Tag: Double Gun

Palouse Outdoors – Playing a Royal Flush

Palouse Outdoors – Playing a Royal Flush

Brad Trumbo

Originally Published in The Waitsburg Times, January 6th, 2025.

Some of the best moments of my life have occurred while following the flashing tail of a bird dog through the whipping grouse covers and amber plains. I’ve found the upland hunting community welcoming, and the tales I’ve shared have connected me with friends I would never have known otherwise. Pheasants Forever holds a subset of this community – like-minded conservationists passionate about nature, bird dogs, and the beautifully plumed game birds that fascinate us.

I’ve had the good fortune of experiencing a variety of hunts and dog breeds, each with unique styles, personalities, and quirks. Yet, I had never hunted with golden retrievers before the 2024 season. Fortunately, Randy, a fellow Pheasants Forever volunteer, recently invited me to walk with him and his brace of stunning strawberry blonde golden retrievers to push up pheasant.

Randy’s casual appearance belies his wisdom and character as one of the most interesting people alive. He has traveled and hunted birds widely with his beloved golden retrievers. A 1970s throwback photo of Randy sitting with his dog and a handful of valley quail after a momentous day in Baja was highlighted in the 2024 Pheasants Forever Journal Upland Bird Super Issue, Volume 43(4). Randy has a story for every occasion, hunting or otherwise, but as I followed him and his bouncing pups into the field, our conversation narrowed to strictly business.

Young golden retriever, Scout, delivers a wily ring-neck rooster to hand.

“I’ve never hunted with flushers, save for a lab or two,” I said. 

“Really?” Randy questioned with surprise. “Well, you’re in for a treat!” Little did I know we would embark on a gentlemanly experience worthy of custom leather boots, twill wool garments, and ivy caps.

Flushing dogs are bred to do just that – find and flush birds. One crucial difference between flushing and pointing dogs like my setters is that flushers must work close to the hunter so the birds get up within shotgun range. Conversely, pointing dogs can range to whatever distance their handler is comfortable because they are bred and trained to stop when they find birds, allowing the hunter to approach and flush. These different dog behaviors also require the hunter to adapt their approach.

“You see the dogs getting ‘birdy’? Get up there fast!” Randy coached.

Making a beeline for the youngest dog, Scout, put me in the perfect position as a rooster pheasant broke from Scout’s pursuit. The rooster erupted directly ahead, climbing right-to-left and offering a clean swing. My 1951 C.F. Dumoulin side-by-side arrived at my shoulder with the bead perfectly aligned down range.

“Great shot!” Randy offered as Scout swiftly returned with the bird. 

“Thanks, Randy! My first rooster with the ole Dumoulin. And great dog work! I could get used to having my birds brought to hand. My setters have never cared to retrieve.”

Ten-year-old Tess settles at Randy’s feet with a prized rooster.

“Thank you! I’ll take the next bird,” Randy said with a chuckle as we moved on.

Soon after, Scout and his older companion, Tess, picked up the scent of another bird and began to push out. “Ssssssttt,” Randy quietly hissed, causing the dogs to hit the brakes and circle back toward us – an intelligent bit of training. Keeping quiet is essential to avoid spooking birds, particularly when approaching pheasants. This subtle sound instead of voice, whistle, or collar tone command can be the difference between a rooster flushing at 10 yards versus 100.

“You see how interested they look when they hit that scent? They ramp up to 100 miles per hour instantly, so you’ve got to be paying attention and moving quickly,” Randy advised as he scooted ahead, anticipating the flush. 

Randy carried a beautiful old Browning side-by-side, kept immaculate by his care and appreciation for quality and tradition. I observed Randy’s shot from behind, noting his relaxed technique and lead on the bird. The rooster tumbled, and Tess retrieved it in a textbook moment like a bread-and-butter sports play practiced 1,000 times over.

The hunt continued while Randy and I discussed birds and dogs and switched shooting opportunities with each new bird find. We strolled unhurried, carefree, appreciating every moment. It felt like a hunt for royalty, like we should have had a caddy to tote and reload the guns and serve the occasional sip of fine brandy or rich red wine in a classy sniffer.

By the hunt’s end, we each carried a passel of birds (Randy’s passel a bit heavier than mine) that would later become delicate meals shared with friends and family, sparking reflection on a noble hunt and Randy’s golden retrievers dealing a royal flush.

Classic side-by-sides like this 1951 C.F. Dumoulin 16-gauge are fun to carry, fitting of a classy hunt, and beautifully complemented by a brace of roosters.

Birds, Books, Setters, and Upland Hunting

Birds, Books, Setters, and Upland Hunting

Brad Trumbo

I’ve had the great pleasure to chat with the Crew at Harvesting Nature about Wingshooting the Palouse, and I believe you will enjoy the conversation. Give it a listen on the Wild Fish and Game Podcast.

Wingshooting the Palouse is available at Amazon.com.

Upland Destiny

Upland Destiny

Brad Trumbo

The feel of the old, familiar stock brings a smile to my face; slick, cold, comfortable. The foregrip checkering is rough against my left hand. Rolling the gun under the lights, the fox engraved on the underside of the box peers smugly up at me as if to say “If it flies, it dies!”

The marbled bluing on the box appears prismatic with hints of purple and bronze. Admiring the precise barrel fit into the action, my thoughts drift to a moment afield under an overcast sky. The barrels are broken open over a flannel-sleeved forearm above tawny bunchgrass; two spent shells presented by a single-piece extractor.

DSC_0971

Double triggers are guarded safely by a softly rounded, modest steel housing. The safety is nestled a comfortable measure behind the action lever on the tang. A custom recoil pad fits beautifully against the dark walnut stock creating the perfect length and fit. The gun shoulders smoothly; the rib meeting the eye impeccably.

The width of the side-by-side barrels and sight window instills a feeling of confidence, foreshadowed by the smug fox engraving. With my eye on the bead, dozens of hunts past flood into memory where staunch points and explosive flushes were met with accuracy, putting a period on an exquisite moment of poetry; a momentary dance backlit by the glowing embers of deep passion and firm upland style.

The lettering on the left barrel boasts sixteen-gauge. Marveling at the double in my father’s gun cabinet as a small boy in Appalachia, I was unaware that a sixteen-gauge existed. No one could have known that nearly forty years hence, it would swing through and place in hand the spectacular upland bird species of the western grasslands over my own Llewellin setters.

This double harvested my first rooster pheasant over a pointing dog; my first and oldest Llewellin. I toted it through my small bunchgrass pasture the first fall that I owned land, where it harvested a stunning wild rooster; just one, save the rest for my winter picture-window entertainment.

DSC_1159_insta2

It harvested my second Llewellin’s first wild rooster from a frost-encrusted wonderland of reed canary grass and Woods’ rose one frigid January morning. It came to shoulder and found my first Hun as a cloud of cinnamon plumage erupted frighteningly underfoot.

But its significance is deeper than the harvest. It’s the entire package. This old double is a pillar of my upland lifestyle. The feel of the stock in my hands, the sheen of the deep bluing, the sly fox engraving, the aroma of solvent and lubricant, the double triggers with the front trigger set awkwardly far forward, and the thumb safety placed exactly at the right spot, which clicks satisfactorily when the butt hits my shoulder.

What’s more is the feeling that my father walks beside me, and when the flush is just right, he may even guide the gun to shoulder in fluid motion with the bead instantly tracking the bird’s trajectory.

20181103_121022

Nary an upland hunt is as sweet as those spent traversing the endless miles of rolling Palouse and riparian quail coverts with a perfectly-ticked setter out front and this old double broken over my shoulder. Whether fired or simply packed in anticipation, its more than a fine firearm. It’s a companion. A large part of the upland hunter that I am today.

Is my love affair with this old double is merely coincidence? I rather muse it as a bond meant to be. A pairing in the cards since before my own conception. My upland destiny.