By
Tom Davis
Stepping into the middle of a tightly wadded covey of quail will do
things to your heart that would concern a cardiologist. But when a
ruffed grouse erupts from beneath a mantle of unblemished snow, the
percussion all but drops you in your tracks. You see the snow begin to
move, and you think, What the… Then the world explodes. At this
point, you’re faced with two problems: The first is pulling yourself
together so you can bring your shotgun into play and function as a
hunter. The second is finding your target through the dreamlike crystal
cloud hanging in the air between you and the grouse—which is exiting the
scene at an alarming rate.
That’s pretty much how things went down on a hunt in Wisconsin last
winter. I’d seen a few meandering tracks in the fresh powder, and my
English setter, Tina, had gotten birdy a time or two. But the makers of
those tracks seemed to have vanished into the winter woods.
At last, we came to a little
clearing. I turned to whistle for Tina, took a wading step through the
snow, and had the sensation that I’d detonated a land mine. Now came the
hard part.
Winter Wonderland
Hunting winter grouse is a
feast-or-famine proposition. A grouse that’s lived to see December is a
professional survivor. Tested by predators of every stripe, its nerves
are cocked against a hair trigger. High alert is its default setting;
at the slightest hint of danger, a grouse that feels vulnerable rockets
for the nearest concealing cover. If this means diving headlong into
the snow, so be it.
Grouse spend more time in trees in
winter than they do earlier in the season. I’d suggest that you need to
be prepared for this, but because no one’s that cool-headed, I’ll just
say that you should be aware of the possibility.
The variable conditions typical of winter hunting complicate the
equation as well. You might encounter deep snow, but you might as easily
have bare, hard-frozen ground; one day might be bitter cold, another
balmy. Ironically, a warm day without snow cover is the most challenging
scenario. The walking is pleasant, but the birds are at their
wild-flushing worst. This is the time to go to tighter chokes—Modified
in a single-barrel gun, IC/IM in a double—and to stick with No. 71⁄2
shot or, if you can find them, No. 7s.
When the powder is piled high and the
thermometer plunges, on the other hand, surprisingly close flushes are
the order of the day. Plus, once the swamps freeze, you can sometimes
get to islands of cover that are inaccessible earlier in the season and
find birds that may not have been shot at.
The spots where I’ve had consistent
success on winter grouse all had a diversity of cover: a mix of classic
brushy popple, conifers of different sizes, low-lying swamp and marsh,
and grassy clearings. A south-facing slope is another plus, as is the
presence of food sources other than the aspen buds, which are the staple
winter ration of grouse. My Elhew pointer, Traveler, once pointed a
December grouse that was feeding on delicate maidenhair ferns growing
where a cluster of tiny springs kept the ground clear of snow. To
stumble on that patch of green in the middle of the winter-white forest
seemed almost magical.
More tips and the complete Field and Stream article