Opening Day

The Maine upland bird-hunting season begins on October 1. Woodcock season runs through October, and ruffed grouse season stretches to the end of December. Most bird hunters do their hunting in October and real diehards hunt straight through the November deer season into December. I’m one of them.

I always start opening day with a bit of trepidation. It can be too hot, the woods are always too thick, the birds might be there or might not, and there is always the possibility that a dreaded early season shooting slump may raise its ugly head.

I enter the first cover with the sluggish burden of a nine-month wait on my shoulders. I need that first flush to get the blood pumping and the adrenaline to kick in. It might be a woodcock, but just as likely will be a grouse—this year’s bird, a bit naive, maybe even suicidal. It might land in a tree nearby and look down inquisitively at the dog, tempting me to limb sluice it. It’s safe as long as it stays perched, since I’ve evolved into a wing shooter. But most likely I’ll only get a fleeting glimpse as it rockets through the early fall ground cover and fully leafed trees. (It’s in late season with leaves down that a bird hunter occasionally gets to see the whole bird flying, and I emphasize occasionally.) The bark of the shotgun will usually salute its departure with twin loads of number 8s. Even with a miss, the season has officially begun and I feel that intense buzz that only happens when wing-shooting upland birds.

Most of the grouse you’ll find on opening day are young, inexperienced birds. They have a healthy wildness and sense of self-preservation about them but none of the full-blown paranoia of their parents. Most of these birds will be about the size of an adult grouse. Only when you feel the heft of a 2- or 3-year-old cock grouse does the difference in size become evident. Once in a while you’ll collect a trophy bird with a 15- to16-inch tail fan. If the dark band on the tail is unbroken in the middle it’s most likely a male—if the band is broken or uneven in the middle it’s a hen. The majority of birds in central Maine are of the gray phase variety, some with a steely gunmetal hue to their tail. The brown, or red, phase birds are less common but turn up now and then to spice up the game bag.

Woodcock born that year are almost indistinguishable from their parents, with the hens always being noticeably larger than the males. A reliable way to sex a woodcock is to hold a dollar bill widthwise against its beak. If the beak is slightly shorter than the width of the bill it’s a male, slightly longer a female. Unlike the hardy grouse that live here year-round braving Maine winters, these will o’ wisps only stick around for a short period in the fall before navigating south like so many snowbirds in their RVs.

If you are like me, the approaching bird season will prompt you to buy that cylinder choke tube that you’re sure will improve your average. You’ll wish you had conditioned yourself and the dog a little more and it wouldn’t have hurt to buy a few training quail to sharpen him up with, not to mention dusting a few clay pigeons yourself. The garden will be neglected until spring and you’ll leave the cornstalks standing for the winter grouse and deer. You’ll have a pit in your stomach when you visit your covers for the first time in mortal fear of seeing posted signs or even worse a house or trailer. Chances are you will lose a cover or two every year and a little bit of your soul will go with them. You’ll get in the woods a little early just in case another hunter has discovered your secret opening-day cover and maybe hide your truck just to be safe.

If I had any sense I’d wait for at week or more to start chasing these brown bombers. I’ll scratch a down a few birds through the foliage more from luck than good shooting. It’s sweaty warm and I’m down to a T-shirt by late morning and the dog is lagging behind wallowing in every mud hole it can find. The thin layer of frost that crunched underfoot at first light is now melted and my “waterproof boots” are slogging and, despite wearing water resistant chaps, I’m soaked to the crotch. By the end of the first day, the “light” six-pound double gun feels like a rocket launcher and there’s a stitch in my side and a cramp in my arm. Hopefully, there’s also a bird or two in my vest. But I’ve got to be out here—the season is open and it doesn’t last nearly long enough!

Brad Eden is an artist, writer, Registered Maine Master Guide, and owner/editor of the online magazine www.uplandjournal.com.