Palouse Outdoors:Playing a Royal Flush

Some of the best moments of my life have occurred while following the flashing tail of a bird dog through the whipping grouse covers and amber plains. I've found the upland hunting community welcoming, and the tales I've shared have connected me with friends I would never have known otherwise. Pheasants Forever holds a subset of this community - like-minded conservationists passionate about nature, bird dogs, and the beautifully plumed game birds that fascinate us.

I've had the good fortune of experiencing a variety of hunts and dog breeds, each with unique styles, personalities, and quirks. Yet, I had never hunted with golden retrievers before the 2024 season. Fortunately, fellow Pheasants Forever volunteer Randy Snyder recently invited me to walk with him and his brace of stunning strawberry blonde golden retrievers to push up pheasant.

Randy's casual appearance belies his wisdom and character as one of the most interesting people alive. He has traveled and hunted birds widely with his beloved golden retrievers. A 1970s throwback photo of Randy sitting with his dog and a handful of valley quail after a momentous day in Baja was highlighted in the 2024 Pheasants Forever Journal Upland Bird Super Issue, Volume 43(4). Randy has a story for every occasion, hunting or otherwise, but as I followed him and his bouncing pups into the field, our conversation narrowed to strictly business.

"I've never hunted with flushers, save for a lab or two," I said.

"Really?" Randy questioned with surprise. "Well, you're in for a treat!" Little did I know we would embark on a gentlemanly experience worthy of custom leather boots, twill wool garments, and ivy caps.

Flushing dogs are bred to do just that – find and flush birds. One crucial difference between flushing and pointing dogs like my setters is that flushers must work close to the hunter so the birds get up within shotgun range. Conversely, pointing dogs can range to whatever distance their handler is comfortable because they are bred and trained to stop when they find birds, allowing the hunter to approach and flush. These different dog behaviors also require the hunter to adapt their approach.

"You see the dogs getting 'birdy'? Get up there fast!" Randy coached.

Making a beeline for the youngest dog, Scout, put me in the perfect position as a rooster pheasant broke from Scout's pursuit. The rooster erupted directly ahead, climbing right-to-left and offering a clean swing. My 1951 C.F. Dumoulin side-by-side arrived at my shoulder with the bead perfectly aligned down range.

"Great shot!" Randy offered as Scout swiftly returned with the bird.

"Thanks, Randy! My first rooster with the ole Dumoulin. And great dog work! I could get used to having my birds brought to hand. My setters have never cared to retrieve."

"Thank you! I'll take the next bird," Randy said with a chuckle as we moved on.

Soon after, Scout and his older companion, Tess, picked up the scent of another bird and began to push out. "Ssssssttt," Randy quietly hissed, causing the dogs to hit the brakes and circle back toward us – an intelligent bit of training. Keeping quiet is essential to avoid spooking birds, particularly when approaching pheasants. This subtle sound instead of voice, whistle, or collar tone command can be the difference between a rooster flushing at 10 yards versus 100.

"You see how interested they look when they hit that scent? They ramp up to 100 miles per hour instantly, so you've got to be paying attention and moving quickly," Randy advised as he scooted ahead, anticipating the flush.

Randy carried a beautiful old Browning side-by-side, kept immaculate by his care and appreciation for quality and tradition. I observed Randy's shot from behind, noting his relaxed technique and lead on the bird. The rooster tumbled, and Tess retrieved it in a textbook moment like a bread-and-butter sports play practiced 1,000 times over.

The hunt continued while Randy and I discussed birds and dogs and switched shooting opportunities with each new bird find. We strolled unhurried, carefree, appreciating every moment. It felt like a hunt for royalty, like we should have had a caddy to tote, reload the guns, and serve the occasional sip of fine brandy or rich red wine in a classy sniffer.

By the hunt's end, we each carried a passel of birds (Randy's passel a bit heavier than mine) that would later become delicate meals shared with friends and family, sparking reflection on a noble hunt and Randy's golden retrievers dealing a royal flush.