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!

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.

Grouse of the September Uplands

Publish September 5th, 2019, The Waitsburg Times

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With the summer heat still baking the brown and brittle landscape, dog work would need to be restricted to the precious early morning hours of refuge. Fortunately, we were blessed with an overcast sky; one of the first to come of the early fall season. But the transition to autumn was in full swing, presenting a soothing canvas of large pines towering dark above the reddening of the Oregon grape and snowberry, and the fading yellow of elderberry leaves accented by their rich, black berry clusters.

The remains of an old road wound its way along a tributary of the Tucannon. The native shrubbery was speckled with the remnants of homesteads that once grew lush with apples and plums. The homes are gone, but the old fruit trees hung heavy with bright red apples and golf ball-sized orange and purple plums; their delicate offering a gift to the wildlife seeking to plump a bit for winter’s arrival.

Hiking the road, my mind wandered to days gone by. I pondered what the old homes may have looked like. Had they raised livestock? Did they grow vegetable gardens? I could almost taste the sweetness with a hint of pectin tang from the canned preserves that may have come from one of the old plum trees. Basking in fantasy, my muse was jolted back into reality. My innate setter sense triggered a subconscious reminder that my girls were missing, and dead silent above the ambient roar of the creek.

A couple whistle toots usually brings them back around for a check-in, but not a sole moved for a visible quarter mile. Adrenaline kicked in, and my leisurely stroll swiftly transformed into a calculated search for white, speckled bodies, little orange vests, and high setter tails flagging a pinned bird in the soft breeze.

Ruffed grouse or “ruffies” received namesake from the ruff of feathers around their necks. They are one of many miraculous upland bird species on the Columbia Plateau, and the first of the upland seasons to open in our little corner of Washington. But it’s a tough season, opening September 1st, concurrent with the early deer archery season. Temperature can soar into the 90s, wildfires can diminish air quality, and the thickets that these birds inhabit can challenge the most seasoned of hunters.

Finn Yuba Grouse 1

Hunting ruffed grouse became an upland tradition in Appalachia and the Northwoods many moons ago before the early decline of the northern bobwhite quail. An icon of the northern deciduous and boreal forests, their chest-pounding “drumming” echoes throughout the timber like autumn’s noble ambassador. The literary world offers a wealth of praise to ruffies from a simple emotional mention of grouse drumming, to entire volumes dedicated to what some regard as the “king of upland birds”. And a tradition this strong is sure to span a continent and beyond.

But the plethora of upland bird species and the overlap with big game seasons in the west has made the ruffed grouse seemingly less sought-after quarry, at least here in the Walla Walla River watershed. While I commonly share my public land pheasant coverts with others, I have yet to meet another grouse hunter afield in Washington.

Ruffies occupy a variety of habitats and elevations, but are quite fond of thick cover offering insect and tender vegetation food sources during the summer months, while fruits and berries serve as a winter food source. And a variety of food sources requires a mix of conifer and deciduous forest. In the Blue Mountains, this translates to creek bottoms and draws where elderberry, serviceberry, snowberry, hawthorn, and possibly some aspen occur, intermixed among or flanking fir and spruce species.

Given the tangled and sometimes prickly nature of grouse coverts, walking old forest roads presents the most efficient, and at times, the most pleasurable experience, particularly if working a dog with a GPS locator. Historically, a bell was hung from the dog’s collar, and some folks in the Northwoods still prefer the traditional gear. In any case, letting a dog do the brush-busting dirty work is my preference, although the most successful grouse hunters charge right into the thick of things.

Stepping from the road, I wound my way into a thicket of hawthorn and snowberry with a few pines poking up through for good measure. A darkly shaded mess of impossibility lay ahead as I dropped to a knee, ducked a few low branches, and began clawing my way in. Blackberry tendrils clung to the edges and my flannel shirt as if trying to sway me from entering the torture chamber.

Straining deeper in, I finally spied a speck of white about twenty feet ahead where snowberry met pine; my oldest Llewellin, Finn, on steadfast point. Crashing through the understory, I clambered as quickly as possible to reach her, cautiously optimistic that the bird would hold through the racket. A bit further into the snarl I spotted Yuba honoring Finn’s point, affirming the bird was indeed holding.

Anticipating the flush, planting my left foot forward triggered an explosion of wingbeats against the heavy vegetation. A blur of brown feathers and white setters ensued as my old 16-gauge side-by-side came to shoulder, reporting a clean miss. My split-second shot window vanished with the grouse, now sailing full tilt toward safer cover. Another performance typical of our little team.

Grouse 1

We regrouped on the far side of the jumble for a drink and some puppy praise, then resumed the mission, but grouse hunting does not have to be this difficult. Rain actually plays a major role in my success. Ruffies tend to slip out of the woodwork in the rain, spending time along mountain roads and other more open edges with good cover nearby. A quiet stroll under the pitter-patter of a shower has by far afforded me the most success, no pointing dog required. For this reason, and the likelihood of a spooked grouse sailing into a nearby tree within range of a small caliber rifle or arrow, ruffies in the west have also earned the nickname “fool hen”. But those who utter such blasphemy have never hunted grouse in the deciduous forests east of the Mississippi River.

If September archery hunting just isn’t your game, grab your favorite scattergun and hit the timber at sunrise. According to the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife 10-year harvest trend, grouse numbers in our corner of the state are rebounding from a 2015 low, likely on their normal, cyclical pattern. The W.T. Wooten Wildlife Area and Umatilla National Forest surrounding the upper Tucannon River provide a variety of habitats and opportunities.

Prior timber harvest offers an easy hike for youngster to become immersed in the uplands along old harvest roads closed to vehicles. You stand a good chance at seeing moose, mule deer and bear. The tranquility of a soft, pink sunrise and songbirds welcoming the day is broken only by the energetic flush of a ruffie erupting from cover.

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.