Part of my family is from the hills of Eastern Kentucky and we still have the family farm up there from late 1800's. All it is timber property right now. My dad loves to grouse hunt and remembered when I was 12 wearing my butt out walking up and down amongst those hills and hollars working our Brittany. Still remember the first wild grouse I ever saw. Had an H&R single shot 20 gauge with a hammer. It was cold with a dusting of snow and sun was breaking thru the clouds. We came down a finger to work the creek bottom and cut the corner high on a knoll. The sun was shining on this spot was open hardwoods, it was out of the wind and had thick leaves on the ground. Was just standing their with my Grandpa walking behind me about 10 paces behind and we stopped and looked down at my dad working the bottom with the dog and staying a breast of him as he swung on hip of the knoll.
It was perfect place to warm up in the sun and look at the pretty but very steep and rugged country. Stood there about 5 minutes and then took about two steps and no more than 5 yards behind me this huge bird just busts loose and sounded like a covey of quail breaking all at once. Scared me to death. I spun around and saw this huge bird flying and did not even have time to cock the gun before it zipped out of sight. I yelled Turkey? Heck in those days I had never seen either one of those in wild yet. All I had ever hunted was quail. My grandpa just laughed. I knew that this was not going to go well back at the home front with all my uncles. For years when we go hunting they would yell Turkey if anything flushed... rabbit, squirrel, tweety bird. Pretty rough. That is what I thought Rough Grouse hunting was until I finally killed one.
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