A Partridge Welcome to the Palouse

When a stranger reaches out for bird hunting help, it can be a tough sell for the community resident, but that didn't stop Dennis from giving it a shot. He and his wife recently moved to Walla Walla from scenic New England and were struggling to adjust to the landscape. The difference between the Palouse grains and grasslands and the Northwoods is the difference between a tropical rainforest and the surface of the moon. Needless to say, Dennis was feeling a bit out of his element. Being an Appalachian transplant myself, recalling my strife in learning Palouse upland hunting was all I needed to encourage a phone call and welcome Dennis to the area.

A week later, we found ourselves exchanging awkward small talk in the frosty air above the Tucannon as the sun cast its warmth upon prime Hungarian partridge cover. The site was a few hundred acres with impeccable bunchgrasses, not to mention the scenery. A prime location for Dennis to experience the excitement of following an experienced dog against a grand Palouse vista.

For the opening act, Yuba blazed away as Dennis and I got to know one another. Scene one ended approximately 30 minutes later as we stepped from calf-high bunchgrass into an area of sparse smaller bunches scattered about open soil. I spied Yuba trailing birds up the slope to our left and then locking up solid. Thrusting an arm at the dog, I began coaching Dennis on how to approach.

"Birds! Right there! Circle around and come straight at the dog's nose. Her eyes will give away the bird's location," I coached.

As Dennis approached, I slipped in behind Yuba and readied the camera. While focusing on my scrappy little tri-colored setter, the first shutter cycle captured the covey on a wild flush – the timing of which I could not have captured intentionally. Although slightly disappointed that Dennis was unable to get a shot, that image of Yuba turned out to be one of my favorites of the season.

The three of us pursued the covey, which had flushed straight away and over the hill, and within minutes, Yuba approached upwind and bumped a single. She froze as the bird launched, and I encouraged Dennis to rush in, prepared for another flush. As Dennis circled the dog, another single jumped up, sailing right to left and tumbling upon my instinctive swing of the gun.

Two flushes on a covey are enough, in my opinion, particularly when blessed with taking a bird. As Dennis and I talked over the little hen partridge, we turned to work back to the truck. We had hunted near to the end of the public access, and I had another area opposite the river canyon where Zeta would see her turn.

With Zeta on the ground, we encircled a large area planted in wheat atop the canyon. The action was slow, with Zeta making one unproductive point and later busting a covey on an upwind encounter. With the noon hour upon us and the temperature rising, I leashed Zeta, and we turned for the truck.

As we crested the ridge and gazed across the grain fields at the horizon of white whirring wind turbines sprouting from the golden stubble fields, Zeta suddenly became interested in a grassy eyebrow that we had come upon. "Find 'em," I said, unclipping Zeta's leash.

The eyebrow was a narrow bunchgrass oasis stretching around the edge of the hillside and destined to hold birds. Zeta cast to the far-left edge before working the bottom edge back with a perpendicular wind coming off the eyebrow. Birds suddenly flushed-five at first, then two, then three more. In a moment of panic, I was finally able to make Zeta to "WHOA."

"Let's work to the dog and then left to the far point. With those birds coming up in multiple flushes, there might be a few more singles left," I coached as Dennis, and I stepped into the grasses.

Moments later, we walked directly through a handful of Huns – one banking hard to Dennis' left. With an adept swing of his over/under, a beautiful male dropped into the grasses. Zeta broke in to help find and retrieve the bird, which Dennis and I stood to appreciate for some time. There are few things more magnificent than a big male Hun with his modestly vibrant hues cast against the wheat farms and windmills of Eastern Washington.

"Congratulations on your first Hungarian partridge, Dennis," I offered, as he rolled the bird and stretched its wings, taking in the moment as I worked the camera – a moment likely more important to me than him. I was proud of my girls for showing a hunter new to the grasslands and pointing dogs how the game is played, but most proud of providing Dennis with the mentorship that was unavailable to me in my fledgling days on the Palouse.

A few weeks later, Dennis sent a photo of a limit of Blue Mountain ruffed grouse, stating in his career as a Northwoods grouse hunter, he had never taken or seen so many grouse in a given day. I obliged with an image of an impressive Montana sharp-tail from my previous week's hunt and an invitation for a Thanksgiving rendezvous in the Snake River breaks. With an upland attitude adjustment, Dennis may warm up to the Palouse after all.