There are two important things that should first be pointed out regarding bird dogs that have something extra when it comes to pointing and handling Ruffed Grouse. The first is that there are some folks who don’t hunt the King much or when they do they’ve encountered him in a canyon far away from any other hunter. And I would highly commend this type of bird hunter, for it’s hard work and miles walked that led them to such a spot. It’s akin to walking that extra stretch up river over endless flood-strewn deadfall to find a better trout run; an adventure I’ve attempted on many occasions. And by any measure it’s to be admired. However, let me be clear, this is a different bird I’m about to describe. Yes that’s right, I said a different Ruffed Grouse. Now you surely think I’m nuts. Have I been out in the tules too long? Absolutely! But the Ruffed Grouse I’m referring to has been hunted hard. Just a few weeks ago while driving to a favorite Grouse cover I observed license plates from Nebraska, Iowa and Illinois, all within just one mile of road. The secret is out on Ruffed Grouse hunting in the Midwest and certainly has been for generations. So when I say “Grouse” in this context, I mean a heavily hunted bird, one that recognizes the sound of your break action slamming shut. Sure we have all seen exceptions, young of the year birds that fly up into a tree. Again, this is not the Ruffed Grouse I’m referring to.
A hard earned brace of well-educated Ruffs and a brushworn 20 gauge Ithaca Flues from 1917
The second important thing to keep in mind is that it’s something very difficult to measure precisely and unless you’ve seen a good number of bird dogs attempt to point and handle this bird, you may not have witnessed it very often or if you did it was a fluke and not a regular occurrence. I believe what I’m talking about is somewhat rare. I’ve seen maybe a dozen dogs that exhibit this sixth sense with regularity. And while I never claim expertise, I have seen hundreds of “grouse dogs” while hunting and in competition. But I own exactly one dog in my 30 years of upland hunting over pointing dogs that has it. Her name is Blaze, just a 3 year old English Setter as I write this. I’ve seen her do it enough times now that I know it’s not a fluke. She will cast deep into cover, her bell will stop and upon arrival I typically notice her usually straight tail is held low or flagging slightly. This is often the first sign that she’s got a running bird. Moving her on, she carefully but quickly sweeps the cover, her nose is held high, sucking in every bit of available scent. She has uncanny eyesight, could this be part of her sixth sense? Did she actually watch that bird run off? She stops again deeper into the woods and this time her tail is straight, her eyes unwavering, her body more intensely drawn up into a rigid pose, her head held a bit higher - she’s letting me know: the bird is here, get ready! She’s relocating that bird and setting it, pinning it so it will stop running, putting me in the best possible position to get a shot on a very spooky, extremely pressured Ruffed Grouse - a bird that would evade most dogs.
A quick video screen capture of Blaze relocating on a Grouse in the Stateline Swamp Cover
On one October day last season, birds were hard to get, mostly older and extremely educated, indicative of the poor hatch. You needed a Grouse dog to get it done. I decided to take Blaze up to the Stateline Swamp cover. It had been some time since I ran a dog there. It can be a daunting place. The wetland is vast and full of dead ends. It’s overgrown with Aspen, Speckled Alder, White Spruce and Balsam Fir and some areas of the forest floor are thick mats of moss. If you step wrong you’ll sink to your hips between a tangle of roots, long ago adapted to thrive in this saturated micro-climate. An acquaintance who manages a local search and rescue team was recently sent in there (on the other side of the State line) to find and rescue someone! Ive seen a dog have trouble getting out of it once they ran in. I’ve even lost a dog there over night. As the birds get hunted they move deeper and deeper into this matrix. What a perfect retreat for the ultimate survivalist, the Ruffed Grouse! He’s just taunting your dog to attempt to follow him in there. I had just whispered “whoa” to Blaze and was about to turn her loose on the old “two-rut” choked with dried up golden rod, slowly stroking her sides, getting her mind right…. more like getting my mind right. I had gained enough courage after some bad outings here and Blaze had the maturity and just enough experience chasing the King. Within twenty minutes her bell faded away into that huge Alder bottom, it is indeed the kind that stretches into the next state, a swamp that eats up the devil-hearted dog, but may just reward those with a little Grouse sense. I’m not talking about Ruffs that get shot off roads or birds that fly up into a tree. These birds can’t be ground swatted, the depth and complexity of their lair doesn’t allow it. They’ve been chased and pushed around by Goshawks and an army of Grouse getters from twelve states. The King has earned his title here. Most dogs won’t penetrate this cover enough to dig up this bird, much less get it pointed. Of those that do get it pointed, an even smaller percentage pin it sufficiently to offer a decent wingshooting opportunity. This ole Ruff was real cagey, a survivor. He ran away from Blaze’s initial stand at my two-footed approach. He knows four legs won’t likely be his demise, but silent death from above and a walking cadence that doesn’t match his usual four-legged predators will set him into escape mode. After my first wide flushing attempt produced no bird, I moved her on. She made a short swing to the right then back to the left, going about 40 yards deeper into a tangle I needed a brush cutter to even walk through and then her bell was quiet again as my heart jumped in my chest. Knowing better than to try to push this bird straight away from her point, I circled wide in front of her. Stumbling over dead Alder branches, I hear the first sound of thunderous wingbeats, gaining composure, adjusting my footing, safety off, gun to cheek and swing… a clean miss in a very small shooting window and then the King was gone, even deeper into his fortress. As I fought my way back to Blaze standing steady, I knelt down on the soggy ground and put one arm around her… “He may have beat me but you sure schooled that ole boy”. You can teach a bird dog lots of tricks, but you cannot teach them Grouse sense.