I had a older Montague "Rapidan" 9 foot 3 pc two tipped rod and a Pflueger Medalist reel with the old silk DT line- that was my first fly rod when I was a teenager. I left the reel with the line spooled tightly on the dash of my 1951 Chevy coupe, we were "Up in Michigan" fishing the main branch of the storied AuSable River-went into Grayling to eat and buy more flies- the summer sun welded the silk line tight, I had over-dressed it with flotant wax apparently-so I borrowed a friend's Pflueger green SalTrout reel and used it- back then I didn't know line weight or WF versus DT from beans. It took the trips with the man who left me the Paul Young rod I treasure to really get into the full Mantra of dry fly fshing- just as there is a right way and a wrong way to walk into a gun dog rock solid on point, there are right and wrong ways to fly fish, and strangly enough, you can still kill your bird(s) over points with the wrong approach to the dog, as you can also catch trout with the wrong approach to the water (sometimes)--
I recall a hunting trip about 28 years ago this coming early November-the station wagon you mentioned with the "electric chopper window" which has shortened many a fine fly rod indeed- My old now long gone but never forgotten Setter "Molly" was in her prime as a grouse dog (and not too shabby on pheasants either) and then my steady bird hunting partner, Lea Rogers and I were up near Rodney hunting a favorite cover. He drove that day, his wife let him take the big Ford deluxe station wagon with the plastic fake wood trim, and we had the travel crate for Molly in the back- Lea was in the advertising racket and had a real blinger of a week I guess, hoped a Saturday after birds would unwind him- I was in good form, it was almost my birthday and my work week welding at the ConPowCampbell plant went very well- he picked me up after early breakfast, we pack lunch and water for Molly and headed up to our "hotspot"- He drove the station wagon down an old two track, we left her out and uncased the guns (we both shot doubles, a 20 for him and a 12 for yours truly- both grouse, woodcock and pheasant were legal--
Long story made a bit shorter, I shot two grouse, missed two woodcock and took a big Rooster pheasant, although he needed the second barrel- Lea had "fanned" on seven solid points on grouse in a row- we took a long lunch break- sandwiches, coffe, apples, Purina and water for Molly and a nap in the shade of some oaks- refreshed, we went back to the hunt- I finally connected on a woodcock (I'm NOT a good shot on timberdoodles, or snipes either) and again, Lea went like the Detroit Lions last season- one goose-egg after another. It's often best to remain silent when your partner is wound up like a top, when he blows easy shots over points, or every backcast puts his Royal Coachman into the trees--
On the way back to the car, right in the center of the two track in front of us, Molly locked up on a point- solid as a fireplug- heavy brush on both sides, almost like a gutter ball in bowling, and I told my partner to take the shot- he walked in and kicked up the biggest grouse I have ever seen, also the dumbest apparently- a right or left banking turn would have put him inescape cover faster than a heartbeat- he flew right straight towards the car, Lea was so intent on making the shot he didn't see it, he hammered the bird from behind with both loads, the bird crashed into the back of the station wagon, and in slow-motion, all the glass in the rear window shattered like ice crystals and fell to the ground, making a Libby-Owens-Ford style "string of pearls" for the trophy grouse- it was a long, cold and quiet trip back home that afternoon.
