(From my Dec. 6, 2012 News Journal column)
While many Delawareans are rushing through their first cups of coffee in preparation for manic, stress-filled days, my vizsla, Gus, and I frequently are taking our first steps into frost-covered fields and sapling groves in search of woodcocks – peculiar little game birds with superb forest floor camouflage and disproportionately long bills.
Interrupted only by the natural sounds of the forest inhabitants and the snaps of twigs underfoot, the early morning silence provides a calming retreat from the workday ahead.
Knowing the woodcocks’ inclination is to use their camouflage as a first line of defense and sit motionless when threatened, Gus and I can enjoy all aspects of our woodcock hunts without fear of birds leaving the area. Using the wind direction to his advantage, Gus can slowly and deliberately work the field edges, hedgerows, honeysuckle patches and sapling thickets, while I absorb the details of the hunt. The smell of pine needles and decaying leaves, the sound of squirrels chasing each other around a leaning oak, the sight of vultures circling on the warming air and the sting of a sapling branch slapping my ear are normally missed on more rushed hunts.
Trusting Gus’ nose (which is more than 5,000 times stronger than mine), I walk about 20 yards behind him during his side-to-side olfactory quest for woodcocks. Because woodcocks typically won’t fly at the first sight of danger, Gus seemingly takes pride in working the wind, capturing the scent of the nearly invisible birds, and locating them with pinpoint accuracy. When he is within mere feet of the birds, his undeniable, rigid and sometimes contorted points alert me of their presence.
Extraordinarily, many woodcocks will continue to hold tight even when a dog is within striking distance. Besides relying on camouflage, their rather unmotivated fight or flight response may be caused by the fact that they migrate mainly at night and use the daylight hours to rest and refuel. Regardless, the serenity of early morning woodcock hunts can end abruptly.
Frozen like an unfortunate canine victim of Mount Vesuvius, Gus will hold his locked position until the birds flush. Seeing Gus locked up near a woodcock that I absolutely cannot see is a thing of beauty. Soaking in the beauty, however, does not lead to woodcock hunting success.
Upon seeing Gus on point, I immediately move toward him in double time. Gus’ nose and eyes typically mark the location of the bird (or birds), so as I make my hastened approach, my brain must quickly awake from its meditative state and perform some quick calculations. In the seconds it takes me to close the distance, I determine where Gus is looking, if I can see the bird, which way the bird is facing, which way I think he will fly and where my best shooting lanes are. After processing the data, I move to flush the bird with a few strategically placed steps.
My senses on full alert, I see the bird explode upward from the forest floor, hear the dovelike whistle of his wings and shoulder my 20-gauge. All within about one exhilarating second, I instinctively begin following the bird’s path with the gun barrel, thumb the safety off and squeeze the trigger. If luck is on our side, the morning silence is broken with a bang.
As I break open the action on my gun to remove the spent shell, Gus is already returning to my side with the plump bird in his mouth. I kneel down so he can drop the bird in my hand, and without waiting for praise, he eagerly moves on in search of the next woodcock.
There is something unmistakably soothing about spending time in the field with the finest and most unassuming of hunting companions. Whether the hunts end with birds in the bag or not, the pursuit fuels the mind, body and soul.