Oct. 5, 1912 
FOREST AND STREAM 
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The “Fool Hen”—Biographical 
By CHARLES STUART MOODY 
I WAS first introduced to Franklin’s grouse, 
more commonly known as “fool hen,” when 
on an extended trip into the interior of the 
Bitter Root Mountains, in Idaho, with the Nez 
Perce Indians. It was late in the season, and 
the birds, after we reached the higher elevations 
where the forestation was almost exclusively 
lodge pole pine, were numerous. They would 
hardly leave the trail, and then only to fly a few 
feet and perch on some convenient low-hanging 
limb where they sat with head drawn down, eyes 
half closed as though asleep. The Indians carry 
a riding whip consisting of a heavy wooden 
handle two feet in length, through which run 
two broad leather thongs. Without this instru¬ 
ment of torture no cayuse horse can be made 
to travel. An Indian would spy a grouse sitting- 
on a limb, ride out of the line, tap the bird on 
the head with his riding whip, stow it away in 
his bag and return. The birds were so numerous 
that by nightfall there would be enough so col¬ 
lected to supply food for the entire party. The 
Indians were armed, but never presumed to waste 
ammunition on the game. 
This apparent lack of the instinct of self 
preservation interested me, and I made a rather 
close study of the birds during the years that fol¬ 
lowed. Franklin’s grouse (Dendragapus frank- 
linii) is the southern representative of the Canada 
grouse {Dendragapus canadensis ) and differs 
from that bird in such slight degree that only 
ornithologists can distinguish them. They in¬ 
habit the higher and unsettled portions of the 
western mountain ranges, choosing by prefer¬ 
ence the lodge pole and spruce forests, occupy¬ 
ing a zone between the ruffed grouse below and 
the white-tailed ptarmigan above, though isolated 
specimens may be found as low as 2,000 feet 
above sea level. That the grouse are never found 
in the vicinage of human habitations is probably 
accounted for by the fact that their unsuspicious 
nature causes them to fall easy victims to man. 
When the town of Pierce, Idaho, was first built, 
old settlers tell me that the fool hen was plenty, 
but in a few years not one could be found. After 
leaving Pierce and the region embraced in the 
Pierce placers, the grouse reappeared. The con¬ 
clusion is obvious. 
The almost impenetrable region inhabited by 
Franklin’s grouse has protected them from the 
ravages of hunters, and has at the same time 
prevented any detailed study of their habits by 
ornithologists. Of the strictly game birds this 
is the least known to Sportsmen. Indeed, many 
hunters encounter these birds and are unaware 
that they may be made to form an agreeable 
addition to the menu. At one time I chanced 
to be one of a hunting party in the Bitter Roots 
of which another member was a recent impor¬ 
tation from Great Britain. The Britisher was a 
true sportsman, as I have found all his people 
to be. and scorned to shoot a sitting bird or a 
standing deer. He possessed a beautiful three- 
barrel gun, of which he was justly proud. Being 
more familiar with the country than my com¬ 
panions, it fell to my lot to escort our British 
cousin around. The fall was exceedingly dry 
and game scarce. We had spent a week in the 
hills without finding large game. One day I 
suggested to him that we separate and follow up 
either side of a canon, which headed in a thicket 
of pine toward the mountain. We separated, 
with the understanding that we were to meet at 
the head of the canon. As I reached the neigh¬ 
borhood of the point agreed upon, I heard a 
voice. 
“Why don’t you fly, you bloomin’ beggar?” 
I peered through the trees and saw my com¬ 
panion frantically waving his gun at something 
in a tree. I drew near and saw a cock Franklin's 
grouse sitting about ten feet from the ground 
fast asleep. My friend looked around and saw 
me. 
“What’s the matter with this bally birdt" 
he asked. “Don’t you know I have tried for the 
last five minutes to flush him, but the bloomin’ 
beggar sits there as though half asleep.” 
“Oh, that’s a fool hen,” I replied. 
“Ah! really, and what is a fool hen, may I 
ask?” 
“A fool hen is a bird of the grouse family 
that hasn’t sense enough to get out of the way 
of an Englishman with a gun.” 
He looked at me for a moment before the 
thought found lodgment, then he laughed. “Haw, 
haw, pretty good. And has he sense enough to 
fly from a Yankee with a gun?” 
“No; same thing, English or Yankee, it’s all 
the same.” 
“I want to shoot the creature, but I cawn’t, 
don’t you know, unless he will flush.” 
“Get your gun ready, and I will flush him 
for you.” 
I took up a small stick and shied it at the 
