Grouse Camp

Posted by Brenda Layman Oct 6, 2009

My husband, Mark, is heading off to the woods with his buddies for a week and a half of grouse hunting. I like to kid him about it. "It takes eight men and four dogs a week and a half to shoot six grouse," I say. He just laughs and gets that far-away look. If you know any hunters, you know the one. They're seeing early mornings with frost on the ground and the sun coming up through poplars that are just starting to lose their leaves. They're thinking of dogs getting "birdy" when they catch the scent of game, of the adreneline rush that comes when grouse explode from cover and take off, of the shotgun at the shoulder and the bird that falls, of the dog that brings it to hand. They're remembering the cameraderie of the hunt and of the cabin, of the rituals that must always be followed, and the stories that must be repeated each year, with more added as time goes by. They're planning the card games and the whiskey and the beers, the steaks and the wild game dinners. They're also remembering companions that are no longer a part of the hunt, good bird dogs laid to rest in the woods they loved to roam, and good friends who will hunt no more. In their minds, they aren't sitting in offices, or sleeping in watertight houses with central heat, where one can be untouched by and unaware of the outdoors. They're in the field, where their senses are alert and they can challenge themselves in the hunt. They're in the camp or the hunting cabin, where warmth comes from fire and a little rain or snow might blow in around the edges and they might hear coyotes in the night and be reminded that wild places still exist. Yep, Mark is going on a grouse hunt, and in spite of the fact that it involves eight grown men, four dogs, and an unspecified number of mice in a small cabin in the woods, I wish I were going, too.