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A M November, 1917 
542 FORESTANDSTRE 
By LEOREN D. INGALLS 
S PORTSMEN, campers, hikers; tell me 
truly: what noise of the woods inva¬ 
riably startles you, though maybe for 
only a moment? Think carefully! Is it 
not the thundering rise of the ruffed 
grouse from the thicket close at hand? Do 
not be ashamed; it startles even the birds 
of prey. Frequently the king of game¬ 
birds is enabled to escape an untimely 
death from goshawk or Cooper’s hawk by 
his feathered explosion. 
I need not praise his qualities as a game 
bird; we know that he stands pre-eminent. 
Rather would I bring you in touch with 
the more intimate side of his life—a side 
often forgotten in the feverish excitement 
of the sportsman’s pursuit of game. 
From the time he is a ball of down 
Scarcely largei than your thumb, he may 
Fe found close to the beaten path, and one 
sight of the woodland which seldom fails 
to touch an answering chord in our 
thoughts, is that of a proud little brown 
mother crossing the old road, followed 
closely by her baker’s dozen of scrambling 
and peeping chicks. How quickly they 
vanish at her low warning signal as you 
step forward, while she uses all her nu- 
meroqs tricks to divert your attention to 
her seeming helplessness. If you follow in 
the hope of taking her she leads you a 
merry chase, always just under your hand, 
yet never in it, then darts away on swift 
and silent wing to guide the little ones to 
safety long before your clumsy feet can 
retrace their steps. 
They are precocious youngsters—these 
tiny fledglings—and in a short while are 
as expert on the wing as they are skilled 
in hiding. This is well, because of their 
danger from the four-footed enemies 
which constantly pursue them. Once in a 
while they have the advantage of their 
father’s wisdom as well as their mother's 
cunning to guide them through the first 
season of their stormy lives, but even then 
the return of spring often finds the brood 
diminished to one-third its original num¬ 
ber. Many times when following the trout 
stream through a clearing I have been sur¬ 
prised by a bunch of half-grown grouse 
bursting from the long grass at my very 
feet, where I had surprised them as they 
were busily collecting grasshoppers—for 
they are entomologists as enthusiastic in 
their way as I am in mine. 
Try hunting the grouse without a gun in 
the summer and see for yourself how 
much of their life may be revealed to you. 
At this season insect life is most abundant, 
berries are plentiful, and if a wet June has 
not lowered the young ones’ vitality and 
sadly decimated their numbers, the grouse 
will be met with frequently by roadsides, 
near bypaths, and in clearings where there 
is always food to spare. They are always 
somewhat afraid of man, but perfect still¬ 
ness is usually rewarded by a sight of the 
old bird leading her family hither and 
thither, teaching them what to take and 
what to shun; by the music of her low call 
as she unearths an especially choice grub, 
or by the sharp “quit-quit” warning them 
to fly when some stray dog comes rambling 
through the brush. 
B \ autumn the chicks are well grown, 
and some, more headstrong than the 
rest, fall to the sportsman’s gun when 
they fail to follow their mother’s advice. 
Not but what many older and wiser birds 
are bagged, however, for, after all, the 
contest between birds and man will always 
be somewhat unequal. Need I speak of the 
spell flung over us by the autumn woods 
these crisp October days? Their subtle 
magic is overpowering; there is intoxica¬ 
tion in the very air. Even the grouse yield 
to the charm, and the cocks, filled with 
the joy of living, mount some convenient 
log and with rapid wing strokes send their 
rolling drum beat far and wide. 
By this time they are varying the bill of 
fare with seeds, but when the snows of 
winter come, their diet is more restricted. 
The woods are bare, so they turn to the 
buds, which, with what seeds and fruit they 
may garner from leafless bushes, carry 
them through until the south wind re¬ 
awakens the woodland life. 
N ATURE has partly made up to them 
for the meagerness of this winter diet 
by providing their toes with horny 
side growths as snowshoe creepers, that 
they may not sink into the snow,- or slip 
upon a sleety surface. Then, too, leafless 
trees make it easy to see their enemies 
from afar, so they get along pretty well. 
If the nights are cold they made use of 
Jack Frost’s feather beds—the snowdrifts 
—and so pass the nights in comfort. Of 
course they may be imprisoned by a sleet 
storm, but that is a chance that must be 
taken along with the danger of discovery 
and capture by fox or wildcat. Several 
times I have come upon the record of such 
a tragedy written in crimson letters upon 
the trampled snow, and punctuated with 
feathers. Escaping this fate, the night’s 
sleep may end in comedy. A friend and I 
were out with our guns one bright Febru¬ 
ary morning, on our way to the haunts 
of the varying hare. We were plowing 
through the drifts; he felt something 
squirm beneath his feet and he gave a wild 
yell. Before he could utter another word 
a feathered bomb exploded under him, 
sprinkling him with snow, and whirred off 
through the woods, while he stared in 
open-mouthed amazement. 
But at last the winter passes, the song 
birds begin to flock north, and by the time 
the trees are in full leaf the handsome bird 
which a year ago was but a bunch of fluff 
has proudly assumed the responsibilities of 
parenthood._ 
HINTS ON GROUSE SHOOTING 
These woodland birds are difficult to 
shoot upon the wing, and the man who 
can do so need never fear holding his 
own in any company. Bob White, when 
flushed in the forest, flies for an opening 
in the trees. The ruffed grouse, on the 
contrary, plunges into the deepest cover. 
Its first object is to place a tree between 
itself and the shooter. It leaves the 
ground with a rush and roar that upsets the 
nerves of all but the best schooled sports¬ 
man, and is usually out of sight before the 
novice has comprehended what has hap¬ 
pened. Fire, no matter how faint the 
glimpse you may catch of his disappearing 
form, and then swing the gun along the 
direction of the flight and fire again. If 
you miss, never mind, for misses do not 
count in ruffed grouse shooting. 
