I headed up to Hittle's Half A Hill for a brief conversation with Mom and Dad. I quickly unloaded the hunting rig and headed to parts unknown, for new coverts to hunt with my clients that soon would be arriving. As most of my scouting trips start, I combed over maps and looking for the Holy Trinity. Upon finding it on a section of a undisclosed game land. I set off with the Steady Point German Shorthairs, eagerly whining in the dog box. I arrived with a cloud of dust. I hooked up the dogs and we were off. The dogs did a great job quartering, constantly checking back.
Then it happened, what I was looking for, my ace tracking dog, Briar got hot on ground scent of a running bird. I pushed for a bit, but didn't want to bust the bird, as I may need this covert for my paying customers, Dave and Pat. I examined the covert closely and could here the ghosts of my Great Grand Pa Jake and Grand Pop Hittle, telling me, "Boy, there be birds in these here woods." I could see the smoke coming from Grand Pop Hittle's cigar, as he gave me a half ass grin! Great Grand Pa would have just said, "What the hell you looking at boy, get at them." in his strong Pennsylvania Dutch accent. Either way, I couldn't dilly dally here. I needed to check in on my hunters, who should now be getting set up at their rented cabin for the next couple of days.
I headed down the mountain and found Dave and Pat unpacking from there trip. We discussed the paperwork need for the hunt and then it was off to bed for them. I met the guys that morning in a down pour, but there would be no post poning hunts with Steady Point. We were off to put up birds. As we drove up the mountain, I told the guys that the birds would be on the roost and flushing from the trees. Upon arrival at the first spot, we managed to put up one hen pheasant and several grouse without shots. Down the mountain! We hit a promising covert, that provided nothing but the lose of Briar's brand new hunting vest in a sea of barberries. 36.00 down the drain!
Pushed on to the next spot, hitting the dynamite shack. On running birds straight off. Until the unthinkable happens. Briar starts to chop. From my experience she has a running bird. I can't see her in the cherry stand, but I'm sure its a bird. I give her the command to flush the fleet footed grouse and am greeted with quicker chopping and she's not moving. Problem! As I close into the cherry stand, I see the culprit. A porcupine has been cornered and has delivered his payload right in the face and nose of my Champion Bred German dog. A quick hand on the dog, I managed to remove all the quills from Briar's nose (the working part). I then rushed her to the hunting rig to drive back to the "Hill" as I forgot my pliers. I removed the rest of the quills with the help of Mom and me and the boys were back off up the mountain.
We entered the lair of the bullet proof pheasant. This bird had eluded us before, but I was hoping to break the curse. His large body size and 24 inch tail, made me believe that he was a hold over from last years stocking. We would see. I casted the dogs out on their normal path. They began to track but no bird was to be had. We lowered into the swamp and quickly Ticket went on point once again. I heard the familiar cackle of the cock bird, the shots followed and then the question. Did you get it, Pat? The answer no, broke my heart. Was he big I asked. Yes, very big with a long tail! That was him, missed again. This bird was giving me fits. I would have pursued him, but the clients wanted grouse and that's what we would hunt.
A few wild flushes from the trees later, Briar locks up on point in front of a large hemlock with Pat closely behind her. I measured the wind and quickly realized the bird was in the hemlock. Before I could call to Pat, a huge grey phase cock grouse launched from the branches. Pat didn't even see the bird! I was salivating. I have never gotten a give me shot at a grey phase like that. Pursuing him was futile, as I'm positive he went back to the security of the trees. As we exited the swamp oak thicket, Dave didn't look too good. After inquiring about Dave's status it was decided to go up to a easier thicket to run.
The ride was uneventful, until I had a blowout on a back country game land road. Thank the good Lord for folks that we know up on that mountain. Feeling bad for my clients, I gave them 3 hours on me free that following day. Hopefully without rain and any more porcupines. I transfered the dog box to Dad's Chevy and met the guys the next day at their place. We headed back to the sweet spot for a redo with the pheasant hen and some of those grouse. It was not to happen.
I headed down the road and entered a section that I haven't hunted in years. I casted out the dogs and grabbed my E.R. Amiantino. I was tired of watching dead birds fly away. The dogs worked a running bird for over 100 yards, until we hit a cherry stand and that familiar rush of wings erupted. The bird rocketed from the hemlocks right at me. I fluidly mounted that battle scared 12 bore, swung over my head, settled below the fleeing bird and let the bottom barrel go. The bird dropped in a heap. As the bird attempted to make it to its feet, I gave it the second barrel as not loose another bird, as last week. Ticket pinned the fat hen and I gently took it from his mouth. Myself and the client admired our quarry for the day. We discussed how things had gone so wrong, but how they had such a good time. I told them that I enjoyed our time in the field together and that I would glady have them back on a winter shoot. They made it off the mountain to pack up as I did. I had to pick up my rig and head home.
Back at Hittle's Half a Hill, the dogs and I had a moment sitting on the tailgate with our prize, as they worked the hardest for that bird. Oh the memories, oh I wish Great Grand Pa Jake and Grand Pop Hittle were there. That's right, I forgot, "They were!"
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