Morning On The Mountain

The rains came heavily to the east of Hancock, and I was rather stunned as I checked the river gages Sunday morning to find that the Beaver Kill had risen more than six feet! With thoughts of fishing washed away, and the heat of Indian Summer just a memory, I headed toward a favorite Catskill mountain this morning.

New York’s Ruffed grouse season opened on the first of October. I kept my eye on fishing during that first week though, and felt such a cold, crisp morning as this one was appropriate for a walk through the coverts. It didn’t take me long to learn I’d made the right decision.

I started into the first covert with my double gun at the ready. I had not gone ten yards in when a bird flushed to my right. He took a low, parallel course, angling away, and I swung and fired my first shell of the season. It was a tough shot, and as it happened, that grouse got a good laugh at my expense. At the report, three or four more birds flushed from the same corner that first one came from. I got the 101 to my shoulder after turning back, then swung as one bird rocketed through the cover, rather than out and away like his fellows. I’m surprised he didn’t catch his flight feathers in the ground vegetation as he skimmed the earth at full throttle. He didn’t catch any of the shot column from my second shell.

Moving on into the covert after a reload I worked it hard hoping for a re-flush. When that didn’t materialize, I worked out of the trees into the meadow the other birds had headed for. A trip down and back failed to turn up any of them, so back into the woodlot I went. I never found a trace of the single bird who had escaped my second shot.

Ruffs aren’t covey birds, so I was more than surprised to flush five of them out of the same location. Perhaps they were talking about the brand-new chill after the first truly cold night on the mountain. The morning low dipped into the thirties. In any case, I was lucky to find that many birds. Maybe this first morning is a good sign for the new season. I have never flushed that many grouse during a Catskill hunt.

Ruffed grouse populations have declined as much as eighty percent statewide. Usually, loss of habitat is the primary cause. The “Forever Wild” status of the Catskill Park has generally taken that part of the birds’ problem out of the equation, but finding birds is never easy, particularly for the solitary gunner. A good bird dog will turn up birds that will stick tight and let a lone hunter walk right by.

Hunter’s stories tell far more tales of grouse that avoided their shot strings, than found their way into their game bags. When they do flush, maybe one in a thousand will rise up toward a clear spot between the tree branches and offer a classic wing shot. The other nine hundred and ninety-nine will dodge between the branches and tree trunks, fly low in front of and behind alternate trees like the bunch that made my morning exciting, or flush behind you and head away on a zigzag course. Shot opportunities are usually brief if they happen at all. All things considered, Ruff offers the wingshooter the ultimate challenge!

The river won’t be wadable for a few days, so I have a couple more chilly morning ahead of me. Who knows, there is always a chance that that one thousandth bird will flush and give me one of those classic shots. Hope I can keep my head down and swing through when I find him!