Nov. 8, 1913- 
FOREST AND STREAM 
589 
Grouse Shooting 
By MEADE WILSON 
I T was one of those crisp, frosty November 
mornings, with the sun peeping over the 
slopes to the east. The trees and under¬ 
brush had been stripped of the crimson, gold 
and red foliage, and all nature had laid aside 
her bright and gorgeous colorings, preparing for 
somber winter. 
Considering conditions, it promised to be 
one of those ideal days when one could take a 
day off, roving with dog and gun in the peaceful 
woods, communing with the great outdoors. 
Of course some time must be spent the night 
before in looking over the paraphernalia. The 
gun must be carefully inspected and oiled. After 
having read and reread different articles in the 
best sportsman’s journals, trying to ascertain 
knowledge with regard to the penetration and 
pattern of the different high grade shells that 
are advertised, you finally settle that question by 
selecting two boxes of different kinds in order 
to try them out. So, after examining the outfit 
thoroughly you decide to go to bed. Having 
anticipated so much pleasure on the next day, 
your nerves were wrought up to such a pitch 
that sleep is impossible for a time, but finally it 
comes with pleasant dreams of the hunt. You 
seem to hear a grouse that has been flushed, and 
are vainly trying to see him as he flits away into 
heavy cover. Then you are startled again with 
that peculiar whirr resembling the roll of a 
drum, when another bird comes toward you, into 
your very face it seems, while you are trying 
to shoot him, pressing the trigger again and 
again with no report as the result. Waking up 
with chagrin and disappointment, someone calls 
that breakfast is ready. After eating a hasty 
bite you step into your hunting coat, and grab- 
bring up your gun and calling your dog you 
make record time for the territory that you 
have planned to hunt. Upon entering the 
meadow bordering the woods your dog cannot 
resist the temptation to romp and quarter the 
field, and really he cannot be blamed, for the 
crisp and invigorating morning air causes the 
blood to tingle. Commanding the dog to heel, 
you usurp authority over him, which is really 
uncalled for just now, when hark! you hear a 
startling whirr just in front and directly an¬ 
other. Then you realize that two ruffed grouse 
have escaped your bombardment, in reality bring¬ 
ing to mind the dream of the previous night. 
These cunning game birds have flushed from be¬ 
neath the alders and sumach along the old fence 
bordering the woods. 
Having reached this place, you hesitate a 
moment as to what course to take, and decide 
to go straight ahead. Warning the dog to hie 
on, he scarcely gets started well to quartering 
the ground, when he comes to an old chestnut 
log that is partly covered with blackberry bushes 
and fallen brush, forming a net to catch the 
loose leaves that have been blown by the wind, 
making an ideal hiding place for birds. Then 
he stops as if shot, with his body crouched 
panther-like, and his tail stiffened, he makes his 
first stand. Very cautiously you go to him, try¬ 
ing to keep in as open cover as possible. With 
a startling whirr a grouse flushes from beneath 
this cover, and at the same time you take a 
quick aim and press the trigger. There is a 
sharp click, but no report; then a second trigger 
is pressed with the same result. In the mean¬ 
time Mr. Grouse has made good his escape. 
Upon snapping open your gun you discover that 
in the hurry and excitement the gun was not 
loaded. Naturally you do some thinking then, 
and wonder why your neighbors do not take 
out a petition of lunacy for you as you philoso¬ 
phize to the dog “that a bird in hand is worth 
two in the bush.” While doing this another 
wily grouse starts from beneath a fox grape 
vine to the left, presenting an easy shot, while 
the gun is being loaded. 
By this time the rough edges of the hunt¬ 
ing fever are being smoothed down somewhat 
and you decide to try and be more careful. 
Patting your dog, who has been watching these 
blunders with wonder and a tinge of scorn in 
his eyes, he starts to hunt again. After quarter¬ 
ing the ground very cautiously, he catches scent 
where the grouse have been feeding and com¬ 
mences to road the trail, very stealthily creeping 
along, now stopping when he catches a heavy 
scent, uncertain as to what next to do, then 
fairly crawling forward with his eyes all ablaze, 
holding one foot in mid air for fear of making 
a sound, and finally comes to a staunch and rigid 
stand, when he is certain that he has found his 
game. Now is your chance to retrieve that repu¬ 
tation, and also a way to demonstrate your skill 
as a wing shot. With a very sudden whirr a 
grouse rises, and in his blind fright starts swift¬ 
ly toward you, when seeing his mistake darts 
high above your head for the thick cover. 
Quickly turning and drawing the gun into line 
you fire, and have the pleasure of seeing a cloud 
of feathers in the air, then the grouse falls with 
a thud. Looking for your faithful dog you see 
him still holding the point. Taking a step or 
two forward, you flush another bird from di¬ 
rectly in front of the dog, and practicing more 
discretion than his mate, he makes a record 
breaking right quarter flight. Throwing the gun 
into position, you fire again, and see the game 
bird pitching forward, flying as long as there 
is a breath of life in him, finally fall. This is 
when you feel glorious and triumphant. 
And so you spend the day, being content 
with moderate success. Be sure to let the ex¬ 
tent of the day's success be gauged by the 
thought that you will wish at some time to re¬ 
turn and live over again the scenes that have 
become dear to you. 
The most satisfactory outings in the long 
run are thus to be secured. On the way home 
in the evening, looking toward the west, you 
stop to admire the landscape and see the artistic 
colors of a rainbow in the sunset, and at the 
same time have indelibly impressed on your mind 
the fact that you have spent a much too short 
November day very pleasantly, pitting your skill 
as a hunter against the cunning strategy of the 
ruffed grouse. 
True Cylinders. 
Baltimore, Md., Oct. 20 .—Editor Forest and 
Stream: “True Cylinder,” in your Oct. 18 issue, 
is very interesting, but for our shooting here I 
like a cylinder right and full choke left. At 
twenty to twenty-five yards, game is not cut to 
pieces, and at forty yards the left barrel comes 
in handy. 
I have a grouch against your information 
department. A year ago they sent me a long 
list of places to go to, and I selected A. G. Cor- 
pening, Rockingham, N. C., and spent three weeks 
in February with my family at his delightful 
little hotel, the family enjoying the trip immense¬ 
ly. But the treatment I received was pretty 
rough. Mr. Corpening furnished good dogs, but 
birds were somewhat scarce. However, we had 
enough shooting, especially for me. 
Do you think it was fair for Mr. Corpening 
to take a little 20-gauge and kill two or three 
to my one, I shooting a 12-gauge? 
Do you think it was fair to send me out 
with a young gentleman of tender years armed 
with a little 20-gauge, who killed everything in 
sight? 
Do you think it was fair to send me out 
with a wealthy planter, a Mr. C., shooting a 20- 
gauge, who simply waited until I missed, and 
then “wiped my eye” a dozen times? I do not 
think there was much “Southern hospitality” in 
such treatment. 
However, I noticed in one of your ads “Fox 
Guns,” and as Philadelphia is so close, I went 
over and had a 12-gauge built to order. It is 
a beauty, and Rockingham will see me again 
this season. Gentlemen, beware. 
E. A. S. ■ 
[Original letter on file in our office and may 
be seen upon request. —Editor.] 
Wood block paving, tried and discarded in 
many cities of the United States thirty years ago, 
is now coming back into marked favor, due to 
improved methods of treating and handling the 
blocks. 
The Bureau of Forestry of the Philippine 
Islands will send tropical timbers to the U. S. 
Forest Service so that their suitability for fine 
furniture veneers may be ascertained. 
