An Outdoorsman’s view on the River

 

A crisp cool air has driven in from Canada this morning. It is relentless, coming directly from the north. That means that the river is upset and rolling with curled lip directly at the boathouse. The temperature was in the mid- thirties and it has been slow to rise. I too was slow to rise to meet such a morning; it required an extra dose of ambition. Mine it would seem slumbered, nestled firmly into the warm pillow below my head. The morning has nearly slipped away with me inside, content to look outside. During this lapse in any (obvious) resurgence of ambition I have decided to share my time afield with you. I had an enjoyable week. In great part due to the efforts of my little twenty pound dynamo named Zoey.  She is a bug-eyed wisp of a ‘dog’ with a narrow head and sleek features. Inside that head are the workings of a master of the craft at locating birds. She follows her nose and I… attempt to follow her.

A week ago Friday, after work, she was ready for some exercise. I have been negligent in getting her (her) fare share of time outdoors this fall. My excuses have run from it being too warm to run her, to me being too tired to go. On that Friday the look in her piercing eyes and her agitated trembling body launched us both on another adventure afield. I grabbed the collar with the bell off of the stand and as soon as she heard that, the game was on. She spun around the kitchen, barked at me and then stretched like a cat as the collar went on. On the ride over she panted and paced on the truck seat. Her nose soon pressed against the air vent until we hit the turn where we hunt. The only patience she has with me is when I open the door and gear up. She sits like a well behaved child who is about to get a three scoop ice cream cone. Once her skinny legs hit the ground her ears turn off and her nose takes over. She is there to locate birds; anything to the contrary from me is disregarded and discarded like an old bone. That is why my nick name for her is zippy…

My intention was to walk the field and then head into the sappy thin layers of young trees to engage some woodcock. Woodcock move in late October during the night from their breeding grounds in Canada. They will seek out moist or even wet patches of dense cover to rest. The woodcock’s diet consists of earth worms and they will migrate until the ground becomes frozen. That said I noticed an archery hunter in a tree amidst the cover where I was headed. The plan changed to making a wide circle away from him avoiding a disruption his day afield. Zippy Zoey was hightailing her way across and over cover that was well above her head. It takes at least a half-hour of her hell bent exercise to get down to a relatively decent pace, with which I can keep up. I will admit here that she is a lot of fun to watch having fun.

Our widened circle took us on the outskirts of some decent woodcock cover. She dove right into the thickest parts and came up empty. The ground for the most part was dry and unsuitable for woodcock.  We made a turn and I began to follow her into some head high brush, crunching along like a Cyclopes with cement feet. I sounded like a freight train coming off of the tracks and skidding across a dry lumber yard. Suddenly Zippy came to a stop ten feet from me. She held her nose high and her eyes surveyed the smell she detected, searching for the bird that was hidden there. She began to creep to the right and then to the left. Soon she was out of sight under the brush and all I could hear was the fading tinkle of her bell. A few moments passed while I stood there expecting the whistling wings of a woodcock in flight. Instead a rooster pheasant flapped free of the underbrush. I could hear cackling and then a steady wing beat in the opposite direction. Zippy ran back full of joy looking at me as if to say “You should have been there!”

That’s how it goes with zippy. If I do not keep up, she presses on without me. I guess she figures that I’ll catch on sooner or later. In my defense she is suppose to be a pointing dog not a flusher. Evidently there was some genetic redistribution at birth. She will point a bird so long as it does not move; once it does, a sprinter is required to keep up with her. I keep hoping that age will slow her down; she is just over three years old. We both have attributes that we each find disturbing but it all works out fine in the end. After all we are each there to enjoy our time together. The occasional bird is just a bonus.

Our walk continued through some rough cover and we both were winded by the time we found an open area to relax. I called her over for a drink of water and a bite of apple. She enjoyed both taking a brief break and allowed me to give her a pat. Then she turned nose first into a thick patch of red osier and disappeared again. A rooster was in there plucking berries from the bushes and she took him by surprise. He complained with a series of loud cackles and his tail twisted from the cover. He began to level off, flying away from me. I shouldered the double barrel shotgun, swinging it ahead of him. The colorful rooster submitted and Zippy was right there to make sure that he stayed there. That was a good finish to a short day in the field.

Yesterday after errands, Zip and I went back to see about some woodcock in the same area. It as you may know, did some raining this last week and it was raining when we got there. We were on foot for maybe ten minutes when she flushed her first rooster pheasant of the day. It was to far away and flew into a long tall patch of grass. I took her through the area and she was unable to relocate it. That was some tough walking; the grass was over my head and tangled at my feet. Old Zip went through it like a razor, not missing a beat. She covered the whole area but that old rooster just held tight to the ground not leaving a scent trail.

Near a wood lot Zip was in the distance with her bell ringing and a rooster made a fuss while sitting on the ground. It got up and flew away from her, to land a short distance in front of her. This time I put my feet and legs to work to get into position to at least see him when he took to the sky. Zip’s bell was right behind him and the rooster broke out over the trees where I connected with him in flight. I broke open the double to remove the spent shell when two more roosters and then a hen flushed! I had to laugh at myself; it is seldom when I have the opportunity at a double, on roosters anymore. These pheasants were a brood, hatched and raised local birds that know how to survive. It has been a long time since I have stumbled onto such an inspiring sight. That alone made my day!

Zoey continued on into the woodcock thickets and eventually flushed one. It was out of range but I enjoyed watching the tiny bird’s sporadic flight. I stood in one spot while she followed the bird and re-flushed it. I had just come out of a thorny thicket and there was no way I was going back through that prickly stuff again. Zip came back to me and she paused five feet away. Her stubby tail began to wiggle and she nosed her way towards me. A woodcock took to the air and flew away. I waited and then pulled the trigger tumbling the timber doodle to the ground. You know where it was? It was right on the other side of those stinking patch, of coat piercing thorns. I made one more trip thorough them and then headed in a different direction.

Zippy crisscrossed in front of me and then behind me. Another rooster left the ground and this one made the mistake of coming directly overhead. I had a limit of roosters and one woodcock. Both Zip and I were drenched to the bone. I could see her pink skin under her matted white coat. “Come on Zip, we have a limit and we are soaked lets head to the truck for an apple.” No not yet was her reply. She nosed her way into a patch of sumac and flushed another rooster. It was not over yet, a short distance later a different rooster complained as Zippy closed in on it, making it fly into the rain. The last bird had accomplished something that I have not seen before. Zippy threw in the towel and followed me back to the truck. She had had enough and it was time to get home, get dry and snuggle with my bride.

I have begun to see black brant migrating this week. Most of them have been coming through in the late afternoon against dark rainy skies. One evening while I watched a flock, a bank of clouds hovered above Canada, like a mountain range on the horizon. Then before dark it cleared and the sun peaked out for another memorable sunset. Wild flowers are still blooming near the shoreline, adding color to the changing landscape with the drifting leaves of autumn. Look at that, I suddenly have some ambition! I think I’ll get outside and challenge the cool north wind with my little pal… Zippy Zoey.

Mike LaDue