Upland Tradition – Palouse Upland Media

Palouse Outdoors – Restoring an Heirloom

I don’t know when dad purchased the gun or from whom or where, but one of its few outings captured on film was in 1981. Dad had hunted a gray squirrel on his parent’s farm in what used to be the middle-of-nowhere Appalachia.

The Herrington and Richardson Topper Model 158 (H&R) was the shotgun built for everyone. An ordinary, functional firearm built for the budget-minded. Overly simplistic yet wholly reliable described the H&R firearms line from 1871 to 1986 under the parent company.

Dad’s H&R saw its last hunt somewhere around 1992 when a zealous child acting crafty with a gray squirrel failed to properly lock the action. I secured provisions for Brunswick stew and learned a frightening lesson in the process. The top-break action blew open, ejecting the casing and busting the gun’s forearm. Miraculously, I did not suffer the same consequence. As a pre-teen, I had little use for a busted gun or the ability or knowledge to repair it. I left it to rust in an attic for nearly thirty years.

Pre-restoration, rusted and forgotten. What’s pictured here comes with the Burchwood Casey kit (save for the gun).

Returning home in 2020, I finally decided to grab the old H&R from the attic and haul it back to Waitsburg. Given their basic style and seemingly low-grade stocks, H&R firearms don’t carry much monetary value. Given the gun was useless otherwise, I decided to try my hand at a home restoration job, finding my first experience to be as terrifying as expected.

Ordering a Burchwood Casey complete re-bluing kit, I went to work one afternoon in the shop, thinking the directions were straightforward and simplistic. I learned quickly, however, that our hot, dry summer climate play a major role in the complexity of the endeavor, so much so that I basically enjoyed doing the job twice.

The first crucial step was stripping the rust and bluing from the barrel and action. Using a kit-provided swab and applying the rust and blue removal chemical was easy, as was using steel wool to gently rub off rust and debris. The kerfuffle came when the stripping chemical began drying into a sticky paste on the barrel in the 90-degree heat.

Using the supplied degreaser, I quickly removed the gunk from the barrel, performing a second and third coat of rust and blue remover in some cases, quickly working the steel wool and sand paper to remove everything, then promptly cleaning.

Lesson 1: Perform your firearm restoration in a climate-controlled area.

During the rust/blue removal step, the directions say to clean the metal until it shines, taking great care in the process. Simple enough. The problem occurs where interpretations of “shine” may vary. My cleaning job resulted in what appeared to be a rust-free, lustrous surface, yet later during the bluing step, I learned otherwise.

Lesson 2: Sand and polish the metal at least twice again once you think you have it “shiny” using the rust removal chemical and degreasing thoroughly when finished. You want as near a mirror finish as possible.

Degreasing is another critical step as bluing will not work with unclean metal. Grease and oil prevent the bluing chemical from contacting the metal surface, creating a blotchy appearance. Be sure to use latex or nitrile gloves during the process as fingerprints can show plainly from skin oils. As with the rust and blue removal, once you think the parts are clean, degrease at least twice again, scrubbing diligently. Sanding tough areas when removing rust and bluing can help tremendously, the gun action being the most difficult area.

Sound fun so far? The above steps are simply tedious. Bluing is utter madness. Bluing is a clear chemical that reacts with the steel, darkening it to the rich, almost black finish most guns bear. The directions say to apply quickly, and thoroughly, with an optimal 30- to 45-second soak and no longer than 60 seconds. This could not be stressed enough, which led me to believe the gun would self-destruct at 61 seconds. I decided to blue the H&R barrel in three sections, similar to what the direction recommended.

Lesson 3: Blue the barrel one or two inches at a time. By the time I had the area evenly coated, the starting point had been sitting for 20 seconds, leaving an uneven soak time before washing in cold water and breaking the chemical reaction.

Although it would have been excruciatingly slow, wiping a single blue streak around the barrel at a time would have been far better in the long-run for creating an even finish and would have required about the same amount of time. Thankfully, the finished darkened as it “cured” over 24-hours.

Lesson 4: Coating many small areas is preferable over fewer large areas providing a better finish.

With the metals finally finished, I turned to the stock. The original wood was light and wide-grained with an orangish tint when finished. The replacement forearm was beautiful walnut. How to match them up?

Once sanded clean, I used “special walnut 224” stain from the hardware store for the stock, matching with the new forearm as close as possible. Wiping on two light coats with a rag, I then applied teak oil to both stock and forearm. Finally, a light wipe of clear furniture urethane gave gloss and superior weather protection that looked good to me.

Lesson 5: I am a better carpenter than metalsmith.

Overall, I was pleased with the outcome. The barrel finish could be better and the process simpler, knowing what I know now, but the result was far better than the prior condition. And, I suppose learning a new skill requires starting somewhere.

Regardless, the H&R heirloom found its way back into action, plucking a plump collared dove on its first outing as a reborn small game scattergun. A bird I doubt my dad had ever even heard of.

Upland Pursuits – The Wild Turkey Conservation Success Story

Published April 15th, 2023 in the La Grande Observer

One rainy fall morning, I found myself sitting quietly in an old hay shack on the edge of an alfalfa field. My friend Dan sat to my right. A calico barn cat desperate for friendship perched upon a hay bale to my left. As dawn cracked, the sound of raindrops pinging on the rusted tin roof was disrupted by a cacophony of turkey “yelps” from their roost far above us in a pine stand. The cat continued preening, uninterested, but Dan and I glanced at each other in curious anticipation.

Moments later, over one hundred Rio Grande turkeys sailed down from the roost into the alfalfa field before us. Video of the hunt shows turkeys gliding in from the pines for nearly five minutes. The discordant “kee-kee” and “yelp” calls from a flock that large were defeating as the birds gathered before eventually spreading across the emerald alfalfa carpet where they engaged in synchronized feeding.

Having never successfully hunted turkeys, it was hard to maintain my composure with that many birds front and center. A large jake (a juvenile male) finally separated from the flock, allowing a safe shot. Upon squeezing the trigger, it was unclear which, the cat or the shot wad, left the shack in the biggest hurry – the cat having launched from the haystack so quickly that it virtually vanished into thin air. At that moment, the largest flock of turkeys I had ever seen before or since lifted off, leaving the jake behind to bless my dinner table.

That parcel has produced most of my wild turkeys over the years, regularly holding flocks with greater than thirty birds during the fall and winter. This is common across the nation in areas with patchwork landscapes of agriculture, forest, and grasslands or pasture, making it hard to believe that the wild turkey was once pushed to the brink of extinction in North America.

According to the National Wild Turkey Federation, approximately 10 million wild turkeys roamed North America at the time of European settlement – a fine food source for settlers. Like most “game species” known today, turkeys were hunted year-round without regulation for subsistence and the market.

As the eastern colonies grew and settlers moved across America, timber was cleared for agriculture and community development. The cumulative impact of hunting and habitat loss decimated and isolated wild turkey populations.

“Connecticut had lost its wild turkeys by 1813. Vermont held out until 1842 and other states followed. By 1920, the wild turkey was lost from 18 of the original 39 states and Ontario, Canada, in its supposed ancestral range[1].“

North American wild turkey populations plummeted below an estimated 250,000 by the 1930s, but pending legislation and the Great Depression would serve the wild turkey well.

In 1900, the first iteration of the Lacey Act regulated market hunting by prohibiting trade in wildlife, fish, and plants that were illegally harvested, possessed, transported, or sold. This Act, in concert with early wildlife management regulations, reduced the overall hunting impact on turkey populations.

The Great Depression fell upon America in 1929, and over the following decade, homesteads and small farms were vacated as 14 million people sought work in cities and factories. With fields left fallow, natural succession converted former cropland to grasslands and shrublands. This natural landscape change resulted in the rebirth of wild turkey habitat.

Another keystone piece of legislation – the Pittman-Robertson Act of 1937 – established a conservation fund via excise tax placed on the sale of sporting goods and ammunition. These funds were used as seed money to establish large-scale conservation efforts. State fish and game agencies began trap-and-transport programs to reestablish turkeys throughout their native range. “By 1952, bird numbers nationwide had grown to 320,000[2].”

By 1973, the national wild turkey population estimate was about 1.3 million birds. At that time, the National Wild Turkey Federation was founded with the mission of “wild turkey conservation and the preservation of North America’s hunting heritage.”

These and other conservation efforts have resulted in the recovery of wild turkeys with over 6 million estimated across 49 US States and five subspecies in 2014 – Eastern (4.5-4.7 million), Osceola or Florida (115,000), Rio Grande (853,000), Merriam’s (260,000), and Gould’s (1,200). This incredible recovery since 1973 is no simple coincidence with the founding of the National Wild Turkey Federation.

Sitting quietly, tucked into the brush at the bottom of a canyon, I listened to the excited gobbles of seven Rio Grande toms echo between the canyon walls. A young but robust bird with an exceptional beard was en route, lured by my feeble attempts to mimic a hen turkey yelp. Moments later, I stroked the bird’s iridescent plumage in the evening sunlight while the other toms and a dozen hens made their way back up the canyon. The wild turkey is perhaps one of the greatest conservation successes in North America. Moments like this make me proud of our continental conservation model, and thankful for the opportunity to hunt one of this nation’s greatest game birds.

If you have not hunted wild turkeys, now is the time to join the ranks in one of America’s oldest hunting traditions.

[1] History of the Wild Turkey in North America. James Earl Kennamer, Mary C. Kennamer, and Ron Brenneman. National Wild Turkey Federation Bulletin No. 15.

[2] Wild turkeys: A conservation (and hunting) success story (usatoday.com)

Covers Magazine – Grouse Camp Revival

Covers – Summer 2023 Edition

Middle age, the sequential loss of close friends and my dad and being far removed from my hometown, and missing family traditions had compounded into depression and anxiety. The ruffed grouse season opener came and went with little notice; something I had eagerly awaited in years past. The hunt itself was not enough. I needed peace. Meaning. Tradition. I found it in grouse camp.

Palouse Outdoors – Boot Leather Wins Wild Birds

Originally Published in The Waitsburg Times, November 2nd, 2023.

It’s an utter fact, proven time and again, particularly in a state like Washington: wild birds in the vest are won with “boot leather,” so to speak. Even in a spectacular wild bird year, by December, pheasants are scarce in the public covers of the Palouse. Private lands with the right mix of food and cover harbor dozens of pheasants as they congregate during cold weather. But rest assured, the remainder of the roosters are seasoned escape artists, skittish as hell, and alive, thanks to their uncanny sense of property boundaries and fleet feet.

In southeast Washington, hunters push every stitch of creek bottom on the map day after day. The high ground is often overgrazed or covered in yellow starthistle or common rye sufficient to make the habitat unsuitable. Considering the fraction of suitable habitat available to the overall hunting populace, scoring on wild birds after the new year is a feat.

Washington has 7.6 million citizens, ranks 13^th in the U.S. for population, and is comprised of approximately 42.7 million acres. Comparatively, Montana has a little over 1 million people, ranks 45^th in population, and is comprised of approximately 93.3 million acres. Both states are comprised of about 29 percent federal land. That equates to about 12.3 million acres of federal land, or 1.6 acres per person in Washington, compared to 27 million federal acres, or 25 acres per person in Montana.

While that coarse bit of number-crunching is no accurate representation of the hunting populace or pressure in Washington State, it does provide perspective on acreage being at a premium with stiff competition for public covers.

Finding birds in the late season requires creativity and a willingness to explore, hike further, and take gambles on new covers. By January, I typically make a hard switch from chasing pheasant to covey birds like quail and Huns, and this means I scour On-X Maps, drive further from home, and hike a lot more new territory. And, every year, I am surprised at what I find.

Parcel size means little to me past Christmas. Habitat quality, distance from the road to the quality habitat, and distance from the nearest popular hunting areas are the qualities to consider. The smallest parcels can hold a surprising number of birds. They can just as likely be vacant. It’s a craps shoot, and striking it rich requires trial and error.

One January morning, Yuba and I struck out across a parcel of Department of Natural Resources (DNR) land we had yet to lay eyes on. Aerial imagery suggested enough native grasses to tempt a Hun covey along the eastern boundary with a wheat field. We worked the boundary that turned out to be covered in cow vetch and starthistle, then dropped into a shallow draw and worked toward cattle grazing in a bunchgrass stand.

Where cattle, bunchgrass, and Llewellin setter met, Yuba came to a jerking halt. Anticipation mounted as Yuba’s demeanor relaxed, signaling that the birds were moving. As she pursued the bird over 200 yards, it became clear that this was no Hun covey. Her final point came with confidence and I circled widely to pin the bird between us. Yuba broke point and locked up again 10 yards thence. This repeated three times before I caught a glimpse of a rooster low-crawling through the sparse bunches. Yuba spotted him too. I couldn’t help but laugh as the grass faded into starthistle, exposing the rooster, and pressuring him to take wing.

Finding good habitat on grazed public lands can be tough; however, don’t judge a book by its cover. Many times, I have parked at the foot of a steep slope, gnawed to the soil, and thought, no way in hell am I plodding up and over that greasy mud mound. There’s not a stitch of cover to be found. But I never let myself get away with a lazy mindset. You never know what hidden gem may lie on the other side of the hill.

Finn ran a parcel like this New Year’s Day, 2021. We hoofed it up and over, crossed a few fences, and found a single 20-acre strip of beautiful Hun cover between two wheat fields. This day, the cover was empty, but the recent scat of a covey that could have been present was reassurance that we were in the right place. While we didn’t get on the birds, I never would have found that little slice of habitat had I not pushed through the marginal cover surrounding it. Two whitetail sheds provided consolation.

Finding those sheds suggested two things. First, I was hunting in the right place. Walking up on a fully exposed, intact shed, bleached white and cracked from the sun, means no one else is hunting that ground. It’s rare to have a tract all to myself, even if it is poor habitat.

Second, I was hunting in the wrong place. With so many hunters and so little public land, sharing covers is expected. When there’s no evidence of other hunters, one may surmise that no one else hunts it because they know better. There is always another hunter out there willing to hike a couple of miles to find good covers. But, when the stars align, you stumble upon a cover so good you don’t even expose it to your mother as she gabs over the phone from her Del Ray Beach retirement condo.

On-X Maps is an amazing tool for mapping out covers across the season, but it takes groundwork to validate the imagery. Each parcel is like a new mine claim. Will you strike it rich or bust? The unknown is part of the fun, and when gambling, one thing is certain: if you don’t play, you can’t win. Wearing out boot leather is the only way to expand your library of public covers and score wild birds.

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