Shooting Grouse from a Canoe 



by Harold Titus . . . paintings by Morgan Douglas 



WHEN I took my first look at the originals of Morgan Douglas' 

 paintings, here reproduced, it took me back to Model T 

 days, to Charlie Carver, and to my introduction to grouse hunt- 

 ing from a canoe. 



You see, ruffed-grouse hunting is my top sport, my passion 

 my vice, perhaps. I'd rather shoot at a thunder bird and miss 

 than bring home my limit of anything else that flies and the 

 older I get the happier I am about the misses. I started out 

 after birds with a water spaniel named Jigger and a single- 

 barreled twelve-gauge I acquired for $1.25 cash and a bicycle 

 pump. Because of maternal misgivings, I was forced to hide the 

 gun in the family barn between hunts, but I never had to hide 

 the birds because there never were any. The reason, I found 

 out later, was that the barrel was bent. 



Now this Charlie Carver was one of the finest men that ever 

 lived. He built bridges and things but only because it enabled 

 him to hunt and fish. And, praise be, he brought me up in the 

 way a lad should go. He was one of those rare grownups who 

 enjoy being with youngsters, passing on knowledge and wisdom 

 in quiet, unostentatious ways. 



"Now, I'll tell you," he said one evening when we were home- 

 ward bound in the Tin Lizzie with birds at our feet and the 

 tired setter sprawled in back, "there's nothing finer than plas- 

 tering a grouse that your own dog has handled well for you. But 



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