as BMPF members, courtesy of the chapter.

Youth event details are announced in advance through local events calendars, as well as at the BMPF website www.bmpf258.com. General chapter information is also available online, and the chapter may be contacted via email at bmpf@bmpf258.com.

 

Carving an Upland Niche

“As an upland jack of all trades, my setters have adapted to a variety of situations, most of which (exception = chukar) they handle well, but there is something to be said for those who carve a niche on a particular quarry.”

Primarily a pheasant hunter, I fell victim to an affair with California quail, and have not looked back. The dog work and camaraderie I have experienced in the quail coverts, particularly over the 2018-2019 upland season, has piqued my interest and opened my mind. Jimmy Carter once said that “life’s just too short to go quail hunting with the wrong people.” On the contrary, show me quail hunters and I’ll show you the right people.

So, what’s your upland niche? Read more at Uplander Lifestyle.

Pheasant Hunting the Walla Walla Valley Uplands

Published in the Union Bulletin, September 23rd, 2018.

I sat alone in the gray calm of dawn, gazing contently across my food plot. A few wary whitetails snagged a snack on their morning commute. Steam curled up from a hot cup of coffee, tickling the hairs on my face and nose as I sipped in peace. It was early December. Not quite frigid, but the bunchgrasses were frosted and brittle.

My Llewellin setters, Finn and Yuba, and I hunted pheasant hard the prior six weeks and I needed a break. But the girls lay anxiously at my feet, keeping a keen eye on their orange vests and the cased shotgun by the door. They knew it was a hunting day. Any other morning we would be working roost cover along thick reed canary grass in the low swales, or working a creek side brush line at first light. But not today. This day would be different.

As the clock reported 8:30am, I decided to act like a dedicated bird hunter.  The girls had succumbed to pessimism, lying, groaning, sulking. But they cast a suspicious glance as I approached the door. A hand outstretched for my shotgun sparked utter bedlam.

Hunting reliable roost cover early in the day can be productive, but hunting pressure may call for adjustment to keep on the birds as the season progresses. Understanding pheasant behavior provides insight to changing tactics throughout the day, as well as across the season.

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Lowland swales, wetlands, and riparian areas provide prime pheasant roost habitat. When left to their own devices, pheasant rise in the morning and move out to feed soon after sunrise. Early in the season, birds may loaf in or near roost cover, but reacting to hunting pressure, birds will push out incredibly early, at times in the dark on public land. While pheasant may adjust their schedules to hunting pressure and weather patterns across the season, when and where to find them at any given time can be predicted with moderate certainty in the Walla Walla Valley.

Seeds and berries are common pheasant diet components in fall and winter. By mid-morning, birds are foraging on upland slopes and moving toward or into crop fields. Tall wheatgrass (an introduced Eurasian bunchgrass common to southeast Washington), wheat, canola, or other seed-producing crops offer forage throughout the season. Woods rose and blue elderberry provide dual function of food and cover when growing in dense patches. Birds may spend more time in this type of cover in the early morning, particularly in freezing conditions.

Pheasant spend a large part of the day working edge habitats such as the crop field/grassland interface common among farmland enrolled in the Conservation Reserve Program. Short wheat stubble lacks adequate cover from avian predators, so pheasant typically don’t roam far from secure refuge when browsing cut crop fields.  By late afternoon, birds grab a final snack before flying into roost, within about forty-five minutes of twilight.

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As 9:30am approached, the girls quivered with anticipation alongside my old Fox 16-gauge double, broken open across the tailgate. I released the girls and strode quickly through lowland, waist-high Canada thistle and reed canary grass in route to the uplands. A whistle-blast and hand signal turned the girls to the high ground. We worked into the wind up a long ridge spine toward a wheat field, paralleling a steep slope. Native needle-and-thread grass and bluebunch wheatgrass grew low and lush, hiding pheasant along the slope edge.

Having quickly lost sight of Yuba, I turned toward my last visual of her, but a familiar arrythmia pulsed in my chest as Finn locked up mid-stride. Going in for the flush, the hen held tight enough I nearly left her thinking the bird had escaped on foot. A stellar performance by Finn to kick off our late morning jaunt. Upon release, Finn sailed toward the slope, dropping out of sight. My pace quickened.

Approaching the edge, I spied Yuba standing staunch, tail high, with Finn cautiously backing. Hastily, I circled wide, approaching from the front to pin the bird between us. At ten feet out, Yuba’s penetrating gaze identified a thick round of bunchgrass three paces to my right. Turning to face the unseen bird triggered an eruption of parting bunchgrass with the onset of heavy wing beats. A splendid wild rooster gained altitude over a backdrop of rolling golden wheat and grassland.

My Fox came up smoothly, followed by the girls launching over the edge, their eyes fixed firmly on the prize. At approximately 10:00am, I softly slid our first rooster of a lazy morning into my vest, admiring his emerald green head, long, striped tail, and modest spurs.

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As the season progresses, get creative. Try new territory. Don’t be afraid to get a late start. Play on pheasant feeding behaviors; consider upland food sources over lowland coverts. Relax. Relish every point. Enjoy the hunt!

Late-Season Roosters

Published in the East Oregonian, January 18th, 2020. 

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Let’s face it. Whether satisfying a hard-charging, time-consuming passion or taking afield as a weekend warrior, hunting hard can wear you down. And, Heaven forbid, at some point you may even want to take a break. From my perspective, I don’t necessarily want a day off. But the pre-dawn wakeup calls get old in a hurry once the temperature dips below freezing. This is where pheasant and I have something in common.

A general theme among pheasant hunters is to bust thick roosting and refuge cover all season long. This is a solid, proven tactic. However, the terrain and expanse of wheat in our area can narrow covers and funnel the wind, setting up a repeated, ideal scenting approach, worn out by the hunter/canine duo.

Rooster pheasant are some of the sharpest game birds out there, sporting incredibly fleet feet. They wise up quickly, particularly to repetition. And by the end of the first month of the upland season, finding roosters willing to hold for a pointing dog is like telling your buddy with a straight face that his Griffon is “stylish” as it backs your setter. Not happening! (Relax, I am only kidding.)

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Understanding pheasant behavior provides insight to changing tactics throughout the day, as well as across the season. Pheasant spend a large part of their day working edge habitats such as the crop field/grassland interface common among our rolling ag-lands. It’s true that severe cold will force birds to seek heavy refuge cover and stay in it or near it much of the day. On average winter days, bird may sit longer in the morning before leaving cover, but they will lazily leave and move upslope to feed and loaf in the sun in often overlooked covers. And the bonus goes to the uplander who capitalizes on this behavior, enjoying a later, more relaxed morning before heading afield.

Late-season roosters are bound to flush further ahead and out of gun range relative to early-season. The majority of the birds will vacate public land when pushed, but a handful are likely to drop back into the refuge cover and sit tight or disperse to predictable pockets. If the roost cover is what you and your dog work best, go ahead and hit it early, but consider this: There may be another approach angle conducive to pushing fleeing birds into strategic locations for a second contact.

The experience of flushing a quail covey and hunting singles sprinkled across the prairie can translate to pheasant, particularly when flocked up at the tail end of the season. I have found this productive with flocks generally of more than a dozen birds.

Another strategy is to hunt with partners and additional dogs. I spend the majority of my season alone with one or two setters on the ground at once, which puts me at a disadvantage over those who hunt with friends or run flushing dogs in the thick stuff. First, identify any likely escape routes and try to cut them off. Also, narrow points that you can spread across and push birds into are likely to hold birds longer as some will be reluctant to flush into open areas like an expanse of planted wheat field.

Vary your path through cover. If I had a nickel for every rooster that ran around the dog and flushed behind me, I might have five bucks by now (you can do the math). Walking a predictable path allows a wily rooster an easy escape. By varying your path, you are more likely to encounter that escape artist trying to pull the end-around on you, forcing a flush out front, opposed to over the shoulder; a much higher-percentage opportunity. The only downside? There are no [legitimate] excuses for a miss out front.

Alright, we’ve covered the coverts. Let’s consider a few other points. How often do you hunt quietly? Pheasant will flush at the sound of a distant car door or voices when heavily pressured. Leave the whistles and beeper collars in the truck. Speak only when necessary and use soft voices. This sounds a little silly and extreme, but is a must if you hunt public land or public access.

I use a whistle and run my setters in vests. I have seen roosters flush hundreds of yards ahead at the blast of a whistle or the sound of brush against the vest as the dogs close in. I avoid all unnecessary auditory communication with my dogs by mid-November, relying heavily on visual cues to direct them, even when they want to run big.

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Now, what are you shooting? I have been a 16-guage fan for years, but finally broke down and bought a CZ Bobwhite G2, chambered 20-gauge. Loaded with 3-inch magnum Kent steel 4-shot, this little gem has secured more pheasant this year than I have ever touched in my upland career. While some claim that the 20-gauge is best swapped for a 12-gauge magnum load when hunting extreme cold, I have no intention of switching out for late season. With that said, I do agree that magnum loads are a must, as well as larger gauges if you consistently shoot lighter loads, as extreme cold can rob power from the powder charge.

Another consideration is choke, and I do recommend choking up with colder weather and the potential for pheasant to flush further out. Remember that steel patterns tighter than lead. This means that when changing out choke tubes (if you have this luxury), swap to “improved cylinder” if you want to shoot a “modified” pattern, for example. For a double gun, I recommend “improved cylinder” and “modified” chokes for steel shot and “modified” and “full” for lead shot.

As the season progresses, get creative. Try new territory. Don’t be afraid to get a late start. Play on pheasant feeding behaviors considering upland food sources over lowland coverts. The pheasant season ends December 31st in eastern Oregon, but the eastern Washington season runs through January 20th this year (two days left). You can pick up a 3-day non-resident small game license for $68 and there is plenty of “Feel-Free-to-Hunt” land within an hour of Walla Walla.

Regardless of how you play the game, bask in the moment of every hunt. Our passion is stoked by the time afield, the work of the dog, the feel of that coveted scatter gun, cold in our hands, and the distant cackle of a rooster making a fool of all who pursue him. Tail feathers protruding from the vest, while hard earned and respected, is mere icing on the cake.

Phantom of the Uplands

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I must admit I am my mother’s son, and apparently that of her mother as well. Both enjoy collecting beautiful things to display, as well as practical materials that may be of use at some unknown (and inexplicable) point in time. I am not a collector, per se, but I am guilty of keeping things like useless wood scraps and old nails and bolts. And I just can’t bring myself to discard antlers, handsome game hides or upland bird plumage.

Art is a recurring theme among my tales and reflections of venturing into our natural world. Whether wielding a fly-rod or chasing my setters across the autumn bunchgrass, the poetry of interaction with our ecosystem, and the brilliance of the autumn canvas, upland bird plumage and the rich colors of high mountain trout always provide fodder for my pen. I find the beauty in these things so significant that I feel responsible for somehow preserving the memories of fin and feather through practical application and admiration.

 While I enjoy crafting varied upland bird displays and shadow boxes to perpetually capture experiences, a friend of mine takes the artistic side of the uplands to a new level.

I met Janet Marshman during my graduate school days at James Madison University’s Edith J. Carrier Arboretum. I was a staff arborist and Janet arrived as a welcome volunteer. And it wasn’t long before her talents turned up in our visitor center.

Channeling her creative side, Janet decided once upon a time to make a drama-style mask as a birthday present for her sister-in-law, an art teacher. Clearly impressed, she encouraged Janet to sell her masks. Running with the idea, Janet sold her first lot to an art gallery in Charlottesville, Virginia. That was 1983.

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Upon learning of my hunting and fishing hobbies, Janet asked if I had anything furred or feathered that I could part with. And, given my tendency to hang on to such items, I returned with a variety of material from whitetail and mountain goat hide to eastern fox squirrel tails and thought nothing more of it. Until the day Janet presented me with a shadow box containing a mask made largely of moose hide, tree bark, shelf fungi and lichens. Its natural beauty was so striking, the shadow box was one of the few “natural displays” that made the living room wall after I got married.

When asked why she appreciates natural items like fungi, Janet replied “There is so much beauty in natural materials.”

Fungi and lichens are among the common “fauna” I have noticed in Janet’s masks over the years. But what draws her to these materials so readily?

“I love fungi, lichens, moss, and textures of bark. The colors are often muted and blend well with colors of feathers, but provide variation in texture to the mask.”

While Janet’s affinity to use natural materials has always spoken to me, her tastes and innovation dive far deeper and include mechanical and electronic items like sprockets, wires and mother boards, even digital camera parts used for her husband, Frank, who once owned a camera repair service. Abstract, eclectic, organic.

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She never took it full-time, but has sold at shows across the eastern U.S. from New Orleans to Philadelphia, and regularly donates to charitable causes. Interestingly, somewhere in there she took a 20-year hiatus to raise her family. An experience that she claims brought her “…visual maturity and creativity into bloom” and contributed to the depth and intricacy of her later pieces.

Janet has collaborated costume design with the James Madison University dance theater. Her masks have been on display in various galleries and restaurants, as well as the Hirshhorn Museum in Washington D.C. She has even won a Halloween contest or two. But she doesn’t stop there, keeping her fingers in photography, sculpture and mixed-media.

“I believe a true artist continues to grow in their art and see things differently. I don’t believe in finding a niche and staying there.” Janet says.

This past winter I sent Janet a few pheasant capes, only to unexpectedly have them partially returned in March, stunningly crafted in dramatic whimsy. Her use of lichens, rooster tail and body feathers, corn husks, dried brome, and river birch bark delivered multiple complex layers of the environment in such a way to compliment themselves to their utmost potential.

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Clearly, I feel a bond with Janet’s masks; her tie of my passions to true artistic talent and conception. She captures my eternal desire to immortalize the memory of those who have blessed my home and table.

Additionally, Janet’s creativity exemplifies the beauty and elegance of our natural world, cast in the glow of perfect complement between flora and fauna. Her masks emphasize the intrinsic value of the natural world to human existence and emotion, portrayed through the eyes of an esteemed artist and her theatrical design.

Status and Conservation of Oregon’s Mountain Quail

Collapsing my tenkara rod, I reflected on the brilliant California golden trout I had just released back into the trickle of a mountain stream dropping from a series of high lakes in the Ansel Adams Wilderness. The September sun shone golden and warm against my back as dappled light streamed through the forest canopy. That fish put a bow on one of the most memorable weeks of my fly-fishing career, traipsing through the scenic Sierra Nevada Range in search of a trout I had dreamed about for decades.

Descending from 10,000 feet, the trail meandered through various cover types including old-growth pine and small pockets of yellowing aspen. Approaching a unique knob around 8,500 feet was a minute stand of sagebrush, appearing entirely out of place and displaced from the lowland scrub and chapparal. The faint scuffling and whistling of a quail covey piqued my interest.

Climbing the knob, the covey scurried across the trail ahead and levitated above the sage, sailing elegantly into the safety of a nearby snarl. Mountain quail. That first encounter left me mesmerized and wishing to exchange my fly rod for a setter and double gun, and added another hunt to my bucket list. Researching mountain quail habitat and their distribution across the west, I was pleasantly surprised to learn of Oregon’s populations and conservation efforts.

Mountain quail are a North America native, distributed throughout the Oregon Cascades and California’s Sierra Nevada, with a sprinkling in Nevada, Mexico and Washington. Southeast Washington, eastern Oregon and western Idaho historically were home to mountain quail, but over time, their habitat and populations dwindled. In Oregon, mountain quail were once found in every county. Since about 1950, land use practices and fire suppression have contributed to their decline.

Photo Credit – US Fish and Wildlife Service

Mountain quail are the largest native quail in North America. They are uniquely monomorphic, meaning both sexes are virtually identical in size and appearance, each boasting their most peculiar feature, a black, needle-like “top knot” growing over an inch long from the top of the head.

Preferred habitat consists of dense brush, such as manzanita thickets, chapparal and scrub, in wooded foothills and mountains. Features like burns and clear-cuts are important for providing the appropriate balance of cover and food sources, and water within about one mile. Riparian habitats with an adjacent brushy, upland slope are favorable.

The mountain quail diet consists mainly of vegetation during spring and summer, seeds and berries during fall and winter. Insects are important for spring and summer brood rearing. Mountain quail also exhibit a robust reproductive strategy. Females lay seven to fifteen eggs in two separate nests within about 600 feet of each other. Both adults incubate clutches independently, males typically having greater hatch success.

In 1996, Oregon State University (OSU) began a study to compare life history characteristics between the larger, stable lower Cascades population, and that of a remnant population in Hells Canyon. Additionally, quail were translocated from the Cascades to Hells Canyon to compare life histories of the separate groups in the same habitat.

The OSU study results informed a sixteen-year follow-on translocation study to reintroduce mountain quail to historic eastern Oregon habitats. The Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife (ODFW) teamed up with OSU and the U.S. Forest Service beginning in 2001, translocating and radio-tracking birds in the Freemont, Deschutes and Malheur National Forests and the Steens Mountain Wilderness.

A total of 2,574 birds were translocated across years. Forty-five percent (1,156) were radio-tracked to obtain habitat selection, survival and nesting success information. Overall, nesting and brooding was successful across sites and years. Survival ranged from approximately sixteen percent to nearly sixty percent, depending upon year and release site. Survival rates and trends observed were similar to those of the Cascades population from which birds were translocated.

Photo Credit- US Fish and Wildlife Service

Concluding the study in 2017, it appears the translocation efforts were at least marginally successful. Mountain quail appear to be maintaining small populations where translocated and are considered an “occasional” species in Wallowa and Union Counties while the lower Cascades population remains strong. Detailed annual reports of the translocation study are available from ODFW online.

Oregon offers hunting opportunity with the eastern Oregon season running October 10th through January 31st this year, including California quail and overlapping the forest grouse season. The lower Cascades season opens September 1st.

Mountain quail are a peculiar and secretive species, and a treasure to the State of Oregon. There is something magical about their presence on the landscape. The memory of flushing a covey over manzanita or juniper scrub will remain etched in your cache of extraordinary upland experiences. Whether pursuing with dog and scatter gun or hiking stick and camera, the marvel of this distinctive native quail and their habitat that we are blessed to have on our public lands is reason enough to seek adventure in the high desert.

Kings, Pawns and Jesters in the Game of Grouse

Published in the East Oregonian, September 19th, 2020

“King of the woods”. Otherwise known as the ruffed grouse. I won’t go so far as to agree with those who believe ruffs are the king of all upland birds, yet I am yielding to this “king of the woods” business.

There’s an old saying about hunting chukar that goes something like “at first you hunt them for fun, then you hunt for revenge”. I have found with chukar that I hold no hate strong enough to chase them down (or up) the cliffs and scree slopes and plummet-to-your-death, inhospitable hell holes where I have never before seen so many birds in my life. It’s just not worth it. But I will say that I am wholly undecided on it being passion, challenge, or vengeance that calls me back to the grouse covers.

My setters and I have secured a comfortable routine hunting prairie birds across the west, and my desire to run the dogs earlier in the season is what drove me to the grouse covers. And nowhere have I been more frequently frustrated to the point of maniacal laughter like in the dark tangles of the Blue Mountains.

In the literal thick of things when a grouse blows my socks off, my brain short-circuits, fumbling gun mount and lead timing. The 3.2 nanosecond shot opportunity a ruff leaves in its wake, screaming through pinholes in impenetrable vegetated walls sufficient to challenging a Jedi Interceptor require far quicker reflexes.

My oldest Llewellin, Finn, searches a wetland for ole ruff.

If you’ve ever hunted timber of the ruff’s preferred stem density, you know precisely the dodgy, Mach-speed flight these birds are capable of. Instinctual shooting is a must. The kind of target acquisition born nowhere short of a lifetime in the grouse woods. Thinking is not an option. Not even a blackberry thicket quail covert requires so much anticipation and keen attention to the flush.

But there is something more to success on roughed grouse than snappy, savvy handling of walnut and steel. A good grouse cover is like the Bermuda Triangle. Grouse appear and vanish like apparitions. Pointing dogs lock up staunch, then suddenly peel off, only to be stymied by the explosion of a bird behind them. A bird they assumed was never there at all.

The fall of 2019 was my best grouse year on record if you count finds and flushes. About average if you figure I never managed to squeeze off a shot. Having three legitimate opportunities among a dozen flushes, I succumbed to panic.

My last hunt of December placed my middle pup Yuba and I in scraggly ninebark flanking a young red alder stand. The slick, greenish tinge of the alder shone a brilliant contrast to the dark timber along the Tucannon River. Candy-apple red rose hips shone radiantly like Christmas lights amid the dim forest. And Yuba, a stocky tri-color Llewellin setter, stood firm, etched into the fabric of the forest.

Thinking it a “grousey” spot, I circled around for the flush only to see Yuba reconsider and peel off to continue her search.

“There has got to be a bird in there.” I thought as I stood atop a small mound, staring daggers into the shrubbery maze.

 At once, a glorious male ruff rose from the crisp, ocher leaf litter with three swift wingbeats. Either the savage gleam in my eye spooked him or he was never actually there, but for the first time that season, both barrels of my L.C. Smith 12-gauge covered the bird immediately. Tracking as closely as a fighter jet target lock, I swung with the bird. I have never taken a male ruff, and still haven’t to this day.

My youngest Llewellin, Zeta, takes a break on a September hunt.

Shocked by its lazy escape and the unbelief that the bird even existed or that my superstar Yuba betrayed her own instincts, I stared down the barrels at the coal-black neck ruff, finger poised on the trigger, begging to energize the modified-choke barrel. The handsome gent evaporated into dense fir, my finger still pressuring the trigger. Befuddled, my cognitive ability failed to disengage the safety. Yuba and I shared a look of bewilderment and called it good on a season of lessons.

Nearly a year hence, having practiced my mount and prepared mentally for the grouse game, we set out to discover new covers. Running my oldest and youngest, Finn and Zeta, we traversed a creekside snarl of cottonwood and young fir flanked by thick hawthorn and serviceberry. I could sense the bird, clutching my 20-gauge CZ Bobwhite (The Bob) as Zeta encircled a fir on the edge of a clearing.

The ruff made a 10-foot leap, coming down quickly between the dog and I. Darting between trees, scrambling for a clear shot, the bird came up again, a big male, and The Bob was on it with alacrity. To my delight, I pulled off the shot in a fraction of a second, then stood mystified, gazing into the riparian jumble as another male ruff slipped into the safety of distance. Reaching into my vest, I retrieved the two high-velocity #7 loads that I recalled with certainty closing tightly in the action upon exiting the truck.

Years of frustrations. Screw-ups. Shoddy bird numbers. Ghost birds. Dog blunders. All for the sake of a bird that commands respect only to offend at will. Feeling at times like the peasant among royalty, begging for a meager chance to gaze upon the delightful plumage of the elusive ruffed grouse. My girls and I made a mockery of an upland team.

King of the Woods or Lord of the Louts? Perhaps both.

My middle Llewellin, Yuba, with one of the occasional grouse to grace our game bag.

Fresh Snow, Blaze Orange and Opening Day Roosters

Turning down Lewis Gulch, I spied a beautiful draw curling into the wheat fields, free of human track. A sight for sore eyes on the eastern Washington pheasant opener. Whipping the Tundra to the shoulder and throwing her in “park”, we finally had something to look forward to.

Deciding to try something new this year, I quickly re-learned that if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. We had left home at 5:00am. Four hours hence, we had yet to put boots on the ground for lack of room in the bird covers.

Releasing Finn and Zeta and wading the waist-high grasses, we took delight in our first snow romp of the season as about an inch had fallen above 2,500 feet in the wind farm. The girls and I climbed steadily through the white fluff with the anticipation of pushing roosters to the end of the draw began building. My gut tied in knots with visions of the red-faced, cackling prairie clowns erupting at field’s edge. I knew birds were there. The variety of thick and thin shrubs and grasses was too good to be void.

Zeta inspects the field edge, pretending to find a wily rooster.

It was risky running Zeta the only hour we would hunt this opening morning, but she needed the exposure and the exercise. Half way up the draw, the grasses began to shorten and the cover narrowed to a teardrop point in a ridge-top saddle. Exactly where a running rooster hesitates briefly at the open field before bursting airborne as the dog creeps onto point. And bursting pheasant is precisely what Zeta had in mind.

Shifting my grip on my 20-gauge double for a quick mount, I spied Finn trotting back toward me, eyes on the wheat field. She then stopped cold, turned and came at a run. The gig was up. Finn always returns when a dog bumps the birds. Sitting at my feet with a sheepish gaze, her wide eyes tattled on young Zeta, who was ranging out of sight in utter merriment, according to my GPS locator.

Finn and I crested the hill to find Zeta frolicking in the snow and leaping grass tufts as she does at home, double-checking the brush in the ditch after blowing through at the speed of sound to scatter in terror the birds, cats, chickens, deer and anything else that cares to run. She lives for the chase.

Disappointedly laughing it off, we circled the draw, coming off the far side, and marveling at the splendid winter view. Every visible piece of habitat simultaneously under dissection by hunters, revealed by the specks of blaze orange sprinkled across the landscape.

Descending from the ridge crest, my mind escaped from the hunt into a state of winter stroll. Finn scented below hillside pines while Zeta plowed beneath piles of tumbleweed and thick reed canary grass. At the truck, I emptied snow balls from the front of their jackets and turned the rig toward home.

Finn boasting her snowball collection tucked neatly in her vest. Best laid plans for revenge on Zeta’s follies.

The sun was already warm and rich back on the homestead and Yuba was due a hunt. It had been two months since her second hip surgery to correct dysplasia. She lives to hunt pheasant and her pride was bruised over not loading up with the others this morning. Grabbing the gun and vest from the back seat, I kicked open the paddock gate and smiled as “wobble dog” disappeared behind the barn into the golden, waist-high wheatgrass.

Rounding the barn, I spied Yuba on point, statuesque, her tail-feathers wafting gently in the breeze as the afternoon sun streamed through the long strands of white hair. She encircled a path I mowed for watering our golden currant plantings, catching the scent of birds feeding along the path.

Closing in, she broke point to follow the scent and a dozen pheasant erupted 20-yards to my right, silhouetted against the sun. The occasional down-feather drifted behind them, lit up like orbs and boasting a starburst edge as sun rays streamed through them. Swinging through and squeezing both barrels, the birds vanished unharmed. I had once again delivered a stellar lesson as a professional wildlife educator.

Whistling Yuba back, I sent her into the hillside weed hummocks where the birds had flushed. We entered nearly side-by-side when she slammed onto point simultaneous with a single rooster rocketing from beneath my feet. Sufficiently startled, I whiffed with the right barrel, but as the bird made the 30-yard mark, the left barrel connected perfectly, securing our first bird of the year.

“Wobble Dog” Yuba with her first rooster of the season.

Racing as fast as two unsteady hind legs can carry pup buzzing on the rich aroma of roosters, the black and white flash claimed her bird, mouthing it gleefully as I approached.  Admiring the bright plumage of the young wild rooster and the curiously long, banded tail feathers flanking the two longest in the middle, the success was just a bit sweeter coming from the homeplace where we work the land to serve the birds, and take just one when the numbers are high.

Prancing to the house with our prize in hand, Yuba’s exuberance defined the highlight of her fall. Reveling in the sweet opening day success on the homestead, a dozen birds, no competition and a tight-holding rooster set the bar abundantly high for hunts to come.