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
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Thursday, July 29, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
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
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
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
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
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
Monday, July 12, 2010
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
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
Saturday, March 13, 2010
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
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
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Late November Grouse Hunt!
Well I made the trip back up to "The Hill" for a guided hunt for three clients. The beginning of this hunt was made possible for two lucky hunters that bid on our auctioned hunt for "Hunt of a Lifetime Foundation". Although I won't make any money on this hunt, it made us feel good that we could provide some funds for the Hunt of a Lifetime Foundation. In total Steady Point raised 830.00 for the Hunt of a Lifetime Foundation. I was contacted earlier by the winner of the hunt and questioned as to adding a hunter to the package. After the price was settled and the scouting completed, it was time to prep at the cabin.
My clients arrived at about 700 AM and they were treated to a large breakfast at "The Hill". Paperwork was filled out and it was off to the first covert. Upon arrival the pups were tearing the dog box apart. The crisp air was a welcome relief from the warmer air of the early season. After strapping the pups up, safety brief and talking over the game plan, the hunt began.
The first grouse flushed from the pines and leisurely crossed over where I had put Brad. Brad fired and missed. I completed the push with the pups and turned to the north. My hunters repositioned themselves and we pushed to the north. Briar was the first to go on point then a bird erupted from the hemlocks. Stan shot and missed. Then a second bird busted as Ticket rounded a hemlock blow down. I watched in anticipation as I saw the cock grouse burning toward myself and my awaiting hunter, Dan. I ducked down with Briar and called for Dan to shoot! He did and a miss was registered. Knowing that more birds lay in front of us, we pushed on. Seconds later a bird busted from yet another Hemlock, where Stan promptly missed. Knowing that grouse are very tough animals, I asked my hunters to mark the last place they saw their birds go down and we returned in an attempt to recover a wounded grouse.
The dogs were brought to the area the birds were seen going down and commanded to hunt for a down bird. Nothing was recovered. We then pushed on with no re flushed. Thinking the grouse had gone to the trees, I returned to do a push back to the truck. I positioned the hunters for an easy open shot. As we began, a bird busted close to the barberries and no shot was presented. We gathered at the truck for a bit and then off to the next covert.
We hit another spot but no birds were found. I was still in a state of bliss, knowing that the Steady Point Pointers put up four grouse in 30 mins. Not bad. But my shooters were unaccustomed to hunting grouse, so we had to push on. We pushed through the next covert and the birds were running well ahead of the dogs. They had the advantage, as the barberries were in most parts 6 to 7 feet high. Even the dogs couldn't keep up to the fleet footed birds as they ran and busted 60 to 70 yards in front of the hunters. We signaled defeat here, but there was another part of this covert to push. We crossed a game land road and pushed the opposite direction. The dogs did have a quartering wind so I felt comfortable they would scent the birds before they busted. No birds were marked.
As we walked back to the trucks, I conversed with my hunters about the years I've hunted this covert. "I then remembered a hunt with my dear cousin John, my close friends Jesse and Joe. As we walked down the road, I explained that we did exactly what we had just done, with no flushes and then Ticket went on point." Just as those words exited my mouth, I watched Briar lock up, backed by Ticket. I yelled at my hunters to make ready. I moved in and a fine hen grouse busted from the barberries. Brad shouldered his scatter gun and made a fine killing shot on the bird. The bird was promptly fetched by Briar.
We headed to the top of the mountain for the next covet. We made our way down to the swamp that was a secret hide away for the "Kevlar wearing pheasant". We moved about a hundred yards when Ticket went on point just behind Brad. I slowly moved in looking for a bird, but I could see nothing. Then it happened. A fat cock pheasant busted from the blow down. Brad shot and missed, but was back by Dan, who winged the bird. Ticket made quick work of the bird and Dan was presented his prize with a hand shake!
We were not done, there was much work to do. I casted Ticket and Briar into a covert that screamed a grouse and bunny hide out. Soon Briar put her nose down, ground scenting and sounding. I yelled at my hunters that the dog was on a bunny.Then Ticket joined in on the fun. The bunny made a few short hops from its blow down. Then Ticket cornered it in another blow down. He went on point, with tail waggin'. The bunny soon busted and went past my hunter. Brad didn't shoot, so we left the bunny go. No need in running the dogs ragged if the hunters weren't shootin' We pushed on with no results.
We ended the day with a few cold ones and thanks for all the good memories.
Steady Point Upland Guide Service
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