592 
FOREST AND STREAM 
December, 1917 
THE CORSAIR OF THE WOODLANDS 
THE RUFFED GROUSE-A BIRD OF MYSTERY WHICH CLINGS TO ITS 
ANCESTRAL HOME WITH A TENACITY THAT COMMANDS OUR RESPECT 
By G. B. G. 
D EAR to the heart of every experienced 
sportsman is the game bird of the 
north, the splendid ruffed grouse. 
Winter has exterminated our quail in many 
places, and the flights of woodcock can 
more. The sportsman of long experience 
feels in his heart that there is no other 
bird like this one. Beautiful always, and 
at times bold, he is always so full of wiles 
and strategems that the work of pursuing 
astounding roar and we stoop gaping with¬ 
out a thought of shooting. 
The ruffed grouse is a bird of mystery. 
He is perpetually playing tricks on the 
gunner—tricks that usually succeed. He 
F 
never be depended on. Sometimes the 
sportsman finds them, but more often he is 
too early or too late and at best—unless 
his fortune is such that he can be out day 
after day—his bag for all his shooting 
season will be represented by only one or 
two of these peculiar birds. 
The ruffed grouse we have always with 
us. Few in number though they be, they 
cling to their ancestral homes with a 
tenacity that commands our respect. Even 
if a wood lot where there are birds be 
swept entirely away, and the grouse dis¬ 
appear, later, if the brush is allowed to 
grow up again, the birds will return once 
him—the hope of showing one’s self 
smarter than he—never loses its fascina¬ 
tion for those who have felt the call. 
Many of us can recall the tales told by 
our fathers about this wise bird and re¬ 
member the air of proud satisfaction with 
which they drew one or two grouse from 
the pocket and exhibited them to our won¬ 
dering gaze. A little later we may recall 
how during some excursion in the woods 
a burst of thunder sounded at our feet, 
and we saw the bird sailing away among 
the gray boles of great trees. Later, when 
we got our first gun how many times the 
heart jumped into the throat at this same 
may rise at one’s very feet and at once 
hide himself behind a tree trunk, to appear 
later far out of gun shot; or may get up 
silently and instantly plunge into a tangle 
of brush which perfectly conceals him. 
He may lie in thick alders until you have 
passed him, and then rise with a roar that 
takes your breath away, and while you are 
recovering your balance he scales off 
among the trees and you imagine that you 
can hear a chuckle—not wholly drowned 
by his rapid wing beats. 
The partridge’s cunning and the diffi¬ 
culty and uncertainty of securing him make 
him appear the greatest prize of the north- 
