It was ten degrees warmer this morning than yesterday when the Ford slipped into its parking spot. I had my choice of spaces. Once again we were alone. An early error in trail choices had me backtracking to the mill to get my bearings. When we stood next to the canoe the clock said 0610. Shooting time was 0620.

The next ten minutes until legal time were my favorite. The sounds and smells reached deep into the pocket of my waterfowl memories. A lifetime of hunting beaver pond ducks were relived in that small fraction of time.

I swung my gun left and I swung my gun right at departing birds but my brain didn't give the last OK. I was looking for a gimme. Three drake woodies made their presence known from behind me by the sound of their wings. A short mouth whistle made them turn. Could this be the chip shot I needed?

Across the skyline they came. The Remington had them on the radar. As they turned and cupped they came below the treeline. At which time I lost sight of them. I can still see the three blurs going by at eye level. There just wasn't enough light yet. My ball was too deep in the rough. This was my only chance at the green this morning. I took a penalty stroke and picked up my ball.

While our bag has been light from our three trips to the beaver pond this week our cart is overloaded. Today Bay sat at my feet for the first hour of the hunt. We were visited by a muskrat. A young beaver swam by at barrel length. There were numerous hawk sightings. Fish could be seen rising any time you looked at the pond. We held a conversation with a sneaky mallard until our departure.

The last time the beavers were allowed to flood the swamp Tom shot an eleven point buck below the second dam. Knowing how beavers change the landscape and how deer are habitual, Bay and I jump shot the brook on the way back to the truck. Standing below the second dam I saw numerous deer trails crossing the narrow stream.

I don't think I'll tell Tom.

10-15-11
Took off with the yellow dog to hunt some new cover in southern Maine. After a couple mile hike hitting better than 1,000 feet above sea level we hadn't flushed any birds. While this piece has some real pretty woods it was more suited to turkeys than partridge. We marked the spot for a return during next springs turkey season.

After a short drive we arrived at spot #2. Posted signs greeted us as we parked the Ford. I've been hunting here three years now and this was a first. Good thing we met the landowner a couple weeks ago. I put a note in the windshield saying we had permission to hunt and started our journey.

Not 100 yards down the woods road a partridge exploded on the left side of the trail. Wouldn't you know it Bay was working the right side. Try as we did to follow up the flush we never found another bird. We did find this old fisher set off the trail. I suspected a trapper was in there. Over the years I've found the remains of dirt hole sets. We were still a week away from Maine's early canine season so that set my mind at ease. It is good to know a trapper is working this piece.



My day was cut short by a nasty upheaval on some slippery rocks. Walking along a four wheeler trail my right foot slid on a wet rock I never saw. In a nano second I was on the ground hard. As I slowly rose I took inventory. Nothing broken but I hit my right knee cap hard. That cut my into my plans for staying at camp that night. I decided my knee needed some ice and I needed some sympathy from my wife.

I got both.

10-16-11
Feeling a little better Sunday Bay and I took a ride over to the new piece we got permission to hunt this summer. We weren't 100 yards down the trail when a flock of turkey decided to cross.
Bay saw them and I gave her the "git em" command. To bad turkey season ended Friday in NH.

Now that the leaves are gone this piece reminded me of a park. You could see right through the woods. The trees were too mature to hold grouse so we went down and hunted the river bottom all the way to the farm. It was a sea of ferns.



This crab apple was loaded with fruit.



And we even got to enjoy some wild cranberries.



I've come to the conclusion there is not enough leather on the soles of my boots to find a grouse in my favorite southern spots. So that being said Bay and I made an appointment to visit the "County".

Aroostook here we come.

These first few hunting seasons are the foundations for Bay. They say birds make the dog. Bay has seen her time afield. I know she has the potential. Try as we have wild birds are hard to find in our local haunts. Some recent success on grouse by a good friend who visited the County last week put a plan in my head.

I’m blessed with access to thousands of acres of private North Maine Woods. After a phone call to the camp owner (Thank You Jay!) the Ford was loaded up and Bay and Coalman were northbound.

We arrived at dusk Wednesday evening.



The woods had partridge written all over it.



Mother Nature had her way with us Thursday. Torrential rain cancelled any thought of hunting in the AM. Our spare time was spent behind the windshield. By two thirty the rain had let up to a sideways drizzle. Enough with rubber meeting the road it was time to invest some shoe leather.

Heater hunting provided us many grouse sightings. In the short span of an hour we had six flushed. Grouse 6, Coalman (two shots) 0. Man are these missiles hard to hit. By four thirty I was soaked. It didn't help that when we returned to the truck I could see two partridge 100 yards down the road. Both flushed before we could get in range.

It was back to the windshield for the remaining light of the day. I bet we saw twenty plus partridge. Frequently grouse presented themselves for a shot. I didn't drive 260 miles to hunt behind glass. I wanted Bay's first grouse to hold lifetime memories. Sleep came hard after a scoreless third inning of the World Series.

After a hardy breakfast Bay and I were at the honey hole at eight thirty. Grouse flushed left and grouse flushed right. They say things come in threes. I saw Bay test the wind from the road. Multiple bounds in the woods were followed by the fast flutter of wing beats. The third shot of the day was true. We were not to be deprived. Bay had her first partridge baptism in Maine's Great North Woods.

We continued our hunt. The next two hours were partridge nirvana. We flushed two triples and one covey held four birds. My fondest memory will be of Bay suddenly turning ninety degrees hard right along the tote road. In an instant a grouse was airborne. The single twenty added another pair of breasts to the pot.

By the time we backtracked to the truck our game bag was full. Four partridge made the ultimate sacrifice.



Camp isn't crooked. The truck is.



I know Bay has what it takes. We just needed to add birds. I smell a return and a tradition in the making.

Beautiful. But now you're killin me!

Coalman...it was only a matter of time before I was reading about Bay's first wild grouse. Been out of touch with the board for about a week as TScott and I hit Hatteras on our semi-decade surf fishing adventure. What am I greeted with this morning but an awesome story and pics of Bay's success, well your's too! Congrats and high fives all around. Hope the knee is healing well too!

Congrats on the Grouse !
That last pic is great!

The story was great. The wife asked me last night about getting a lab. I wouldn't mind getting a dog but with all I have going right now it would be tough. My daughter wants a dog real bad and we will probably get one soon. I told my wife that it would be another responsibility on her and she understands. Guess we will have to see where it runs.

Regards,
Vic

Just as Bay was starting to shine it is now deer season. I'm compelled to write because I feel so guilty. Bringing Bay back into the woods now without a coat of orange would be like suicide. As I've mentioned in the past she is a graceful as a deer and close to the same color.

Labs are a special breed. It seems she knows everything we say. Her memory is the best of any dog we've ever owned. Her facial expressions are like she is talking to us. And all I hear is profanity.

My interest in the deer woods lags way behind my addiction to upland game. While deer stories are being told I find myself asking the authors if they flushed any partridge in their travels. The royal bird of the northern woods is now treating us like the jester.

I want my Queen back. We've got a King to find.

Hail to upland bird hunting.

So much is written about hunt tests and field trials. It almost dominates some of the lab retriever web sites.

Since it is deer season and Bay has not been in the woods I have been trolling these sites to get my bird hunting fix.

My utmost praise goes out to those trainers who have the time, the drive and quality of canines to finish their dogs.

I admit to a little jealousy when a dog earns one of many titles as they climb the ladder to success. Sadness also comes over me to because Bay tries hard but could never compete at those levels. Partly because of my commitment to her training.

But as I think, Bay has more than enough ribbons. I am very proud of her accomplishments and would like to share them with you.

Junior Hunter Ribbon



First Team Ribbon



First Wild Bird Ribbon



First Solo Pheasant Hunt Ribbon



Master Chukka Ribbon



Senior Team Ribbon



Junior Waterfowl Ribbon



And by far my most cherished to date.....

Junior Partridge Ribbon



With all these ribbons we are going to have to get a bigger freezer.

Ribbons are okay and I respect those who work hard to get them. The dogs are amazing too. My wife wants to get a blond lab and I want it to be a working dog. It will need to be trained and that will fall to all of us in the family. I want it to fetch and such, but when they are part of the family it is much more difficult to have them as field trial dogs. I am sure my kids will ruin them with love and such.

If Bay does what you want her to do than that is good enough. She is a handsome hound and you bud. What more need she be?

Vic

Take your dog for a walk.

One weekend to go and deer season with guns is over. I haven't had Bay on a hunt since October. But we have been spending quality time together on our nightly walks.

We live on the edge of suburbia. Our front yard is urban. Our backyard is rural. What a difference two years can make. I started walking her on the urban side when she was ten weeks old. The sound of diesel engines and loud exhausts bothered her at first. But I never let her see it bothered me. I watched her during our walk last night. She doesn't even flinch at sharp sounds. I strongly believe her interaction with trains and automobiles helped avoid any thought of gun shyness.

Bay wears a pinch collar when we walk. It keeps her at heel. I can walk with my hands in my pockets and the lead wrapped around my wrist. Rarely does the leash stretch taunt.

Our town is located where fresh water meets salt water. We are blessed with a public boat launch on the brackish side. The last couple nights we swung by the ramp. She loves to get those lab paws wet.

As much as it is a benefit to the dog to get out it is also a time of thought. Reflections of things done and things to do go through my mind. World problems get solved. A man needs this kind of time to think.

I've been thinking about a cover we hunted deer in last week that the crew will be back to tomorrow to give chasing bambi one more try. My thoughts are not of big racked bucks but where to find those five partridge that took flight during our deer nudges last weekend.

My mind doesn't wander far from the upland hunt these days. Bay and I are scheduled for a pheasant hunt at the club in a couple weeks. I can hear the crackle of the Chinese chickens as Bay high steps along the sidewalk.

Do yourself a favor.......

Take your dog for a walk.

12-10-11
There is a Christmas present waiting for the yellow dog. Tomorrow we go solo on a dozen Chinese chickens against the backdrop of Green Mountain.

It will be good to walk again with Bay. Full game bag or not the cackles will nourish my soul.

We are both very hungry.

I gained a lot more respect for stocked pheasants yesterday. Our day started with bright sunshine and the temperature at 19 degrees. I had reservations that the cold may hinder the birds scent.

Bay proved that theory wrong.

The group of pheasants they released must have been of sprinter stock. With little vegetation left to hide in, man could those birds run.

Our game bag was light after our hunt. Mostly because of my poor shooting and Bay flushing birds out of range.

While I gained a whole lot more respect for Bay's upland ability, I realized if I am to continue this pheasant game I need to lose some weight to keep up with my dog.

12-18-11
One thing I like about late season partridge hunting is that you have the woods to yourself. The 15 degree temperature at the start of our hunt probably complimented the lack of other people enjoying the woods.

The frozen leaf litter on the forest floor was our enemy. Critters could hear us coming a quarter mile away. Our first stop produced one flush. No shots. The light dusting of snow did not reveal any partridge tracks. We did find where a flock of turkeys was using the abundant beech crop on the mountain.

The late morning and early afternoon were spent in some beautiful old logging operation woods. We split up. Coalman and the yellow dog went high, Cory and the GSP went low. I expected a flush around every corner. Cory and Rose got into the only birds down low in the hemlocks. Two flushes, one shot, no bird.

Bay is becoming a better hunter every time out. We are looking forward to a couple more hunts, weather permitting, before the end of the year.

Thanks for a great day Cory and Rose.

12-26-11
Living close to the ocean has its advantages. It is late December and the local woods are barren brown in color. The estuaries are not frozen. The last hour of Christmas eve was spent digging soft shelled clams with a good friend.

We traded low tide today for winter. With the compass pointing north the barren brown woods was replaced by winter white a little over an hour from home.

Our parking spot makes me wonder of a time gone by when pasture dominated the land. The stone walls throughout these woods tell the story. East Mountain could have been seen in whole.



After we crossed the logging road over the bog the only other tracks we saw were made by wildlife. On our walk to the back side of the choppings Camp Mountain was in view as the yellow dog led the way.



There were partridge seen and heard today but no shots. It was a good day for a walk.