Grouse in the Wisconsin Forest

Ruffed Grouse, or partridge, live in thick forest of Wisconsin. Like "Duh", you say. "Where else are they going to live?" My point is simple. I like to hunt grouse because they are very challanging as they burst from the alders, spruce and popular thickets. But I also say they "live" there becasue the still do. This season, so far has produced one grouse and it took two of us to shoot it. So all the rest of them are still there---living and laughing.

Dennis and I went north to Antigo and from there into the National Forest. So far, so good, but we did not want to repeat the last outing that didn't even produce many holes in the air from missed shots. We at least wanted some action or our shot guns were going to be angry. It is rather like training your beloved dog to hunt and retrieve and then provide him with no retrievable birds. The dog will want a divorce. Hell, he'd be yelping country and western divorce songs.

As we worked the road system looking for that one optimal habitat location, Dennis in all his sometime magic, said', "There it is, the perfect spot". I'M thinking, "Ya right." but I thought there was some possibility so I turned around in the middle of the highway and headed down a busted-up logging road and bingo. Dennis is beside himself. At his age probably close to wetting himself.

We bounded out of the Subaru and mounted our effort. Within minutes birds were flushed and shots fired but always with the spoken words, "Damn, he got up wild. Just a flash, but I had to go for it." We walked a solid three quarter of a mile and it was always the same excuse, mostly by Dennis.

We turned around and worked the other side of the lane with each of us thrashing through the thicket knowing there were going to be birds. Dennis jumped a couple and the shots went out and he proclaimed, "Got a tree. Shot it in half." I was ready because I knew there were more. There right infront of me, on the ground was a sneaking grouse trying to do a subtle exit. I squared up. Clicked off the safe and made a little motion to flush him. "Whirrrrrrr the damn thing blasted off in classic form. I pulled up and shot two rounds, both noticibly behind him. I thought, and even later said, "Is it possible I am too slow for this sport. That bird was thirty yards off before I fired---and I saw him ahead of flush?" Two ours later we found ourselves short a box of shells and not a morsel in the pan but it was still a great day--I could have been playing hunting video games---no, I don't think so. I don't care if I picked up twenty ticks, three cuts and a trashed ankle. Im going hunting.