On The Hunt For Birds

Grouse hunting has held a special place in my heart for many decades. This can probably be attributed to it being one of the very few constants in my life every September – the changing of seasons meant that it was time to don our blaze orange and head out to the property behind our house. My interest waxed and waned over the years, but regardless of how busy things got, my dad always made a point of getting us out for at least one quick hunt.

 

I used to chuckle when I would tell people that, yes, we did go for a hunt, and yes, we have returned empty handed – what a surprise! Now, I will say with 100 per cent confidence that coming back with a few birds in your vest pouch is simply a nice bonus. That hit harder this week, when through an unfortunate circumstance I found myself back home for the better part of the week to be close to family. It’s one of the first times I have been back at my parents’ home for much more than an overnight trip in at least half a decade, one of those situations where life gets busy and schedules get filled and before you know it the years just roll on by.

There was something nostalgic about waking up and looking out the same bedroom window I had peered out of for so many years, having a peek at the weather and wondering if the weather would cooperate enough to get out for a little hunt. Over coffee and toast, it was decided we would try our luck in the evening, after hammering out a couple things around the house.

 

Outfitted in blaze orange and beaming grins, my dad, his trusty bird dog and I headed out to find some grouse. Ever the optimists, we had bumped into a covey of grouse while on a mid-morning walk the day prior to the season opening, so we were hopeful luck would be on our side opening day. We moseyed along the back lane, quiet moments of chatter interrupted by hollering for the dog to get back here as he got a little overzealous zig zagging his way across the trail in front of us.

We weren’t out for very long, an hour at most; a warm supper cooked by mom awaited us at home. As we headed back around, I couldn’t help but take in every bit of the moment – the faint whiff of cranberries in the air, the subtly emerging fall colours and the cool evening breeze that was finally catching us. How lucky am I, to be wandering through the same hills my father did when he was a young man, with him by my side? Such a simple thing that can easily be overlooked, yet these are the very moments that are so precious to squirrel away in the memory vault for decades in the future.