We all have that favorite spot. That place where we go when everything is on the line for the day.
You know, that little knob out in the ocean that holds the lunker cod, the big rock behind which the huge stripers like to hide, or that pool in the river where dark native trout reside under the bank.
When we are bird hunting, it's Mort's farm in Wells, Maine. We have several great covers in southern Maine that we push throughout our hunting day, but we always save this rather small piece of ground until last. It never fails to hold woodcock and the occasional grouse. It's one of those spots that no matter how bad the day has been to that point, you know you are going to finish strong.
Llewtras Tuffy and Llewtras Magic, four-year-old English Setter brothers, coursed in front of us, white flashes against the green underbrush. Their locater bells tinkling in the crisp fall air, they worked back and forth in a pattern only they knew, trying to suck up every piece of scent the woods had to offer.
The lovely part of hunting with pointing dogs is their absolute belief that at any second they are going to find a bird under the next bush. And, because they truly believe that, they work every second of every minute of every hour they are off the leash. Several hundred years of selective breeding and thousands of hours of training have brought these animals to this point of perfection.
Magic swung through a thick patch of green alders and then under a white birch tree, it's peeling bark tendrils waving in the stiff fall breeze. His head stopped as his body kept on streaming by. Like some scene out of a cartoon, his feet scrambled and his body seemed to stretch out away from his head as he tried to get his whole being under control.
Finally getting himself composed, he settled into a rock hard point. His head was stuck at an odd angle with his nose locked onto a stream of hot scent that was flowing from the grasses under the tree.
Tuffy came sliding on in and froze into a point as well, backing his brother in a classic pose. The three of us just stood there for a second, mesmerized by the two dogs pointing. Steve slid around to the right and whispered a "whoa" to his prized friend. Scott stood quietly, his gun to the ready, while I drifted off to the left.
The very end of Magic's black nose was stock still, but the little curls at the outside of the nostrils flickered in and out as he snuffled in the hot scent, vacuuming every bit of the smell stream emanating from the bird he was sure was right in front of him.
I nodded to my compatriots and started to ease on in toward the spot where Magic's nose told him the bird was hiding. The bird was perfectly camouflaged, blending in to his surroundings. We couldn't see the hidden mystery, but if Magic said he was there, like his brother, we believed him.
Like every woodcock ever written about, he exploded up out of the bottom grasses in which he was hiding, helicoptering straight up through the dark leaf-covered alder branches that were attempting to hide him. Just as he reached a height of about 12 feet, he blasted off to the right.
My Ithaca double melded into my cheek and shoulder as I leaned ever so slightly toward the escaping bird. I pulled the lead trigger and a sharp bark filled the fall air. A couple of leaves fell to the ground as the angry shot flew through the Maine sky like a hoard of incredibly fast bees. Just as it reached the woodcock, he made a dart to the left and my shot went whipping on by. He fluttered off through the alder bushes and disappeared down near the brook.
Of course, I took the heat from my hunting companions. But as we walked through the woods, watching the two dogs flash in front of us looking for the next bird they knew was out there waiting for them.
Another great opening day in Maine came to a close as we walked up out of the bottom land toward Mort's farm buildings. The rich, dark earth beneath our feet gave off that smell that only a fall woods can bring. The tinkling bells attached to the collars of the dogs echoed off into the dark woods we were leaving behind.
