Jack Cronkhite
12-20-2013, 01:32 PM
THE 2300 MILE GROUSE
This is a long overdue report. After this long distance grouse hunt, I had to chase some local wild pheasants, a most pleasurable pastime for me. After that, some surgeon decided I needed to have a big chunk of my right kidney yanked from my old bod'. Long, long recovery period - still in it after two more trips to the hospital with post-surgery complications. So now, with some time on my hands, here's some fiction with a smattering of truth - pretty sure that is a constant for hunting and fishing tales.
There is a long lead up to this hunt. Starts with discovering PGCA and then enjoying the forum and learning more and more about the Parker gun. I always enjoy reading the "Hunting with Parkers" forum, as I have been a hunter since I could walk. I became a shooter once that was legal. I became a wing-shot quite some time later - much to my Dad's consternation. I think he thought I was a terrible waste of ammo to have along, but we persevered and, eventually, I got onto the game. In the 1970's Dad gave me his VH 145522, I wrote a piece for Parker Pages about Dad and that VH, I destroyed the left barrel in 2003, started the search for barrels, discovered PGCA and made some virtual friends. Wormed my way into a grouse hunt with C.O.B. and Daisy and hit the road September 18, 2013 to find my way from Regina, Saskatchewan to a small dot on the map of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan known as Channing - population C.O.B., Daisy and a few other folks and dogs. Of course there was the bureaucratic lead up with ATF Form 6 for this alien to temporarily import some shootin' irons and a bit of ammo. That took about a month. Day one on the road was uneventful but as night fell, so did a blinding ground fog. I'm rolling along about 20mph trying to keep between the center line and shoulder line. I found myself all alone, not a set of headlights or tail lights seen for a long time. Finally saw lights of a small town and checked out any possibility of accommodation – nada - all taken by other fog-weary travelers. Carried on. Somewhere, I found a room about 2am and very thankful I was. Second day of driving was rain and more rain. I hadn't brought rain gear for a grouse hunt, so I stopped at some outdoor store along the way and bought some. The end of day two found me searching the dark streets of Channing for C.O.B.'s place. Peering through the dark into any lighted house, I began to feel somewhat voyeuristic. When I spotted a guy in a recliner with a GSP on his lap, I was pretty sure I had the right place. No matter how one might visualize a virtual friend, meeting in person is a far more pleasant experience. Daisy was great and C.O.B. ain't at all cranky ! Brought my gear in and I think there might have been whiskey and bullshit for a considerable time. Crashed, woke up, had breakfast and the hunt began.
DAY 1
Now I had never hunted UP grouse and my selection of Parkers and other old iron was to be proven all wrong. But, I was blissfully ignorant of that at the outset. It was not raining but it was very wet. I slid on the rain pants over the upland pants and wore an orange rain jacket. Popped two shells in the GHE and stood ready to take on the UP. C.O.B. just shook his head and said I would be sorry. I watched him getting wet as we moved through dense popples while I, in my rain gear, did not have a drop of water penetrate. However, it was a warm morning and pretty soon I was sweat soaked from the inside. Off came the rain gear at first opportunity. Daisy was amazing. Never saw much of her, just heard those jingle bells until they stopped and the beeping horn let us know she was on point. It was a bit of a struggle to get through the cover to find her. Over and again, just as she came into view, I heard the wing beats of a grouse but never saw it or only caught a momentary glimpse. Often, C.O.B. was not in view but we kept a sense of where each other was. The tranquility of the forest was shattered by two reports from C.O.B.'s Parker but no Mr. Grouse for the bag. I caught a glimpse of one but did not fire. This happened a couple times and C.O.B. informed me that I was not on the bald prairie with time to shoot and that these glimpses were going to be the opportunities for the day and I would need to be fast. We had been out for about an hour and had worked our way back towards the truck. I emerged onto the two-track, while Daisy and C.O.B. were working their way out of the thick cover. Daisy was on and off point, working a bird towards me. Suddenly, Mr. Grouse was airborne crossing right in front of me. GHE up, bang – damn it – bang @#@#%%!!! Just blew up a tree. Tarnation !! That was to be my only real opportunity of the day. I did start spraying lead in the general direction of any fleeting glimpse. There was the temptation, resisted, of a grouse walking ahead of me and a woodcock that was flushed from some distance away that landed almost at my feet. And so day one would end with a tired Daisy and two frustrated hunters. Good thing a cold beer and some sippin' whiskey awaited us back at “the lodge”.
DAY 2
Today started with rain, so we had an extended breakfast and then scouted some new areas. Not much happening in the wet. Met up with one of C.O.B.'s friends and his boy later in the afternoon. Being a prairie hunter for so many years now, it had been a long time since I needed a compass but even at fifty yards off the road in the UP, I did not want to believe the compass – ALWAYS believe your compass, even when it is wrong. We continued working thick cover and were finally rewarded with one in the bag – just not our bag. As the sun stopped providing shooting light, we retired to their camp and quenched the thirst brought on by tromping through thick popples and wet forest floor. Then back to Channing and a nice meal at the local restaurant that included home-made preserves for the bread – couldn't get enough of that. Back to C.O.B.'s lodge for commiseration, bullshit and whiskey.
DAY 3
C.O.B.'s culinary skills saw us still packing away more groceries than one should if there will be thick cover to be pushed. I was offered a nice light-weight short barreled 20 ga DH to try out, instead of felling trees with the GHE 12ga. That was a treat to carry and shoulder to drop imaginary grouse throughout the day. We had returned to where we had started on day one in that magical time when the sun tells you to get your ass in gear 'cause there ain't much time left. I found myself out of the cover and back on the two-track. I could see C.O.B.'s blaze orange from time to time and heard Daisy lock-up and the flush but no bang. Through the dense undercover, the grouse paralleled the two-track then made the mistake of cutting out of the trees and crossing about 30 yards in front of me. The DHE barked, the grouse fell and so ended two days of driving and 3 days of hunting. C.O.B. offered a very heartfelt congratulation for getting my first UP grouse. It felt good. Of course commiseration, bullshit and whiskey would follow.
Some of Mr. Grouse became part of breakfast and the rest became two sandwiches for the first day's drive home. Two days later I was back on the bald prairie with a much better understanding of the grouse hunter's declaration that this is the king of upland birds and it takes a worthy hunter to bring some home. Of course, one must never consider the price per pound of any game. The value is in the time spent with good friends, good dogs and good old Mother Nature.
THE END
Pics: "The Lodge", the two-track, C.O.B. making sure we don't get lost, Tarnation with another hunter's grouse - a just in case pic in the event of being skunked, different two-track, borrowed DHE with the 2300 mile grouse, Tarnation with the most amazing grouse ever taken in the U.P., Ma Nature's send-off.
This is a long overdue report. After this long distance grouse hunt, I had to chase some local wild pheasants, a most pleasurable pastime for me. After that, some surgeon decided I needed to have a big chunk of my right kidney yanked from my old bod'. Long, long recovery period - still in it after two more trips to the hospital with post-surgery complications. So now, with some time on my hands, here's some fiction with a smattering of truth - pretty sure that is a constant for hunting and fishing tales.
There is a long lead up to this hunt. Starts with discovering PGCA and then enjoying the forum and learning more and more about the Parker gun. I always enjoy reading the "Hunting with Parkers" forum, as I have been a hunter since I could walk. I became a shooter once that was legal. I became a wing-shot quite some time later - much to my Dad's consternation. I think he thought I was a terrible waste of ammo to have along, but we persevered and, eventually, I got onto the game. In the 1970's Dad gave me his VH 145522, I wrote a piece for Parker Pages about Dad and that VH, I destroyed the left barrel in 2003, started the search for barrels, discovered PGCA and made some virtual friends. Wormed my way into a grouse hunt with C.O.B. and Daisy and hit the road September 18, 2013 to find my way from Regina, Saskatchewan to a small dot on the map of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan known as Channing - population C.O.B., Daisy and a few other folks and dogs. Of course there was the bureaucratic lead up with ATF Form 6 for this alien to temporarily import some shootin' irons and a bit of ammo. That took about a month. Day one on the road was uneventful but as night fell, so did a blinding ground fog. I'm rolling along about 20mph trying to keep between the center line and shoulder line. I found myself all alone, not a set of headlights or tail lights seen for a long time. Finally saw lights of a small town and checked out any possibility of accommodation – nada - all taken by other fog-weary travelers. Carried on. Somewhere, I found a room about 2am and very thankful I was. Second day of driving was rain and more rain. I hadn't brought rain gear for a grouse hunt, so I stopped at some outdoor store along the way and bought some. The end of day two found me searching the dark streets of Channing for C.O.B.'s place. Peering through the dark into any lighted house, I began to feel somewhat voyeuristic. When I spotted a guy in a recliner with a GSP on his lap, I was pretty sure I had the right place. No matter how one might visualize a virtual friend, meeting in person is a far more pleasant experience. Daisy was great and C.O.B. ain't at all cranky ! Brought my gear in and I think there might have been whiskey and bullshit for a considerable time. Crashed, woke up, had breakfast and the hunt began.
DAY 1
Now I had never hunted UP grouse and my selection of Parkers and other old iron was to be proven all wrong. But, I was blissfully ignorant of that at the outset. It was not raining but it was very wet. I slid on the rain pants over the upland pants and wore an orange rain jacket. Popped two shells in the GHE and stood ready to take on the UP. C.O.B. just shook his head and said I would be sorry. I watched him getting wet as we moved through dense popples while I, in my rain gear, did not have a drop of water penetrate. However, it was a warm morning and pretty soon I was sweat soaked from the inside. Off came the rain gear at first opportunity. Daisy was amazing. Never saw much of her, just heard those jingle bells until they stopped and the beeping horn let us know she was on point. It was a bit of a struggle to get through the cover to find her. Over and again, just as she came into view, I heard the wing beats of a grouse but never saw it or only caught a momentary glimpse. Often, C.O.B. was not in view but we kept a sense of where each other was. The tranquility of the forest was shattered by two reports from C.O.B.'s Parker but no Mr. Grouse for the bag. I caught a glimpse of one but did not fire. This happened a couple times and C.O.B. informed me that I was not on the bald prairie with time to shoot and that these glimpses were going to be the opportunities for the day and I would need to be fast. We had been out for about an hour and had worked our way back towards the truck. I emerged onto the two-track, while Daisy and C.O.B. were working their way out of the thick cover. Daisy was on and off point, working a bird towards me. Suddenly, Mr. Grouse was airborne crossing right in front of me. GHE up, bang – damn it – bang @#@#%%!!! Just blew up a tree. Tarnation !! That was to be my only real opportunity of the day. I did start spraying lead in the general direction of any fleeting glimpse. There was the temptation, resisted, of a grouse walking ahead of me and a woodcock that was flushed from some distance away that landed almost at my feet. And so day one would end with a tired Daisy and two frustrated hunters. Good thing a cold beer and some sippin' whiskey awaited us back at “the lodge”.
DAY 2
Today started with rain, so we had an extended breakfast and then scouted some new areas. Not much happening in the wet. Met up with one of C.O.B.'s friends and his boy later in the afternoon. Being a prairie hunter for so many years now, it had been a long time since I needed a compass but even at fifty yards off the road in the UP, I did not want to believe the compass – ALWAYS believe your compass, even when it is wrong. We continued working thick cover and were finally rewarded with one in the bag – just not our bag. As the sun stopped providing shooting light, we retired to their camp and quenched the thirst brought on by tromping through thick popples and wet forest floor. Then back to Channing and a nice meal at the local restaurant that included home-made preserves for the bread – couldn't get enough of that. Back to C.O.B.'s lodge for commiseration, bullshit and whiskey.
DAY 3
C.O.B.'s culinary skills saw us still packing away more groceries than one should if there will be thick cover to be pushed. I was offered a nice light-weight short barreled 20 ga DH to try out, instead of felling trees with the GHE 12ga. That was a treat to carry and shoulder to drop imaginary grouse throughout the day. We had returned to where we had started on day one in that magical time when the sun tells you to get your ass in gear 'cause there ain't much time left. I found myself out of the cover and back on the two-track. I could see C.O.B.'s blaze orange from time to time and heard Daisy lock-up and the flush but no bang. Through the dense undercover, the grouse paralleled the two-track then made the mistake of cutting out of the trees and crossing about 30 yards in front of me. The DHE barked, the grouse fell and so ended two days of driving and 3 days of hunting. C.O.B. offered a very heartfelt congratulation for getting my first UP grouse. It felt good. Of course commiseration, bullshit and whiskey would follow.
Some of Mr. Grouse became part of breakfast and the rest became two sandwiches for the first day's drive home. Two days later I was back on the bald prairie with a much better understanding of the grouse hunter's declaration that this is the king of upland birds and it takes a worthy hunter to bring some home. Of course, one must never consider the price per pound of any game. The value is in the time spent with good friends, good dogs and good old Mother Nature.
THE END
Pics: "The Lodge", the two-track, C.O.B. making sure we don't get lost, Tarnation with another hunter's grouse - a just in case pic in the event of being skunked, different two-track, borrowed DHE with the 2300 mile grouse, Tarnation with the most amazing grouse ever taken in the U.P., Ma Nature's send-off.