During the first month of the Ruffed Grouse season. Major Peabody and Doctor Carmichael rented a vehicle and left the Green Bay airport. After a brief stop for necessary provisions (a cooler, lots of ice for libations, single malt Scotch whisky, crackers and both Camembert and Brie soft cheeses), they headed north. Soon they were in a forested section of Oconto County. Both men silently watched the Wisconsin fall forest as they drove to Jeff’s cabin on the South Branch.
The roadside sumac were mostly bright red and the maple trees were showing off. Some of them preferred chrome yellow. Others adorned themselves with rusty brown-red foliage. A few selected a shiny, bright red autumn dress. The pople had begun to lose their crown leaves but most of them were still a kind of muted yellow from top to bottom. Sunlight found its way through the branches of the trees and revealed the earth tones of the forest floor. The darker greens of the pine and the spruce and the balsam accentuated all of the other colors.
In autumn, the northern deciduous woods are a sight to behold. Doc Carmichael appreciated the scenery. Peabody was not in the best of spirits and Carmichael tried to raise them by drawing attention to the beautiful autumn day. He broke the silence. “Just look at those leaves,” he said.
“Yes,” Peabody answered sullenly. “Just look at the damned things. When a bird flushes, it won’t take more than three seconds before it disappears behind them. I don’t know if I can shoot that fast.” He thought for a moment. Then he snorted. “When a bird flushes,” he repeated. “I should say: ‘If a bird flushes’. Jeff says the grouse are nearing the bottom of their cycle. We’ll be lucky if we see one.”
The Major was disappointed. He had looked forward to another of the great grouse hunts he usually enjoyed on his early October expeditions, but the prospects for this hunt were not particularly favorable. First, instead of spending an entire week with his Wisconsin friends, Doc Carmichael’s surgery schedule limited them to a short two day hunt. Second, it looked like there weren’t too many birds this year.
The only thing Doc Carmichael had accomplished was to draw Peabody’s attention to the thick foliage and further depress him. The men lapsed into a silence that ended only after they turned down the two rutted trail that ended at the cabin where Jason and Jeff were waiting for them.
The gear was quickly unloaded and carried inside the cabin - all except the cooler. It was left outside. The pot bellied wood stove had been fired up and any ice cubes left inside the cabin would melt. As Peabody and the Doc changed into their hunting clothes, Jason and Jeff began the friendly harassments that characterize hunting compadres.
“Where in hell have you been, Major? You’re late. I expected you six minutes ago. Did you stop to enjoy the scenery? “
“I might just as well have. No reason to hurry. I’m told there are only seven Ruffed Grouse in Oconto County.”
“You’re wrong again. There are eight. I dunno if it’s the cycle or the road hunters or if it’s the turkeys. There are lots of turkeys around here. I think, maybe, they compete with the grouse for food and territory. I only know there aren’t as many birds as there were last year”
“I see Doc Carmichael has been paroled. You don’t care who you associate with, do you, Major?”
Carmichael answered that one. “He brought me along to cure him from the dreadful diseases he’s sure to contract from one or both of you.”
* * * * *
The afternoon was unproductive. Jeff got a grouse. So did the Major. The next morning’s hunt was worse. They saw a few birds, but didn’t get much shooting. The noon meal was not punctuated by enthusiastic recollections of the morning activity. There was no bragging about long or tricky shots. No one was subjected to verbal keelhauling because of displays of miserable shooting. Few shots had been fired.
It was a group of subdued hunters who took to the field after lunch. Jeff and Jason followed what was once a logging trail. It ran more or less parallel to a small creek. Tag Alder grew on one side. On the other, there was enough sunlight to support grasses and occasional patches of clover.
The Major and Doc Carmichael elected to follow a narrow gauge railroad right-of-way that had been ripped up and abandoned after the cedar was logged off in the 1920s. It ran through a forty that had been clear cut four or five years ago. Young pople were growing there. They providing what would normally be excellent habitat for Ruffed Grouse.
Later in the afternoon, Carmichael grumbled his way back to the cabin. Jeff and Jason, equally unsuccessful, were already there.
“What did you get?” Jeff asked,
“What did I get? I’ll tell you what I got. I got tired. I got back. I got bramble scratches. I got bitten by some kind of bug. I shot at a Woodcock and I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I heard five or six shots coming from your direction. Did you and the Major have any luck?”
“I had luck,” Doc Carmichael admitted. “It was all bad. I don’t know about Peabody. We split up. He followed the South Branch and I looped around on the right-of-way. There must be a road up there somewhere. I think I heard a car. I suspect the shooting was from some damned road hunter. He probably got the only bird left in northern Wisconsin. No. There aren’t any birds left in this county. He probably was shooting at tin cans.”
“I think the Major got something,” Jeff said. “I heard a couple of shots coming from his direction.”
“Even if there were a few birds around, the trees are still full of leaves and Peabody would be lucky to get a shot off. I don’t think there are any birds,” Doc Carmichael repeated.
Jake disagreed. “I don’t think that was a road hunter and I don’t think it was target practice. The shots were too far apart. I’ll bet Peabody got something,” he said.
“I’ll bet he comes back empty,” Carmichael persisted. “The grouse are too spooky. They get nervous whenever it gets windy. They flush out of range. There are too many leaves to see them.”
Jeff agreed with Jake. “The Major won’t come back empty handed. I wouldn’t be surprise if he got a limit.”
Carmichael made no attempt to back away from his prediction and Jeff and Jake bullied him into making a wager. The terms of the bet were clear. If Peabody zeroed out, each of them would have to give the Doc fifty dollars, but for each grouse the Major brought back, Carmichael would have to give each of them fifty dollars.
To make sure he understood it, Jason said: “In other words, if Peabody comes in with only one bird, Jeff and I start making money and if he brings in five you owe each of us two hundred and fifty dollars. Right?”
“Well, yes, I guess,” Carmichael slowly answered, clearly showing he may have been a bit hasty when he made the bet.
Ten minutes later, Peabody appeared at the cabin door. When Doc Carmichael asked him if he had any luck, he replied in the affirmative. Jeff and Jason smiled. Carmichael frowned. Then Peabody emptied the contents of his hat on the table. “I found these honey mushrooms. They’ll make a fine sauce. I hope you guys got some birds. I didn’t see a thing.” That was when Doc Carmichael smiled and Jeff and Jason frowned.
* * * * *
The next morning, Doc Carmichael and Major Peabody were in a jovial mood as they drove back to Green Bay. “We won a hundred bucks,” Carmichael said. “Not bad. It’ll pay for the gas and the car rental. What did you do with the grouse, Major?”
“I field dressed them and hid them under the ice in the cooler.” Then the Major added: “Isn’t it a beautiful day. Just look at that color. The woods are marvelous this time of year.”