The Bittersweet Season

 For the past decade the setters and I have spent the majority of each year in anticipation of the sharptail grouse season in September. The first weeks of those seasons hold some of the most cherished memories of our time together in the field . Covey's holding tight for the setters with their silken hair blowing in the wind waiting for me to walk in to flush bird after bird. It was often common place to count 100 birds or more each day walking mile after mile waiting for the perfect points to fill our game bag. There are specific points and flushes over the years so perfect they are forever burned in my memory. In fact I admit to going back to the same spots just hoping to experience such perfection just one more time. But I'm afraid it's like wishing you could have one more day with someone you loved after they've passed on. Time stands still for nothing as they say.

The setters came into this season at age 11 turning 12 starting with Mick in October followed by Beau in January and then Molly the following June. I had run Beau frequently the prior season of 2013 because he just didn't seem to be affected by his age. It was really an incredible thing to observe. Of course I was grateful knowing we were well beyond that time most bird dogs of his size and days in the field lived to hunt another day let alone doing it without missing a beat. Because I love to cover a lot of ground hunting the big hills and open spaces Beau and I had spent day after day together that year.  However the clock was ticking and I knew it all to well. I had saved the close cover and easy walking for Mick and Molly during that season. They were grateful for every minute as we enjoyed each others company.

Knowing we were all a year older as September 2014 approached I tried to adjust my expectations for this season I knew was a gift beyond anything else. Still together day to day. Doing exactly what I dreamed about  while working a job for the better part of 30 years. Living and hunting with a trio of beautiful bird dogs.  Then the season of 2014 was finally here and I knew exactly what run I wanted to take Beau on. It was 2 miles of beautiful rolling hill pasture with deep bowls and hill sides sharptail love for protection from the wind and high points they use with incredible skill to survey their domain keeping them safe from approaching hunters and their capable bird dogs. From our starting point it was a 3/4 mile walk uphill into what I knew to be some of the best sharptail cover around. On this day we would have to circle around to come back into the wind heading west as we traversed the hills. We hadn't gone a quarter mile when I noticed first of all that the casts Beau was making were much shorter than normal. He's a tall lanky setter that just cruises the cover with head held high making him a great sharptail hunter often pointing at great distances. He'd come around and stop for just a minute looking at me before continuing on making sure of our direction I expect. It's not unusual in this type of cover for him to get out of my line of sight due to the hills and bowls. I then watched as he disappeared over a rise. I use Garmin tracking collars so I knew exactly where he was at however when I heard him bark I knew he had lost me. Again unusual as he hadn't been that far out and we were in open cover. I walked to the rise and looked out ahead seeing him standing a couple hundred yards out looking about with ears perked up. I called to him but he didn't seem to hear. I waved to him and got the same results. He just didn't seem to know where I was at although I was in plain sight. I just stood there looking at him and my eyes started to water. This is it I thought. The tipping point. In stature still an incredibly beautiful dog I thought as I continued walking toward him calling and waving until he could see and hear me. We had become so very close the last couple years as we spent more time one on one in the field. As I walked I then thought about how deeply I had gotten to know this dog over a period of time and how lucky I was to have actually lived with him. He had repaid me with what I can only describe as an intense loyalty. Also I must add the equivalent of an Ivy League education in handling this very special type of bird dog. Finally after closing more than half the distance between us he started to wag his tail letting me know he had located me. We had barely begun to turn into the wind at this point and my boots felt heavy due to the reality before me becoming clearer with each step forward. Such an incredible dog. So beautiful to watch surfing the wind for scent. What I was watching seemed to have happened so suddenly but was actually years in the making. The process of aging. Declining stamina and failing senses. It was an extremely difficult moment knowing we had finally crossed that line in time when there's no turning back.

Eventually we got into scent and found birds. Then there would be moments when all was right with our world once again. Sharptail are not commonly pursued by aging hunters and their old dogs. It's a game best enjoyed on a more level field of abilities. But the dance is one so beautiful as it unfolds between the players that it's hard to know when to stop and be content with your memories.

The Bittersweet Season

Over the weeks ahead I came to terms with the effects of time and became optimistic once again as I accepted who we were. Shooting birds for each setter. Hunting the best parts of the day. Stopping and just enjoying our time. This time that I had worked so hard for. This time that was now ours to enjoy in this "Bittersweet season".