Palouse Outdoors: Contemplation on Snow Days and Bird Hunting

As the December snow fell softly on the homestead, I peered out the kitchen window at the quail, songbirds, and pheasant that sought the bird feeders around the house. My double guns were locked in the safe. Four Llewellin setters snoozed on their beds by the heat vents. My desire to chase birds teetered on a tight wire between maniacal and non-existent as the thermometer plummeted, eventually bottoming out at six below zero.

There is nothing quite like a snow day hunt, and there were plenty of birds to be had right out the back door. While the devil on my left shoulder began twisting my arm to send a dog into the brush piles around the property, the angle on my right shoulder advised against it.

"It's hard enough for the birds to survive these conditions, much less put up with you harassing them. It's been a great bird season, and the freezer is well stocked."

The angel was right. Although the pups and I had hunted far less than we had in seasons prior, the hunts were exceptional, particularly when hunting with my oldest pup, Finn. She found more ruffed grouse in the Blues than we had ever seen. Finn later went on to find us a limit of roosters and displayed skills which seemed to involve mind-reading and coercion.

A fast-flying rooster on a quartering away trajectory dropped at the report of the shotgun, but I suspected it would run. As I searched for the downed bird, I spied Finn on point, down-ridge about forty yards to my left. I ignored her at first, but her gaze finally manipulated me into trusting her and leaving the first bird. Against my better judgment, I trotted down to flush and shoot the rooster she had pinned. As the bird began to fall, Finn peeled away, circling back to track the first bird. While admiring the bird in hand, I glanced up to see Finn on point a hundred yards away. Minutes later, I approached to collect the first downed bird.

On Veteran's Day, Yuba made two brilliant pheasant finds with her usual style and skill, and I successfully collected both with the over/under twelve-gauge passed on by an old bird-hunting friend. The second bird will forever stick in the memory bank.

Yuba caught the scent of the bird and halted on a tentative point with her tail half-cocked and nose working the air. Carefully, Yuba backpedaled and slipped between the bunchgrasses, inching forward as she tested the scent. I kept my distance to avoid my presence spooking the bird, and after minutes of stealth, Yuba stopped, thrust her tail high, and adjusted her gaze to meet the strongest point of scent. It was the early golden hour, and the shadows were long. I circled behind Yuba to cast my shadow across her focal point, which forced the rooster skyward. The over/under found its mark, and we collected our bounty.

Still, those plump, handsome quail scuffling in the snow nagged at my subconscious. True, my home covey is robust and wouldn't miss a couple more birds, but I could not bring myself to disturb them. I suppose the decision boils down to laziness and reverence.

I did not need to shoot more birds, and the freezing temps with snow deep enough to form snowballs on setter fur quickly reduced fun to frustration. Do excuses to avoid discomfort equate to laziness? Perhaps.

Upland birds are far better equipped to survive rough winter conditions than I, but my biologist brain considers wildlife energy expense and disrupting behaviors when conditions are harsh. Hawks harassing the exposed quail, flushing them from their feeding places all hours of the day, were enough stress for them. Out of reverence, I refilled the bird feeders to give them the energy advantage for the long night and returned to the warmth of the house.

There is nothing like skilled dog work and wingshooting coming together on a hunt, but a bird in the bush is just as important to the hunter as a bird in the hand. The quail reemerged from the blackberries to resume scratching and pecking with bouncing black topknots. I centered the shot, squeezed the trigger on the camera, gave the setters a head pat, and savored a sip of hot coffee. Steam from the cup tickled my nose while the snow continued to accumulate outside.