Salmo salar

Really dig swinging streamers for Landlocks in November.  

My wonderful friend Alex from Argentina, aka "The worlds most interesting man" When in Rome they do as he does. Stay thirsty my friends...

Mixed Bag

Old, familiar, fallow farm pasture. Birds were a touch jumpy today. Moved half a dozen, most were runners. Cedar pinned Ruff' x2, affording a young lad the luxury of an education. I dinged one that  glided into a spruce blowdown, burying itself. "Hunt dead", he worked the area determinately for several minutes, popped out of the snag and dropped Ruff near my feet. 

Woodcock numbers were heavy today. Found them in a finger that meanders down a sidehill, sprinkled with young spruce, Poplar and Grey Birch, leading to a small, Alder studded creek bed with a couple old, scraggly Apple trees.

Woodcock Opener

Was able to take advantage of a rainy, damp and foggy woodcock opener today. Cedar and I were fortunate to find my favorite Longbill cover at full capacity, with flight birds this morning. He was electric in the tag alder, handling the big-eyes like a gentleman. He also set up ol ruff perfect for me only to miss him with both barrels, I've shot 7 rounds at that cock bird in the past three seasons, next time I will let him fly, he has earned it.

Sunday Float

He is connectedh wildnerrness is a transparency clearer than truth.

Early spring finds the woodsman back in his country. his heart laden with gratitude, soul nourished by immeasurable reverence, likely a product of his rich, ancestral ties to this piece of primitive wilderness his people have worked through generations. Realizing early on, their efforts to tame the landscape were in vain. The only proven way to coexist within the harsh landscape was a symbiotic relationship, one of slightly skewed proportion. The woodsman learned early that giving back more to the woods than was taken was paramount to the regenerative cycle of his world. Through endless, keen observation, patterns emerged, further deepening his understanding and reliance upon the rythyms hallmark to the natural world. 

  .  of Habitual in spirt, akin to the creatures inhabiting his wilderness. Each, freshly extracted from the wrath of a Great Lakes Winter. 

His initial saunter is not one of aimless wandering. This is purposeful, instinct-driven business. one Laden with sheer will and dogged determination. The snow on his northern exposed hillsides has mostly turned to water, freshening up the spate creek bed that meanders slowly through bottom, lined with apple trees, sprinkled with young Spruce and Alder, interspersed with thick, seemingly ancient wild grapevines, reaching skyward to the canopy.   and   and crags wind gently swings in from the southpreparatory ritual ensues, for the hardscrabble farmer inherently knows, preparations for the gales of November have already begun. This reliance upon cyclical, natural forces, of relative cadence conspire, initiating hallmark events, spurring the woodsman into action.

Hardscrabble travelers first loop with be the borders of his pastures, some fallow, some fertile. Regardless, the woodsman is thorough and works tirelessly, ensuring any and all fences compromised over the ruthless winter are made contiguous, once again.

 wilderness greets the steward communicating directly with his senses, namely through olfactory hues, as old as time itself. Upon arrival, A vast catalog, painstakingly procured, categorized and compartmentalized, a process initiated the moment his being was thrust through the veil and into existence.

 As the first drip of snow transforms into water and rolls down the northerly exposed hillside a foot flushed woodcock rockets from the alder tangle and corkscrews its way back up the hillside, banking hard to the left, as it lights in low, landing in a stand of Hawthorn. 

 have already been long underway.

merged where gratitude prevails.  

emerge 

The relationship with wilderness is reverence. 

A perpetual gift bestowed upon himself, and his pof eople as they 

The damp forest floor was blanketed in Club Moss, covered with the remenents of Autumn decidious leaf-litter consisting of Grey and white birch, Beach, Poplar and Crab Apple leaves, all in a state of decay and doing a fine job feeding the land.   Bir with  rises up on a thermal over the rivers surface, the ancient fragrance strikes a primitive cord in the adventurer. Pausing briefly in reflection, the woodsman realization overcome with emotionausing briefly, he reflecting 

 senses that were shaped by decades in forest. An

intoxicating, primitive stimuli, ancient in origin with dignified an d admirable purpose. Striking the primitive cord of man, symbolizes rebirth and

March Madness

Not basketball related. Went for a stomp through a new woodcock cover this afternoon and managed to put up a couple birds. Cedar was running fast and careless as we moved up the spring seep on the side hill, bumping all three birds, one of which he managed to relocate and pin down at the top of the ridge. The cover is real nice and recently gifted to the town and opened to the public. It is only a couple miles from where I grew up and was able to enjoy a bit of nostalgia as the Ford weaved it's way down the narrow roads I used to pedal my bicycle on. The fallow pasture is young, Cedar and I will have many years of gunning flight birds here which makes me grateful. Many of the doodle coverts I hunt are aging out and it was a refreshing to step into this piece today. We had two grouse flush wild in this piece of pole timber which was an added bonus. Hope pup and I will be fortunate enough to see another October...only six more months, I'll keep my fingers crossed.

Crunching Numbers

Heres the stats from my 2010 - 11 Ruffed Grouse season. Sad but true.

60 hours afield
82 flushes
2 grouse harvested

Flush rate of 1.4 per hour, down from 1.7 last season.

Mind you that half of the recorded flushes were only heard, never seen and half the birds seen were bumped by the pup who still has a fair amount of chase in him. I'm operating under the guise that 2 for 20 isn't to awful, pretty much par for the course as far as grouse hunting goes in my neck of the woods. Right in line with something I once read in a Spiller book, which softens the blow a little bit.

Cedar's first season involved a good amount of wild bird contact and he learned a few priceless lessons in regard to "ol Ruff.

Late Season Grousing

October is a long way out so I decided to make a last ditch effort to move a bird or two this morning. Traveled south quite a distance from my home, hoping for a more modest amount of snow cover. Although there was much less, it was still unreasonable even with the snowshoes. Zero birds moved today but Cedar didn't seem to mind.

A few shots of the cover