Disappointed with the local hunting situation, I made a mad dash trip to near-northeast lower Michigan yesterday in hopes of reminding myself what a grouse flush looked like. Left home at about a quarter past four AM, got where I was going a bit before legal shooting hours. I stood for a while in the chilly air watching the glow of dawn spread over distant treetops. It made a good transition between the drive, where I was seized by impatience to be where I was going, and the hunt, where I needed openness to what was immediately present.
I parked next to some gorgeous looking stands of aspen, and spent about an hour working those. Webbed with boot trails, they had been hunted pretty hard already this season. But as I neared where one thicket met an open field, I flushed three grouse in about ten minutes. Shot at all and missed.
After returning to my car to dump a now-unneeded jacket, I walked farther into the woods on a two track that shortly became a narrow, overgrown foot trail, then a deer trail. I turned off what was left of the trail when I reached a semi-open area where aspens, alders, and young oaks grew in between stands of tall spruce. I thoroughly worked through and along several of the hardwood islets, flushing two more grouse in the process. One burst up about thirty feet to my left behind a large spruce. He briefly materialized between the top of the spruce and the branches of some taller oaks, but not long enough for me to shoot. The next flushed about ten feet to my left as I worked an unusually thick phalanx of aspen. I turned, but saw only a dun-ish quivering that immediately melted into the trees. Its wingbeats mocked me for a moment as I stood there, my gun uselessly slanted across my chest.
After some lunch, I hunted through a creek bottom, hoping but failing to move some woodcock. That produced the day's only sour moment. While walking, I rammed my left knee into the sharp, torn end of a broken log. Never saw the log in my way as it was hidden by tall grass. I postively howled when I hit it. After setting my gun somewhere safe, I dropped to the ground and stayed there several minutes, wondering when the freaking endorphins were going to start flowing. The blow actually broke the skin on my kneecap, though, curiously enough, it didn't rip the fabric on my jeans. I eventually limped back to my car as rain began to fall, and though I probably shouldn't have, I drove to try my luck in one more cover.
That area was a nicely mixed forest, where clumps evergreens and young hardwoods mingled, with lots of dogwood spread throughout. Rain fell off and on, sharpening the musty-sweet odor of fallen leaves. I didn't move any more grouse, so after about an hour, I called it a day.
For the last week, I've been having problems with my right knee, which becomes very sore when it stays still for some time. This happens about twice a year, and usually passes after about two weeks. Driving to Toledo (and driving up north yesterday) has been an ordeal of late. After yesterday, one of my knees hurts when I walk, the other when I sit still. The next couple of weeks promise a lot of discomfort.
But I'm not sorry I got out yesterday. If I could, I'd grit my teeth and go stalk a few grouse today, too. Or wade for some trout. Cold water is good for inflamed joints, isn't it?
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