Ptarmigan Shooting in Norway 
By Ch. G. 
HENEVER I go on a hunting trip I make 
it a point always to go where there is 
not much chance of running up against 
strange hunters. Somehow I hate to hear the 
banging of strange guns in the vicinity, and I 
am willing to give a day or two of my short 
vacation and walk some extra miles to get away 
from the crowd. The question is, however, to 
find accommodations in these out-of-the-way 
places. 
Last year my friend E. and myself were on a 
trip after the ptarmigan, the like of which I hope 
never to experience again. We packed our stuff 
off to a stone cabin, and on our arrival found 
the roof had fallen down. What was to be done? 
We had nothing to repair it with, and no' fuel 
except green willows and the beams of the sod 
roof. We decided to stick it out, hoping for 
favorable weather. And a sweet time we had, 
rain every day with the mercury lovingly linger¬ 
ing around the freezing point, the last night 
for a change it snowed. It was a night we will 
probably both remember as long as we live. 
Both of us were soaking wet and nothing to 
burn; the only way to keep warm was to jump 
up and down. 
When morning dawned at last we made a 
“hot streak” across the mountains down to the 
first settlement, where we arrived in the even¬ 
ing, and the luxury of getting into dry clothes 
and our friend Halvor’s feather beds almost re¬ 
paid us for our hardships. This year we had 
along a light 5 x 7 waterproof tent and a little 
vapor stove, both proving very practical. The 
24 th of August found my friend E. and my¬ 
self up in the ptarmigan country again with our 
little tent pitched and everything ship shape for 
the opening day, the 25 th. 
E. had along his Irish setter, which was a 
veteran in the ptarmigan line. He was a clipper 
to find game, but if we were off some distance— 
and he was a wide ranger—he would put them 
up and watch them fly off. I must give him 
credit for one thing, though; he never chased 
them, and after he got through with his regular 
licking, which generally was a pretty tough one, 
he worked very well the rest of the day. 
My dog is a three-year-old Gordon setter 
named Rusk, meaning big. He has dark brown 
honest eyes and a pedigree containing high-toned 
names like Grouse, Heather Queen, etc., but I 
am sorry to say his great grandmother—a frivo¬ 
lous lady she mus<- have been—left the narrow 
path and the pedigree says regarding her pups: 
sire unknown. Rusk has proved himself the two 
seasons he has been out a dog with good com¬ 
mon sense and a good nose, which are the main 
points. 
The next morning we were awakened at dawn 
in a very pleasant way by the rattling call of 
a ptarmigan cock right outside the tent, and 
after a hasty breakfast started off with the dogs. 
The weather .was foggy with a slight drizzle of 
rain. Within ten minutes Irish pointed a covey 
with Rusk backing. There were only five birds 
and they flushed rather wild, but we each got 
one, the rest disappearing in the fog. A short 
time after Rusk had three, of which E. got one, 
missing with his second, while I was pulling at 
the trigger for dear life, but could not fire the 
gun. Here was a nice mess. I could hardly be¬ 
lieve my trusty old gun, which had acted on the 
square for nearly twenty years, would play me 
a trick like that. However, balk it did, and I 
could use only my left barrel. After a couple 
of hours it began raining good and hard and 
we started for the tent with eight or ten birds 
in the bag. Immediately I started to investigate 
my gun, but could see nothing wrong with it. 
The funny thing was that on my putting the 
lock back it worked all right and has not balked 
since. 
In the afternoon we picked up a few birds in 
the vicinity of the tent, as the weather was still 
bad. On our return we had an unpleasant ex¬ 
perience with some cattle which were in the 
neighborhood. They went for the dogs with a 
rush, and the dogs naturally came to us for pro¬ 
tection. We managed to get them into the tent 
just in the nick of time, and there I had to stay 
hanging on to them, while E. stood guard out¬ 
side with loaded gun and a pocketful of shells 
to “repel boarders.” With three bulls in front 
pawing the ground and bellowing and twenty or 
thirty cattle behind, the situation was not exactly 
pleasant. The only funny thing about it was 
to hear E. give vent to his feelings regarding 
cattle in general and these in particular. I never 
knew E., who is a very quiet fellow, had such 
a choice collection of language. After a while 
the bulls cooled down and the whole herd grad¬ 
ually withdrew. 
It is strange the antipathy cattle have for dogs. 
They seem to get perfectly wild on seeing a dog, 
and as he generally seeks his master’s protection 
the latter is in for a lively time, as the brutes 
are not particular whether they hook the man 
or the dog. 
The rain kept up all night and the next morn¬ 
ing we were awakened by the pattering on the 
tent. We went out for an hour and got soaked 
to the skin. The rest of the day was spent in 
the tent where we had it quite comfortable 
smoking and playing cards, while the vapor stove 
hummed cheerfully. The next morning it rained 
again, but happily it stopped after a while, and 
as the weather prospects seemed favorable we 
decided to spend the day exploring new grounds. 
Although there were plenty of birds in the 
vicinity of the tent, it is pleasant to know the 
lay of the land in the neighborhood where one 
hunts. 
During the day we met with an incident which 
might have been serious, but happily turned out 
a laughing matter. We came to a stream which 
was to be crossed, but being hip deep with a 
very strong current, fording was out of the 
question. After following it for a couple of 
miles we came to a gorge where it could be 
cleared by a good jump, but as the opposite 
shore was a foot or two higher the undertaking 
was rather dubious, and in case of failure the 
torrent with stones here and| there looked very 
unpleasant. After some deliberation we decided 
to get a little tree and throw across, so in case 
of failure there would be something to catch 
hold of. As the axe had been left in camp the 
only thing we could get was a half decayed 
birch; not much to depend on, but as E. said: 
“It looked a little more assuring.” I jumped first 
and made it all right, but E. thought he would 
make the jump shorter and stepped out on the 
birch with one foot. Irish, however, who was 
behind, was in an awful hurry to get over. He 
jumped out, landing on the middle of the birch, 
which promptly broke, dumping him in the mid¬ 
dle of the current. 
As I was a little below I was lucky enough 
to catch the dog by the nape of the neck as he 
was swept over toward me. When I looked for 
E. I saw him hanging on to a willow branch 
which broke. He was swept a few feet further, 
when he managed to get hold of another which 
happily held; then he crawled out, looking 
rather sheepish. But as he was still on the 
wrong side, he was obliged to make the jump, 
which he did like a champion. On landing he 
made for Irish with blood in his eye, while poor 
Irish, looking like a drowned fat, cowered be¬ 
hind me for protection. I managed to catch E. 
and held him until he had cooled off enough to 
see the thing from the humorous side. 
After all this excitement we took a rest and 
had a bite to eat. Then the dogs were sent out 
to search a strip of likely looking willows close 
by, and it was not long before they had a scent 
which they followed a couple of hundred yards, 
when both froze to a point in a marsh where 
it did not seem there could be cover enough for 
a sparrow, let alone a covey of ptarmigans. 
We advanced and put up twelve or fourteen 
full grown birds with white wings. I got one 
