768 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Nov. 17, 1906. 
Gray Partridge in Italy. 
In hunting and shooting the value of one’s 
quarry depends a good deal on its rarety and 
on the difficulties experienced in finding it. The 
gray partridges of Italy, Linnaeus’ Caccabis saxa- 
tilis, locally known as “pernice,” is one of the 
hardest birds to reach and is quite rare enough 
to make it the most sought after bird of the 
Peninsula, if one excepts the “urogallo,” 
Linnaeus’ Tetro urogallus, hunting which in its 
Alpine haunts so many lives have been lost. 
The pernice is a beautiful bird, nearly as big 
as a prairie chicken, but heavier and more com¬ 
pact in build. Its feathers are dove gray, with 
bright brown stripes under the wings, white 
throat ringed in brown, fiery little red eyes, and 
crimson beak and legs. It is found all along 
the Apennines, from Tuscany to Calabria, at 
various altitudes, but one of its peculiarities is 
that it never inhabits the slope of the mountain, 
always seeking the highest peak in the neigh¬ 
borhood and spending the entire day there, only 
descending to the wheat fields at night, for food. 
The open season for partridge varies accord¬ 
ing to province, but from Aug. 1 to Dec. 31 is 
the average time for it. By the latter part of 
July the young are full grown. The parent 
birds remain with them throughout August, and 
one generally finds the whole covey together 
until that time. By September the new genera¬ 
tion is made to shift for itself, though, and then 
the coveys split up, affording the best chances 
of a good bag. 
The peaks preferred by the partridge are the 
ones topped by flat plateaus. On these rocky 
terraces, barren but for a few dry lichens and 
stunted shrubs, they are generally found. 
It is difficult to flush them, unless one has 
good dogs, for they will not rise at one’s ap¬ 
proach, and they match the slate color of the 
basaltic rocks so perfectly as to make their de¬ 
tection almost impossible. Even with dogs it is 
at times hard to find them, for they seldom move 
after settling, and the dog must have splendid 
Giulio, my Guide, and his Three Dogs. 
scent who will locate them on the hot, still days 
of late summer. If one be flushed, however, 
the entire covey will probably follow, the parent 
birds invariably being the last to take flight. 
About a year ago I had occasion to stop in 
Florence on my way to southern Italy, and, 
mindful of some rare sport in former years in 
the nearby marshes, I looked up an old pro¬ 
fessional, Giulio. who had formerly been my 
guide. I found him in his little garden, and he 
welcomed me with genuine Italian fervor. When 
he had calmed down, I told him what I came 
for, and he surprised me by asking whether I 
could spare five or six days. 
“Why, yes,” I said; “but not to spend in an 
unhealthy marsh.” 
“It is not ‘beccacini’ (snipe),” he said, coming 
nearer and whispering mysteriously, though not 
a soul was in sight, “the palude (marsh) is 
nearly dry and you wouldn’t get a shot there. 
It is pernici. The Marchese Ginori came back 
with a bagful of them the other day. and I know 
where he went. The best places he didn't touch. 
How would you like to try them?” 
“I have no dogs,” I remonstrated; “Pit never 
saw a partridge in his life.” 
He waved his hand toward his dilapidated 
kennel with a grand gesture. 
“Have you not in there three of the best 
partridge dogs on earth at your disposal?” 
It was evident that he was anxious for the trip, 
so I knew the game must be plentiful, and we 
had soon made arrangements to start the next 
day. 
We met at the station ready for the fray. 
Giulio had with him his famous trio—Gino, a 
huge Italian pointer (bracco); Baffino, a well- 
bred griffon, and Arno, a thick-set little 
bracco who claimed the bluest blood of the 
famous Airoldi kennels. As to myself. I had 
the sagacious Pit at my side, but had little hope 
of his being of any use. • 
We bought third-class tickets, so as to be able 
to take the dogs into the carriage with 11s. and 
after zig-zagging for six hours through the truiy 
Over Badly Marked Paths to the High Plateaus of the 
Apennines. 
beautiful scenery of the lower Apennines, we 
completed our 150-mile trip and landed safely 
at Terni. Here Giulio hurried me over to the 
“diligenza” for Leonessa, which we just made, 
and after a tedious 12-mile up-hill drive in the 
rickety old coach, we reached our destination, 
a primitive little village. 
My man knew just what to do and went about 
it in a businesslike way that pleased, if it sur¬ 
prised me. He ordered donkeys to carry us to 
Cimamonte, where the mountain trail starts; 
secured a young mountaineer who knew every 
crag, to escort us; and then engaged quarters 
for us at a queer old “albergo.” 
We dined at once and went to bed immediately 
after. Bright moonshine flooded the room 
when I woke, and the pattering of unshod hoofs 
on the cobbles outside told me the donkeys had 
come. I dressed in haste and we were soon 
beating a rough country road which led up the 
mountain at a steep incline. A couple of hours 
later we turned off into a path that was hardly 
marked, and as the darkness preceding dawn 
fell over us, we made a dilapidated hamlet 
whose ruins showed signs of former grandeur. 
Our donkey boy called it Caprareccia. 
In spite of the early hour everything was 
astir, and we had little difficulty in finding 
stabling for our mounts. We then ate a hearty, if 
precipitous breakfast, to lighten our packs, and 
taking with us only fruit, sandwiches and a 
pumpkin gourd of coffee and water, we struck 
the trail. 
Before we had gone a mile all vestige of a 
road was lost, and then we came to the entrance 
of a deep, narrow canon whose towering sides 
we had to climb to reach the shooting grounds. 
Cecco, our agile guide, led with springy and un¬ 
faltering steps over a path that bore the name 
only by courtesy. No visible signs marked its 
course, and we often had to clamber over huge 
rocks to follow him, while now and again he 
skirted precipices so closely as to give one the 
vertigo. Steep and rough was the climb, but we 
finally emerged into the light of the rising sun 
Where Partridges are Found; Showing General Nature of 
Ground. The Author and His Pointer Pit. 
