I am solo at camp this week, for the opening of early duck season. I usually hunt pretty solid the first couple of days. I throw some grouse hunting as well.
Paula is back in Albany, helping with the two new grandkids.
The weather today is beautiful. Cool and sunny, with a slight wind.
Porter and I went out mid day for Grouse. We flushed one immediately– I heard it, but did not see it. We were in my favorite stretch of woods. It was logged about ten years ago– fairly easy walking on the old logging traces. I like this spot, as it is bounded on three sides by a pond, powerline and old Railroad ROW. Hard for even me to get lost, so I can relax and focus on hunting.
We walked for about two hours, and were approaching the powerline. I was stopping every ten steps or so, which supposedly will spook the grouse into flying. Porter had been quartering in front of me, but I had called him to heel, as we were about to get onto the powerline ROW. I stopped. After about 5 seconds, a grouse exploded off the ground, literally inches in front of me. My shot was pure instinct. I do not even remember it. I hit the grouse. Porter was just looking at me. I told him to fetch, and he did. Took him a minute to find the bird. His first grouse retrieve.
Grouse on the grill for dinner.