Gettin High On Grouse

After years of pursuing the Prince of the Woodlands, I have come to understand the old adage of , "grouse are where you find them." I have chased this feathery blur for more years, then I care to remember. From his haunts in the evergreens of Center County, to his lairs in the hemlock swamps of Wyoming and Luzerne Counties. This bird has caused more unintentional tree trimmings via my 20 gauge over and under, then the PA Game Commission would want to know. But that is what grouse hunting is all about.

Although I do believe that the grouse population has seen better days in my home state of Pennsylvania, I would challenge anyone that says "Its just not worth huntin' them birds anymore!" For seasoned grouse hunters that chase the ruff around the swamps and barberry choked hardwoods all season, I say that's poppycock!

My cousin John and I are certifiable grouse addicts! Why you may ask? Because if you hunt by walking up your birds or gleefully follow a German Shorthair, through likely coverts, nothing is more invigorating than hearing the eruption of a grouse, from his hiding spot. But I digress.

There have been tons of articles and books written on the subject. I know this because, I have consumed most of them. But what about the top of the mountain? Just because a pinnacle reaches above 2,000 feet, is it barren of the prince? My answer is a resounding "No!"

During the end of the first season and second season, it does get a tad bit nippy, but nothing that a few extra layers can't handle. I must say that we hunt the "tops" more than any sort of bottom country, during the season. If you think like a bird and you are in cover that has produced for you in the past, you have a great chance of putting up birds. Now hitting them is a different story!

Well you can say, "Russ that's great, but what if I haven't hunted a piece of property before?" To that I say, if you pursue grouse as you would a white tailed deer, all you have to do is pull out your topographical map and locate small waterways along it. There you will come across areas that are predestined to be a grouse haunt. I personally look for access from a trail head, but not too much access! To find a covert not far from the trail or road, but separated by an obstacle or barrier (large stream, gully or steep incline), the possibility of finding birds is better than average. As long as the grouse want to be there at that time of day and that time of the year. I have located coverts that scream "Grouse Hide-e-hole" but were devoid of grouse or woodcock for that matter. Why? My thoughts are that the property is probably too accessible to the masses, that invade the coverts for the first few weeks of the season.

One place in particular comes to mind. A beautiful abandoned farmstead, in Wyoming County. Over grown apple trees, surrounded by brambles and barberry bushes. Hardwoods situated sporadically throughout with a shelter belt of hemlocks through the middle. If I told you where it was (which I won't) you would say "got to be a bird in there!" Why no birds? I feel that the birds don't reside in this covert for long, because of access! The covert lies next to a heavily used State Route and a game lands access road. Between the early season archers and the masses of orange clad hunters driving up and down the roads, I believe the grouse just don't want to be harassed, so they move to quieter surroundings

Just like chasing any other beast in the forest or field: Food, Cover and Water are paramount. I had a friend who would rely more on the water portion of the "Trinity". Now Joe has since lost his mind but would always say, "Find the water, Find the grouse." Well that is partially true. John and I would purposefully walk next to an acidic lake, totally absent of birdy cover and proclaim for all to hear "nice lake! Must be some birds around!" I'm not sure if Joe lost his mind due to some psychiatric disorder or from our nonstop hounding about his grouse hunting logic.

Interesting enough Joe took his first grouse over one of my German Shorthairs, on top of a striped maple thicket. Water? Actually several spring fed seeps are spread throughout this covert. Food was also present, in the form of buds and partridge berries (tea berries). Cover was not a question. If you've ever attempted to walk through a striped maple thicket, you already know. If not, let me tell you this, I watched my dogs look in confusion, while deciding which way to go!

So find a covert on top, with "the trinity", with not too much access and the chance to crack the primer at the "Holy Grail" of game birds, is closer than you think. Not there? Well that's why they make upland boots so comfy. Off to the next covert or birdy lookin bush!

What's It like to be a Upland Guide?

I get this question on occasion. Usually by business men that hunt with me, that don't get terribly too much time afield. I guess the pictures on there cubical don't fit their fancy anymore. I think the question is best answered if it is clarified. You could be one of many types of upland guides. You could guide the pasture and rolling farmlands of the Dakotas, the hedge apple choked sorghum of Kansas. Or maybe your fancy is the rocky desert of the Sonora for Gambles Quail. For those guys, I haven't the foggiest idea.

Being a guide in the great Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, is like all the others, a different animal. Since at Steady Point we concentrate on Grouse and Woodcock and that's what our hunters want, my days are long and all and out strenuous. If you don't believe me ask anyone of the Steady Point Bunch that has followed me up and down Gameland Roads, doing mach 10 cause I got clients coming in the next day or the next week for that matter.

To be able to provide our hunters with a sustainable amount of birds, especially on state lands, it takes, as my good friend Jesse "T" would say, alot of boots on the ground. I can't tell you how many nights I have set at the "Steady Point Bar" pouring over maps to locate new coverts, only to get to them the following week and find that the once empty bog, has now been flooded by some break in beaver dam up stream. Hey that's the woods and coverts, forever changing.

What about zero hour, when my clients want the "Full Monty". The whole breakfast in the bush, with the venison sausage and toast and juice and eggs. Lets talk about some planning. The only plus to that is that my hunters have to drive to the game lands, thus my ride is quiet and I can talk to Great Grand Pa. Either way, Now lets talk about after the prep and "the boots are on the ground" what about clients? I can tell you this, my clients don't know it but they go through a interview process long before I accept a guide job. Having this in place, really helps me. This way very rarely do I have problem clients.

What about busting your hump, having the dogs put up more birds then these folks have seen their entire life and them missing every single one. I guess some would say, hey they paid their money, let them miss. I have run into guides and preserve owners that have that mentality and that kills me. I get more of a kick out of watching my hunters kill birds, then if I did it myself. Plus the dogs need those feathers in their mouths to keep them on the ball. This is why I stress with my hunters, prior to their hunt to shoot at least 2 or 3 rounds of sporting clays prior to the hunt with me. This way their reactions have come out of hibernation and they are a bit quicker on the trigger, which anyone knows is necessary for grouse hunting.

The dogs! Whoa, pardon the pun, that is a whole ta do itself. Training, birds, ranging of the dogs, food, shots, first aid and lets not forget conditioning. It takes a great deal of work for any hunting dog to be in shape for the season. Now take that and multiply that by two or three. You see I can't call the client the day before the hunt and say, Hey I know you want to do two or three days but the dogs aren't up to it. I wouldn't have any repeat business I would surmise. So it takes a great deal of work for the pups to be in that kind of condition to put in 8 hour days back to back. Just think how you feel after a whole day of grouse hunting. Now that dog does 100 times more work than you. Out of shape pups need not apply with us.

All in all, being an upland guide is the best job in the world. If I didn't have it, I wouldn't be me! Enough reading and telling your friends about how you used to kill grouse, get off your butt and call us to book a hunt. The season is coming and you want your dates, or someone else is going to get your spot.

Steady Point Upland Guide Service

Motor Speed Way Pointer

So how far would you go to get one of PA's top grouse pups? Not knowing if he indeed would make a grouse dog? Not knowing if you would bond with this "started dog" from Moline Ill? Not knowing where in the hell Moline Ill. was? I can tell you this! A hell of a long way, about 18 hours round trip without a break. Well the date doesn't matter. It was late in the night! My brother, Henry rolled in about 11 PM to my house in PA's Historic Mainline. Shannon's GMC Jimmy was gassed up and ready to go. We rolled through my home state of Pa through West Virginia, Ohio into Indiana. The trip was about 9 hours. A few pauses at rest stops and truck stops, a couple cups of coffee and a greasy breakfast about 10 miles outside of Indianapolis Motor speed Way, and we were there. We waited only about 20 minutes as Mike and Lana Hambly made it there from Moline Illonois. I remember exchanging a few bucks for shots and some gas money for Mike and Lana. The papers were in my hands. A lanky Liver/ Rhone German Shorthaired Pointer was lead from the Hambly's station wagon. I recall seeing the size of the pup's feet and thinking to myself, "wow, this dog is going to be big!" Glancing back at "Ticket" as he calmly laid in the back of the truck, his warm hazel eyes staring at me, as to say, "What good times we are going to have, some will be tough, others not so hard, but there will come a day, when you will have to make a very hard decision." "Know this, I hold no ill will, just provide me with game, love and a warm fire and I will be content." It has been over 10 years since I made that trip. "Ticket" has hunted with countless friends, family and clients. The most memorable was with my father and brother on a New Years Day pheasant hunt. We killed some birds and had a ton of laughs. My biggest accomplishment as a handler was a day,when my dad and mom joined me on a grouse hunt in a small covert, north of the Steady Point Base in Columbia County. As I slowly walked back to the truck, I heard my father exclaim, "Well there definitely weren't any birds in there. That dog checked every bush and blow down. Boy did he work well." My heart swelled with pride. Knowing that the man that had taught me about bird dogs, had enjoyed working behind my dog, made me smile. Today, my kennel has 5 dogs in it. 1 is a retired hound, but he makes a good partner on cold nights at the Steady Point Bar. He lays quietly next to me, while I enjoy the fire and a nice glass of Klipdrift Brandy. I hope the Good Lord gives me an outlet when he takes my dogs. That will be a hard time indeed. I guess He will just have me take a walk in a familiar covert to say goodbye to a great companion. If only people could be as faithful as a well trained German Shorthair!

Steady Point Upland Guide Service

Happy Birthday Jesse "T"

For my friend, Who has walked the choked cherry, milo fields, barberry, blueberries, hemlocks, swamp oaks, striped maple thickets and hedge apples, I wish you my friend a happy 40th. You have always been there for me, no matter what. If it was a late night call for a partner to go pick up a drunk brother or the call for divorce money for a cheating ex. It didn't matter. You always were there and I hope I was for you. The meeting was chance, but it was defiantly meant. Smacking ladies with the "shilallie"! or smoking Black Cats in Kelly's in Dushore. We always stayed true to who we were and never wavered. You are a true hero to me. For your selfless service to our country. Although many may not know your story, those that do, should be proud to know a real hero. In the way that, no matter what life throws your way, you are always concerned about others.

I look forward to sharing many more camp fires with you. Knowing you will be with me when the boys and Joce' go hunting. Mornings on the beach, Cold afternoons on the mountain and a swig of whiskey at night. Hangin at "Hanks" in McPherson KS. Making the good old boys feel less like men, as they didn't know how to tip the "Tender".

Hell dragging Uncle Hankie up the mountain and over blow downs for grouse. Those days can't be taken, tainted or otherwise removed. I know you wanted me to be more light hearted on the "Spot" to show the hunters what they could really expect from Steady Point, but this had to be done.

Consider this my Birthday Card. If He took me today, I know I was a better man for knowing "Jesse T". I wish you the best my friend.
Happy Birthday!

PS. we need "Shine" I got orders to fill!

Russ

Where it comes from?

The old Oldsmobile station wagon rolled steadily down Rt 927, toward Henry's honey hole for grouse. His son set quietly on the rear bench seat of the family car. The odor of paint and thinner was only some what covered by the pungent stench of his father's cheap cigar. Although many thoughts rushed through Henry's namesakes mind, he didn't dare say a word. Today Henry was joined on the hunt with his friends Will and Mike. The trio laughed about some sort of "adult joke" that although Henry Jacob was only 12 years old, he had heard in school. As he peered out the window he figured, "It still doesn't sound funny, even when a grown up tells that joke?" It all didn't really matter, as long as his dad was occupied with joking with Will and Mike, there wouldn't be any harsh discipline for Henry Jacob today.









Henry Jacob was well beyond his 12 years. Life was tough for him. He was up well before dawn, everyday checking his trap line before school. He would return, clean his foxes, muskrats or if he was lucky a prized mink, then he was off to school. Only to return home to check his line again, prior to dinner. Then if it was an unlucky day for him, he would come home to a basement full of shutters that he would have to sand and prep for his father's painting business. This was everyday, 365 days a year for Henry Jacob. The only time he got a reprieve was when he would travel to his Grand Father Jake's farm in Gwynedd or on trip upstate to hunt deer or grouse.









As he gazed from the fogged up window at the patch work of hemlocks and cherry stands, he thought how he missed Jake. Although Jake was his dad's father, discipline always seemed so much kinder under his hand. Even when Henry Jacob was younger and Jake made him go to the large willow behind the farm, to get a switch for his own whoopin, Henry knew Jake just wanted him to behave well and be a man, worthy of the family name. Looking at it from my point of view, I feel Jake knew his son wasn't much of a father, so he took it upon himself to provide Henry with some love, although Jake's time on earth was fading quickly. The hard Pennsylvania Dutch life hung heavy around Jake shoulders. The life that he etched for his family from the farm, was one of hard work, with little rewards. His brother's had all moved out to Ohio some years prior to Henry Jacob's birth. He was left with his wife Lily by his side to contemplate the status of their farm. Some of his lighter moments were when Henry Jacob would visit the farm. He would enjoy the little one, even when he got into mischief, like playing in the water trough or chasing the ducks around the barn yard. Henry Jacob missed his Grandfather, he missed the farm, that would have been his, if not for the war. But he was accustomed to disappointment, so as usual he dealt with it.









The Oldsmobile came to a halt in a graveled pull off. Henry announced to Mark and Will, that they had arrived. Will, who had fallen asleep, in the middle of one of Henry's bad jokes, awoke with a few cuss words. As he wiped the sleep from his eyes, he was startled at what he saw. "Holy Shit, Enry! I've gone half blind, everything is foggy!" "You're not blind you silly bastard!" replied Henry, " The damn windows fogged up, because of all your damn snoring." "Dad can I get out off the car?" Henry Jacob sheepishly asked. "Sure boy, don't go too far, we need to get at them birds." responded Henry. Henry Jacob slid off the worn tweed seats and breathed in the fresh air. It was a welcome relief from the mixture of smoke and paint thinner.





After a few sips of coffee and the lighting of a new cigar, Henry declared it was time to go. His new J.C. Higgins was uncased. Mark and Will gazed in amazement. "Wow Enry, that right there is a fancy pump gun!" "Yup, traded in that old Double gun for this beauty. I can shoot three shells from this." "I do miss that double though, Ya know that had Limpton and Lampton barrels on it?" Henry said with a smile, as he gazed into the distance. Will gave Mark a shove and a wink. "How could we forget, Enry? Every time you talk about guns that's all you talk about. That and that damn Endfield." Henry's head snapped back. "Well if you had a rifle that shot like that Enfield, you'd talk about it all the time." "Ask Mark, He's the one that build that gun. Most accurate rifle I ever shot." Henry looked around. "Where's that boy?" "Henry Jacob! Where ya at boy?" Henry Jacob came from around the rear of the station wagon. "yes sir?" he answered.





"Lets get going boy, the birds will be coming off of roost soon and I want to show these two, How I taught you to shoot that gun." The gun in which his father spoke of was a model that came from a new company in the gun business. It was a Mossberg bolt action 20gauge with screw out chokes. Henry Jacob was quite proud of his gun, not because he was given it, but because he paid for it himself from all those late nights and early mornings of running his trap line. As far as Henry Jacob's shooting prowess, it was not of his father's doing and his dad knew it.





Henry Jacob was a quick study and from hours of throwing clays for his father and his uncle Bussy at the farm, he picked up his skills with a scattergun. So much so that his father would only let him shoot a few rounds at the targets, because the kid didn't miss. Either way, now was not the time to call his father on his misleading accounts of history. Henry Jacob just nodded in agreement and uncased his shotgun. He grabbed two boxes of shells from his bag and dumped them into the pockets of his red gunning coat.





"Whoa, boy what you doing? Getting ready for war?" exclaimed his father. "No sir, just wanting to be prepared. I hear those grouse are tough to hit." replied the boy. "No problem for me to hit, I once got my limit as soon as I left the car." "Could have shot one more, but I only had that double gun, so I let the other fly." pontificated his father. Once again with a shove and a wink, Will stirred the pot. "Enry, you are so full of shit, you couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with a damn elephant!" Once again, Henry's head snapped back and glared at Will. "Now Will, I don't think you want to be saying that in front of the boy. He may get the wrong idea and I may have to show you how I used to box before the war." "Well" exclaimed Will, "If you box as good as you shoot, I'm sure we'll go a full 10 rounds."





As the back and forth was going on, Henry Jacob was ready to go. "Sir, can we get at them birds? I feel pretty lucky today." "You got it boy, We're leaving right now." Will and Mark took out their bird guns and the group was off. They snaked down the ridge to a large swamp, covered with Hemlocks and swamp oak. Henry Jacob took everything in. This was nothing like hunting behind his home in Montgomery County, for pheasants. The bog ground sucked onto his boots with every step. "Everyone get ready." declared his father, "them grouse are all over this covert." Just as those words were uttered, an eruption of wings was heard and a fleeting glimpse of a large fanned grouse was seen. But no shot was presented to the boy. "Dad, I saw him!" the boy announced. "Well next time kill that thing, boy." "I can't eat visions!" his dad said gruffly. Ten more steps and the woods exploded with birds! His dad wasn't kidding. There were a ton of birds in this swamp. The boy saw one bird, flying straight away, He quickly snapped the bolt gun to his shoulder and fired. the bird went down in a heap! The boy was quite proud of himself. He shot that bird, just the way his Grandfather would have.





Since the covert was so thick, he found it difficult to locate his prize, as he frantically looked for the bird. His father asked as to the status of his shot. " Well did you get him?" "Yes sir, I did, trying to find him. We sure could use "Boots" on this hunt!" Boots was a pup that his father just got from a farmer down off of Germantown Pike. The dog showed promise, plus Henry Jacob, loved spending time with that dog. At least the dog didn't yell at him. Well of course she did get pretty excited when it came to hunting though. She would all but dismantle her kennel if the boy would come out to the yard with his gunning coat on. "Well Boots would make short work on findin that bird, but there wouldn't be any room for a runt kid in the back of the car." His dad said with a smile. Just then, Henry Jacob saw him, a plump cock grouse, his first. Laying against a fallen hemlock, one eye spying right at the boy. Fearing that the bird would somehow fly again, the boy worked the bolt to load another shell. On the closing of the bolt, the grouse let out his final farewell to the covert. The "death drum" of the bird, reverberated through the hollow. Henry Jacob picked up the prize and held it for what seemed like minutes before putting it gently into his gunning coat.



By the sounds of breaking branches up a head, the hunting party was moving at a quick pace. Henry Jacob, knew this to be wrong. From all he read about grouse and their habits, a slow deliberate pace was needed to unhinge a grouse from his hiding spot. Henry Jacob moved to a position that would make him even with the group. As he made his position known to the group by a "Yup!". A bird flushed in front of Will. Will mounted his gun and promptly missed his first and second shot. The jeers from the peanut gallery started. "Hey Will, what ya doin given them birds warning shots?" sounded off Henry. "That's alright Will, Keep on shooting at them birds, maybe they'll get SO shook up, they'll die of fright!" added Mark.



The boy just trudged through the bog, hoping for another glimpse of a grouse. He wouldn't have to wait long, in a location such as this. Birds seemed to be everywhere in this swamp. As the boy rounded a small rhododendron, a single bird flushed. Henry Jacob mounted the Mossberg, concentrated on his target, followed and squeezed the trigger just as the bird soared behind a large hemlock. The gun sounded and a shower of branches came crashing down. "Missed him Dad" hit the tree" Henry Jacob announced . "Well we're going to sit for a bit and take a breather." his father replied.



The boy sat down and grabbed an apple from his gunning coat. He observed everything around him, from ground level. The bark on the trees that resembled the intricate pattern on the ruff of the grouse's neck. The way the hemlock boughs felt under his rear end. He pictured the grouse in slow motion, flushing, how does a bird make that much noise in such a short period of time? he thought.



I got it! That's when through all the hard times, disappointments, unrelenting work and late hours skinning, he found his light at the end of the tunnel. See growing up, I never saw it in him but for a few moments. He was always working or serving in the PA National Guard Unit down the street. The woods is where he loved to be. He didn't have to be hunting, just knowing that close by to him was the wondrous bird that was almost magic! A bird that even after it was slayed, would remain hidden from our eyes, because of the wondrous camouflage that God had blessed it with.





Author comments: Henry Jacob now resides on Fritz Hill in Columbia County PA, with his Wife Jane Ellen and faithful basset beagle mix, JR. Although Hank can't chase the "ruff" like he used to, he awakens to the sounds of the mountain and is lulled to sleep by her quiet nuances. I'm proud he is my dad and thankful that he taught me all I know about the woods and the coverts that grouse call home.

Treasure or Garbage?

The old adage goes, "One man's trash is another man's treasure." While contemplating this many things came to mind. Fishing with my father in law, Bob, on the back bays of the Delaware Bay. Bob hooking into a huge sea robin, referring to it as a trash fish, releasing it, but knowing that the back meat of that fish is some of the whitest, firmest fish in the ocean. Driving through our section of rural PA and seeing all the folks at local yard sales, pondering what to lay their hard earned cash for.





This scenario brings to mind also guns that I use and hold dear in my grouse hunting arsenal. Most gun snobs or even like minded sportsman would shun if given the choice between them and a Remington 870 pump, but the adage holds true. I wouldn't give up my Brazilian made E.R. Amiantino over and under nor would I pawn my restocked A.H. Fox Sterlingworth, for more than their Grade "A" Gun Bible Value. Why? Because they are a treasure to me.





Now the real purpose of this pontificating is this. I have heard and agree mostly with the plight of Pennsylvania sportsman and landowners over the invasion of Striped Maple. The fact that they do not provide any thing in nourishment to Native PA species is a vital fact indeed. They take over stands of once cherry and aspen that had been harvested years prior. Now if the managers had this in mind prior to leaving this now fertile plot to the likes of striped maple and green briar, you think they would put a little back and re plant and destroy the maple and green briar before it took hold.





That said, I can also say that I have found gobs of ruffs holed up in striped maple thickets around the northern tier. They provide over head cover to the wildlife from winged and four legged predators alike. Also they lay the ground work for a lattice of tea berries, which feed the birds through the autumn. So I say, if life gives you lemons, in this case Striped Maple, turn that annoying invasive species into a arms length partner and hunt the edges or if you dare enter the stand. But be forewarned, striped maple thickets will turn you around faster than a hemlock swamp in mid October. Also if you value the stock on your grade "A" Rizzini or Kimber Side by side, stay out. You probably are too proper to hunt the back country anyway. Leave those tougher spots to us, uncultured swine that you wince at on the roadside, cooking lunch on our Coleman stoves, on rusted pickup truck tailgates.





But keep this in mind, when we met at days end, at a local watering hole and you start to whine about the lack of birds in the area, don't mind us chuckling to ourselves. You see Grouse may not be where they were 10 years ago, but just like any wild creature, worth its salt, it will adapt to its surroundings. Shame on you for not being as advanced and adapting to yours. I will and continue to, so my gun stays warm and I can stroke the feathers, of the prize that is the ruffed grouse.





Steady Point Upland Guide Service

High Temp Training

I know what you're thinking, You can't train hunting dogs, let along pointers in High Temps! Now by high temps I mean anything from the low 70's to the low 90's. Although I'm sure there are people that do feel the need to train their dogs in those higher temps(ie, Southwest) but here in the Northeast, we tend to lean more towards the 50's and below.

Well today there was a nice light breeze from the East on my small piece of heaven, Pigeons in the coup and some young German Short haired puppies that wanted some fun. So I hobbled a pigeon and placed it in a piece of cover that looked pretty "Grousy" and let the fun begin.

The first pup that was put on lead was Steady Point's Duelling Gunner. Gunner seemed very happy but not knowing that he was about to make game. I lead him through the thick underbrush and then it happened. I could see the change in his demeanor, as if his brain said "Now this is what I was made to do!" He began to scent check the wind. I knew he had smelled the bird, he just couldn't pin it down. No problem. As he got closer to where I knew he would see it flush, I "Whoa"ed him. Gunner locked up. The bird was put to flight and Gunner flinched a bit, but remained "Steady" has he intently looked at where the bird had landed. His body quivered but he remained solid. I released him again with a tap of the head and he took two more steps and locked up again. "Finished"!

I moved Gunner from the area has he gleefully bounced around like a ping pong ball, back into the yard. He was put away and the bird was reset for his sister. I put Stella Blu on lead and she was a bit hesitant to leave the yard, as she had an uncanny way of escaping in the past.

As I got her from the yard, Stella, like her mom went directly to tracking mode. She followed my exact steps through the brush, where I moved to place the bird. Not bad for temps in the mid 80's. Stella moved more intently to the scent of the waiting pigeon. When she got into the area of the scent cone and I knew she would be able to see the flush, I "Whoa"ed her. My son Hunter moved in and flushed the bird. Stella didn't flinch! She stood there head high, tail ridged and solid. I was so proud. I released her and the bird was flushed once more. Same result.

Training done! Just enough to keep the fire alive and to sharpen those noses a bit. The pigeon was unscathed and put back into the pen. The dogs, still excited were let to the house for a drink and a bit of rest. I may, depending on the wind, do this drill in a different place tomorrow evening to keep them sharp.

Good Hunting,

Russ Hittle
Steady Point Upland Guide Service
Morgantown, PA

THE OUT SEASON DOLDRUM!

Well friends, here I sit in Berks County with the high heat of summer upon myself and the Steady Point Pointers. We think of times afield with family and friends. I did receive a call from my good friend Lew Segnar, telling me that my Woodcock from last year was finished and it would be ready by next week. I think back to that day, the day before that and many past trips to the woodlands of Pa and the fields of Kansas and the plains of South Africa. So many places to hunt and run dogs, but a limited amount of time, in the life that has been given by God. The only thing about grouse and woodcock season that sucks is that it seems so short!

Guns sit in the safe, on occasion they are taken out to be admired and cleaned. Scars examined and times remembered. Times out with my cousin John, who made an entire Autumn his education on the amazing labyrinth of tangles that are the Grouse's haunts.

Until the last dog is trained, boxes loaded, guns uncased and the dead defying silence that is the Grouse woods.

Farewell,

Russ Hittle

Steady Point Upland Guide Service
Morgantown, PA

Pigeons! Pigeons! Pigeons!

Well, the spring is coming! I sit here bound to the "Homestead" because of gail force winds and tor ant rains. My newest project is a large Pigeon pen for the training of the Steady Point Pointers. I reached out on HuntingPA and The Buck Barn for folks that were interested in purchasing some birds and WOW what a response. I think I need a bigger pen.

Pigeons are one of the best birds to work young dogs on. They aren't much work on the maintenance side and you can put them to sleep quite easily. Another plus is that pigeons are really cheap, especially if you know how to catch them. But still to this day, I've found bird dog trainers that will pay good money for the birds and every penny counts when you have a kennel full of pointing dogs.

As soon as I get some photos of my finished pen, I'll post them. To all good hunting and bring on Turkey Season.

Russ

Steady Point Upland Guide Service
Morgantown, PA