Dylan and Dane Take to the Brush

Just getting ready to head out the first time.

I finally got a chance to hunt Fowler's canyon. It's about a 1/4 mile wide, and on the map it's over two miles long. The creek runs south into the Palouse River. There are several side draws that offer good cover, but like the main canyon, it's pretty brushy. We spent most of the time scrambling along sidehill game trails working our way around stands of high, dense brush hoping the birds would flush out our side.

My nine and ten year old non-gunbearing guest hunters got a good example of how not to start out a hunt. After a short chat with the land owner, getting the dogs E-collars on, giving a short lecture on safety and position protocol, we were off. In less than a 100 yards Lilly went on point. As we were discussing which of the two boys should act as flusher, the rooster decided to act on his own. I swung and pulled the trigger. A deafening click reminded me that I had forgotten one detail...load the gun.

I muttered and whined for the next 5 minutes. When we first stepped off the gravel lane into the field, we had seen a handfull of pheasants fly up the first side draw. Our first pointed bird had gone the same way, so we decided to follow. I jumped a partially frozen stream, yelled back over my shoulder some advice about finding a better place to cross, and headed on up the draw. I took a few steps, stopped to check on the boys just in time to see the first one fall in over his boot top, but make it across. Now less confident, I watched the next try with great interest. This young guy took a long step into the water, tetered, then plopped down in the water, waist deep. Back to town we went.

After we got dry clothes and lunch, we tried again.

Our next point was steady, on a side hill in tall grass. The rooster flew straight away, head height. Two shots just plain missed. I think I didn't get the gun butt up high enough on my shoulder, thus shot high. I was not very impressive, but my audience was gracious.

Some time later a very similar situation happened with Juneau on point. This time the bird flew uphill right to left. It took two shots to drop it. The young dog was on it fast. She put her mouth on it. I was hoping this would be her first retrieve. She continued to mouth it until Lilly arrived. Juneau moved off to let Lilly do what she does best, retrieve.

For the next two hours we hunted hard in some tough conditions. Along the way I think the dogs pointed two birds. The hill was so steep and the footing so bad that I couldn't get into position.

The boys got farther and farther behind. Eventually they disapeared all together. I had given them instructions in case this shuold happen, so I wasn't worried. After a long uphill hike back toward the farmhouse, Juneau pointed a rooster within easy sight of the boys sitting on the tailgate of the pickup enjoying a snack.

Two birds in three hours is not great, but we had some good opportunities, saw some good isolated cover, and had some fun. The boys did great taking care of themselves.

Hunting With The Guys

This is Eliot and me trying out the new "Buddy Saddle" we got for Christmas.

Today was women to the mall, men into the field. Son-in-law Tim, and 4 year old grandson Eliot joined me for an hour hike with the dogs. I got a fleeting glimpse of a bird that I knew was a rooster, because he cackled as he flew off. Then a while later Lilly got a good point on a hen and that was the bird count for the day. Being with these guys that I love so dearly was the real value.

The first hunt I took Eliot on, he saw a great point, shot, and retrieve. He seemed sufficiently impressed. At the very least he got a good picture of what we were trying to do. He may have to do a lot of walking before he sees it again.

This is a typical drain ditch but too narrow for best hunting.
Our two rooster encounter happened in the nearest corner of this plot of trees.

You can see the two dogs, Lilly in the foreground, Juneau farther out and harder to see.

Christmas Day. Tim came Along

After an abbreviated lunch, son-in-law, Tim Mortimore and I went back to where I had hunted the day before. Plans were for a 3:00PM dinner so we didn't have long. There were some areas that I had passed the day before which drew me back.


I dropped the tail gate and started around a small half acre planting of close packed pines. They were twice my height with overlapping branches. The dogs immediately disappeared.

It was too thick to follow but I was hoping to heard any occupants down the ditch that passed along the south edge and proceeded west through the broad shallow valley. A minute later a cackling rooster banked to his left 40 yards above me heading in the opposite direction. I fired two wasted shots, the dogs then emerged from the tangle. I crossed a road bridge that put me across the ditch from Tim. We headed west. Off on the horizon we could see a larger and younger planting of pines that ran from the ditch up to the gravel road the distance of about three hundred yards. The plan was to walk a long rectangle; down the ditch, up to our right through the trees, then back down the road to the pickup.


The ditch portion produced nothing. We swung right into the trees 20 minutes later. This looked like good cover. In less then five minutes the dogs stopped on point 15 feet apart. We slowly moved in. The rooster flushed straight out ahead of Tim, but to my right. I yelled "Rooster!" and fired a second later just as Tim's gun went off. The bird fell dead. Lilly was immediately on the retrieve. As she was coming towards me with the bird in her mouth I got the idea that I should get a picture. This was my first time to carry a camera into the field.





I pulled out the camera, but before I could snap the picture she was at my feet. I tried to back away, she followed with a confused look. As I was suggesting that Tim take the picture. We heard the explosion of wings. Forty feet away Juneau had found another rooster . My lack of focus and distraction had left us off guard. Tim fired two shots as the bird passed 30 yards above us and banked to the west, with no affect. The lesson was, be wise about when you pull out the camera.

Twenty minutes later we were back at the pickup. We hunted another ditch abandon railroad grade combination for about half an hour then headed home.


A big Christmas dinner was waiting. Are we ever blessed!

Christmas Eve

After lunch I loaded the dogs, and headed for my first choice yesterday. The one I never got to because of slick roads. I checked the county map and came in a better way.

It was sunny, 27 degrees, and no wind. I'd come across this area while riding my horse two springs ago. Its two main features are a drain ditch and an abandon railroad grade. Much of the time they run parallel to each other with knee deep grass along both shoulders and between them.

I followed the tracks of two hunters and a dog that may have been made the day before. About a half mile from the pickup the grade and ditch part company by as much as 300 hundred yards. On the way out I stayed with the tracks. Coming back I cut over to the ditch and followed it back. It was a great hike but we didn't see a feather.

On the way back, within a couple hundred yards of the pickup, we took a sweeping right angle turn, stayed with the creek and continued hunting. This was our fortunate move. In spite of being drawn to the pickup and moving on to another location I extended the hunt on this new tangent.



Within 5 minutes both dogs went on point. We were in dry grass that in early fall would be 3 feet tall, but now was bent over more than double and covered with 5 inches of snow. I moved in, tried to kick up a bird. At the same moment both dogs dived in. I heard wings thrashing and a desperate squawk. I dropped my gun , pawing through a crusted layer of grass and snow, and wrestled a frightened little hen from the mouths of the dogs. I gave her a underhand two-handed throw straight up hoping she had enough life left in her to fly away. She did well except that one leg wasn't tucked up as tight as it should have been.

We moved on. Not more than a few minutes later the scene was repeated, however the hen flushed before the dogs pounced. This was the case two more times. The practice was great. The dogs were now staying fairly staunch on wing with the help of some verbal commands.

The fifth point was the same as the others, Juneau first pointing, then Lilly backing to second the motion. Juneau is almost always out ahead and is getting so good at her job that in these confined narrow covers Lilly doesn't have much of a chance to be first to find a bird. The main difference with this last point was that out came a rooster. It was an easy shot. The bird was quartering away right to left. It fell dead in clear view but across some cold water that was about 3 feet too wide to jump. Normally the dogs would have looked for a narrower crossing, but last death throws were too powerful a magnet. Both jumped in rapid succession, landing short of the ice encrusted bank, then slogging on across. Juneau held back just enough to allow Lilly to get the bird. The return trip was made slower, and with more planning. Getting wet once was enough.

We hunted on ten more minutes then we were out of time. One for the day was going to have to do it.

Lots of Hunting, Not Much Shooting

When I left the house after lunch I was headed for a place the I discovered while doing some training last spring. The temperature was hovering just below freezing with sun breaks and fog. We've had snow on the ground for several days now. My travel plans were altered when the access road was covered with untracked snow. These back roads are fine in almost all weather as long as they are graveled. I didn't want to find out, after it was too late, that I had reached the end of the gravel.



An alternate hunting spot came to mind,but on the way to it I passed another spot that has always looked good to me. So I decided to give it a try. A mile out and back hunt yielded one good point on one quail that I passed on.



I probed another spot around a large functioning grain elevator. The dogs slowed and flushed a hen, then a couple minutes later another pheasant that was in range but flashed over a brush pile so fast I didn't even get a chance to see what sex it was.



I decided to quit messing around and get on over to my alternate objective. As I was driving parallel to a favorite area that I had decided to pass up because it gets so much hunting pressure, a flash of motion caught my eye. It looked like it was a young hen changing locations from one side of a creek to another. I thought," Why not, lets have a look."



Upon arriving at the likely spot, both dogs went on point. Chasing after birds you spot while driving along doesn't usually work out for me but maybe this time. We were in tall grass that was growing in a narrow strip between the slow muddy half frozen creek and a plowed field. I took one step out of the snow covered dirt up into the grass when Juneau broke point and dived into a clump of knee deep grass. I immediately heard wings beating down under the grass and up Juneau came with a mouthful of feathers. As I lunged down to pull her back an immature hen flew off . In the next 6 seconds about ten more followed her. I was yelling at my dogs to "WHOA" while they ran around in a frenzy. I let my gun down in my right hand while I frantically tried to grip my E-collar control. Up flew a rooster. I was totally unprepared. A couple wild shots and all the birds were gone. My dogs were paying no attention to my and were still tearing up the cover. I was trying to shock and yell at the same time. They finally eased into control but I couldn't stop yelling so they cowered over to me. Then it dawned on me that training had been over a long time ago. What a mess!



Now I understand why staunch on wing and shot is so important. I thought we had "wing" down pretty good.



It was getting late so that staying where we were was our best option. For the next hour and a half we beat the brush hard and found nothing. Oh well, there's always tomorrow.

Steptoe Butte

Here is Steptoe Butte a few days later covered with snow

During the mid morning hours the weather was various proportions of rain,mist and wind. Around 10:00 AM it stopped raining just long enough for me to imagine that I might be able to get out. I drove to a likely spot, parked the pickup and started out. About five minutes later it started raining again. I was back at the pickup a half hour later wet and cold as were the dogs. I decided to drive on to town and get my young dog her last booster. By the time I had gotten a little lunch at the local taco drive through It had really stopped raining. So I headed for a place that I hadn't hunted for three years. I always intended on going back because it's such a unique setting.

The Palouse country is generally rolling hills dissected by drain ditches, creeks and rivers. One obvious exception is Steptoe Butte. It is a very symmetrical cone that rises 1200 foot above the surrounding hills and hollows. I parked near a farmer friends house walked 75 feet up a dirt road that was now waring a slick sheet of mud. Before I stepped into the nearest CRP four pheasant flew out several hundred feet ahead of us and silently disappeared over the distant hill. The wind was at our backs . When the dogs reached the launch sight they got excited but no stragglers had stayed behind.

The road that ran the length of the draw was too muddy to drive on or else I would have just driven down the road away from the house and started hunting up wind, but to get to where I wanted to go we had to travel on foot down wind. We worked our way up and down three hills then moved toward a corner that had thicker cover than the rest of the area. The dogs were hunting hard and started to show signs of good scent moving slower with more purpose, nose closer to the ground. Juneau stopped on point Lilly moved in closer then also stopped. I moved in at the ready, then both dogs cautiously moved on another 30 feet, then stopped on solid point. I moved forward. The rooster flushed. I shot, it fell 30 yards out in the seeded field. Lilly was quickly on it, and made the retrieve.This was the end of this field. There was good cover along the road headed back down wind toward the pickup, but we weren't ready to start back yet.

We hiked 1/4 mile down the dirt road that had no real cover on either side. Then swung into a stretch of CRP that ran up a long slope to the fence that marked the end of farm ground and the broad shoulder of the butte.

Not far from the old rusted barbed wire fence the dogs, very near each other started to slow on a hedge of grass next to the seeded field. Before they could set themselves a rooster flew just out of range. I was angry at myself for letting the dogs get too far out, angry at the bird for not waiting to be shot at, and angry at the dogs for not being more cautious. I got over it pretty quickly, but I'm still wondering what I can do to cut down the number of times this happens.

Starting at the fence line and wrapping around the butte there are hundreds of acres of wild rose. The stems are dry brown with savage thorns. On the ends are mothball sized cranberry colored rose hips. I wound around through this stuff for about an hour. It's a confused maze that forces you higher up the butte in order to get anywhere. The dogs never lost interest, but only paused for closer inspection at two locations. When I turned into the wind for the return trip I was perhaps a quarter mile above the nearest field walking into a brisk cold wind. I had to force myself to take advantage of intangible reward this hunt offered. Before me lay a vast panoramic view of the Palouse country. It's a random pattern of winter browned grass, darker seeded winter wheat fields, rough chisel plowed stubble fields, or untouched stubble. At a far distance the more defined draws are grown up in low brush. These eventually give way to canyons of pines and willows. My viewing didn't last long. It was too cold for much sight seeing. The forty five minute hike back was just the reverse of the trip up. No scent until we got back to the lower CRP. Good point from both dogs on a hen. Then only a hundred yards from the pickup the dogs flushed a rooster. It was at the farthest edge of my comfortable range, and having not been warned by a point it was gone unhindered. This was it for the day.

The Fastest Limit I Ever Got

Since I probably won't be hunting today I'll tell an old story. Well not all that old; maybe three weeks ago.

A friend and I had been hunting a little patch of flat CRP. We each started from opposite ends and met in the middle. No birds. So we headed for the pickup. The grass cover was quite deep; he's a slow walker besides. Instead of just waiting at the pickup I decided to go across the road and go around an abandon equipment shed and barn that set on the hill back from the road a few hundred feet. I'd been around it maybe three times before but had never seen a bird there.

The pickup was nosed into the old driveway down the road to my left a couple hundred foot. I climbed a twenty foot bank,went around a house sized clump of brush, then through some knee deep grass that bordered the back of a fifty foot long equipment shed. The whole area is an elongated twenty acre triangle. One side runs along the road while the two sides narrowed as they ran up a draw hemmed in by two plowed fields. The most promising cover was across the triangle from me to my left. Not wanting to leave my hunting partner waiting too long, my idea was go up one side, cut across the top, leaving the long narrow projection at the top unhunted,and head across to the good stuff on the other side.I was hunting just the shorthair Lilly, and she seemed to be on a fairly good scent trail that led up the draw that I had planned to not hunt. I tried to talk her out of it a couple of times by veering to my left hoping she would follow my led, but she headed on up the draw disregarding my suggestion. So I followed her. A couple hundred feet up the draw she went on point. As I moved to my right toward her a rooster flushed. I shot. It fell. She retrieved the bird. Pleased at having made our little side trip rewarding with our first bird of the day, I turned to head down hill to our pickup. As I situated the bird in my vest, I looked around to find my dog and was surprised to find her back at the same clump of grass on point again. Could this be true? I moved in her direction. We were in about the same positions as before. Up went another rooster following almost the same path of flight. I fired,it fell, Lilly retrieved. Wow! what a bonus. I again placed the bird in my vest opposite the first one and turned to head down the hill. I Looked for the dog, and you guessed it,another point, same grass clump. Up rocketed the bird. He left in a hurry. That made it into a long shot. Down he fell. Another retrieve, my bag was full. All this took only as long as it took the dog to run out and back three times with a slight pause to point.

Down the hill and approaching the pickup my slightly impatient partner leaning on the door yelled,"Where have you been?" I walked up, pulled out a bird, tossed it to the ground and answered,"I've been hunting." His expression of slight reprimand turned to satisfaction that I hadn't completly wasted his time. As I pulled out the other two birds his expression turned to amazement. He quietly gasped,"I didn't hear a thing!"

Cold Rain

We,the dogs and I, spent most of the day working on gill nets in the shop near the wood stove. The forecast calls for rain till Tues. That will probably be the next hunting opportunity.

I try to hunt a couple times a week on horse back. This helps them to stay in shape,and it's a nice change of pace. The dogs love it also because it is all in CRP. I let them run out much further, up to sixty yards. On a horse one can see the dogs better, and when they go on point I can get up to them quicker than on foot.

These CRP fields are three or four hundred acres or larger. So finding birds is much harder. Pheasants in our part of the country need overhead protection of low brush and trees because of all the large hawks. At least that's my theory. That isn't to say that there aren't some out there, just not as many. Expect more Tues. evening. Have a blessed Christmas Sunday celebrating our God's arrival on earth .

First Entry

I am writing to express my love for being in the field with two good dogs.

My home is between Pullman and Spokane Wash. 3/4 mile from the Idaho border. The cover is usually brushy creek beds drain ditches, abandon railroad beds, or farm land that is not being used, commonly known as C.R.P. land.

Today's hunt was along an abandon railroad that has some CPR draws that can be several hundred yards wide at the road bed then gradually get narrower as they wind up between hills. These grassy areas are left uncultivated because they are too wet to plow in the spring.

I hunt two dogs most of the time. One is a twelve year old German shorthair, and a 1 1/2 year old Brittney. Nether are from very outstanding blood lines. I have them because one was cheap while the other was free.

For mid Dec. around here it was a nice day in the mid forties and no rain.

The hunt was a long out and back of about two miles one way. the wind was good quartering into our faces from the right.

Within five minutes of leaving the pickup both dogs were on a hard point in fairly short grass less than eight feet from each other. I moved in thinking pheasant when out burst four or five quail. I haven't shot at a quail for about a month, and their speed took me completely by surprise. They banked hard around some brush, I fumbled with my safety and they were gone before I could get a shot off.

Mumbling under my breath we moved on. One hundred yards later they both disappeared over a bank twenty yards ahead of me. When i got up to the Brittney was no solid point with the shorthair 5 yards away and creeping. I stopped with a Whoa, about that time the Brittney got tired of waiting, jumped , a handful of quail flushed. I shot twice, and watched them all fly away. So far they were doing their part but I was failing miserably. Hang on it gets worse.

About ten minutes later we came to some high brush. The dogs split up slowly moved around the brush and immediately the air was full of the sound of about a hundred quail in flight. The dogs went crazy running around trying to find at least one straggler. They flushed one without a point. I shot it. One out of one hundred. Were obviously are no great threat to the local population extention.

On down the road another 1/8 mile along the side of a fifteen foot high railroad bed fill, the dogs, eight feet apart, slowed, two or three quail flushed, I shot both barrels. Missed with both, them watched helplessly as birds launched from everywhere. The air was full of quail. I tried to quickly reload. By the time I did, all was quiet accept for my yelling at the dogs.They cowered at my feet. NetherNo one had pointed. It had been complete chaos.

After we settled down. The dogs moved out into some CRP so I followed. I could tell they were on fair scent. They were moving too fast. I kept having to slow them down. It looked like there were some pheasant, but they were running up the draw ahead of us. After just a few minutes the Brittney over ran a rooster. It flushed in range, but straight at me, then banked to my right. I fired twice. the second shot had some effect but not enough. A few minutes later, way out of range two hens, them three roosters flushed, and flew to my right cleared a two hundred foot high hill of newly sprouting winter wheat, them disappeared. The one good thing was that they seemed to be going back toward the route that I had just traveled and would have to cover again to get back to the pickup. We returned to the railroad grade, moved on, and within a few minutes intersected another draw that funneled between two hill, and was covered CRP grass.

The Brittney had the best scent trail. She was trotting along the edge of the grass, then occasionally slowing to a slow creep. She pointed twice them moved on. The shorthair was out in the grass casting with less purpose. Three minutes then Juneau nose low locked up. Lilly the shouthair caught the scent moved in from the left, and slowed to a halt. I moved in, it flushed to my right over the plowed field. I shot. It fell dead a short distance away. Juneau the Brittny was on it first picked it up them dropped it two steps later upon Lilly's approach. Lilly scooped it up and brought it to me. That had all the elements of a good kill; solid double point, good shot, quick retrieve.

We hunted through some more CRP, parallel to the grade, intersected the grade, them due to tired legs and the prospect of a long walk home I turned around and headed back.

Retracing your hunt is never as much fun as the trip out especially when it's back down wind.
Two more times on the way back ,angeling slightly down wind ,in CRP , each dog found a rooster. The initial point alerted the other dog, she would move in . They would hold, I would flush the bird, Lilly carried out the retreve. However the last retieve was a bit different.

The bird shot up straight away. I shot, it was hit, but righted it's self, to my amazment. It flew up a long freshly seeded slope, then just before it disappeared over the hill three hundred yards away it faltered the fell. For some reason the dogs had missed all of this. They were still noseing around in the grass. I yelled at them then started up the hill sinking into 4 inches of mud each step. They quickly got the picture and raced out ahead of me. This was my cue to stop walking and wait for the retrieve. The dogs vanished over the hill. I waited with pleased anticipation. This is when good retrievers earn their keep. Too much time passed. They came back into view headed down hill to my right for hunting cover. I yelled, waved my armed and acted like I was resuming my trudging up the hill. They glanced at me, turned on their heels, disappeared over the hill. The bird must have been just slightly down wind from their first search. Thirty seconds later Juneau appeared looking back over her shoulder moving at the gate of a lesser warrior ushering the real hero. Seconds later here came Lilly with the bird. My heart swelled with pride, and my legs were grateful that they wouldn't have to climb that hill.

We angled back to the railroad grade, three- bird limit in hand. The mile and a half hike back to the road wasn't going to include any shooting. I had all the pheasants I could legally shoot. All the shells I had left were 3 inch blasters. Not quail shot. However the hunting wouldn't stop. The dogs would never understand. Everything from now on was going to be hens no matter what.