November in northern New Hampshire can bring
just about anything in the way of weather – mild Indian summer days, torrential
rains as the last tropical storms of the year bump into the White Mountains and
the moisture collected over warm Atlantic water is wrung out causing the local
streams and rivers to flood, and snow.
Some years, snow can start well before Thanksgiving and bare ground will
not appear again until April.
Although it was only the eighth of the month, the weather had already
run the gamut. Five inches of rain
on the first and second had forced the Grand National Grouse Championship to
start a day late on a clear crisp Indian summer Wednesday, and the grouse had
been out feeding in bunches. There
were 68 dogs in the stake and it would take them almost six days to run them
over the six courses of Kilkenny.
By
Monday morning, the last day of the trial, many of the participants had already
returned home. They had come from
all over New England, New York, and Pennsylvania, as well as a few from
Michigan, Wisconsin, and Minnesota.
Sunday had been the worst day of the trial as far as birds were
concerned. The wind had blown as a
cold front spit rain and sleet at those unlucky enough to be drawn to run in
those braces. Birds that had been
predictable in the first four days disappeared on Sunday as they roosted high
in the trees to avoid the changing weather.
Monday
morning there was a thin coating of snow blanketing the mountains and valleys
of the North Country. When Al Fowler parked his truck at the breakaway for the
Ammonusuc Course, his long time friend, Steve Randle, sat next to him drinking
coffee. Steve had run a dog
earlier and had hung around to scout for Bess, Al’s setter, who had settled
down in her box now that the truck was stopped. Bess was pushing seven and had finally broken through last
season, winning twice and then winning the Invitational in the spring. This fall she had won in New York and
at the Amateur Woodcock in Woodstock, New Brunswick, but in 30 years of running
dogs, Al had yet to win the Grand National. He thought Bess was his best shot in a long time.
As
he sat waiting for the first brace to end and the judges to arrive, he thought
about where he wanted Bess to be at different points on the course. He knew the birds would be feeding this
morning. If they were there, she
would find them. She always found
birds. It was one of her strengths
and one of her weaknesses. She
wanted them pinned in front of her.
If they tried to walk off, she would move up to keep her nostrils full
of that intoxicating scent. It had
been her undoing many times. She
had finally found the line she couldn’t cross and rarely crowded a bird into
flushing anymore.
He
worried about his bracemate. The
dog was more of a gundog and the handler was loud. It didn’t bother Bess, she always stayed focused on finding
birds to the front, but it made it hard to keep track of her bell. Al would never do anything to
intentionally take out a bracemate, but he gave it some thought on this
morning. At 8:45 the trucks from
the first brace came rolling down the hill – which meant that both dogs had
been picked up early. Al and Steve
got out of the truck and went to get Bess.
“You
got your gun?”
Al
touched the .32 caliber blank pistol that he had stuck in the back pocket of
his jeans and nodded.
“Which
bell?”
“The
one with the orange reflector collar.”
It was the same one she had worn every time he had run her since she was
a puppy. Win or lose – he thought
of it as his lucky bell.
After
the announcement of the dogs in the brace, the judge said, “Let’em go.”
Bess
and her bracemate, Mike, burst forward at full speed. Immediately the other handler started yelling and blowing
his whistle. Mike stopped
about 50 feet down the trail and lifted his leg. He then went into the woods on the right. Al could just hear Bess’s bell as she
ran out to the front. If she was
running to form, she would be back in a minute or two, and then she’d go to
work. When Bess came flying back
up the path, she dove into the woods on the left and headed for the large
cut. The trail would follow the
edge of the cut for about five minutes and then would make a left turn around
the bottom of it.
Despite
the yelling behind him, Al could clearly track the bell as Bess worked her way
down through the cut. As they
approached the corner, Mike came in from the right about 25 yards down the
trail. He started to slow as he
reached a bunch of high bush cranberries that still had a few bright red
berries on them. He almost stopped
before a grouse came boiling out and shot right up the path and over the
gallery. Mike came up in hot
pursuit, and then slammed into a picturesque point as he realized John was
right in front of him. The closest
judge told John to put the lead on his dog. By the time John had the bell off and was headed back up the
trail, Al realized that Bess’s bell had stopped. He wasn’t sure where.
He
turned to look at Steve who had stepped off the trail away from the
commotion. Steve nodded to Al
indicating that he had a pretty good idea where the dog was.
“Send
my scout, Judge?” Al asked as form
dictated. Steve was on his way
before the obligatory consent was granted and was headed out along the bottom
of the cut. Al continued down the
trail in hopes of being close when Steve found the dog.
With
his bracemate out of the way, Al felt his chances of getting a good performance
from Bess had just increased exponentially. Some dogs need a bracemate to fire them up. Bess always seemed to be running on jet
fuel whether there was a bracemate or not. As Al, the judges, marshals, and gallery made the turn at
the bottom of the cut, they heard Steve call, “Point.”
Al
and the judges went quickly away from the trail towards Steve’s voice. He was about 50 yards away, just
outside the thicker cover of the cut.
As Al got close, Steve pointed to their right, “She’s about 25 yards
down along the cut and about 15 feet in from the edge.”
Steve
had backed off from the dog before calling point in hopes of not spooking the
birds. Al and the judges quickly
went to the dog. She was standing
with her head high and her tail pointing at twelve o’clock. Al took one look at her and knew the
bird was there. He could see the
loose skin on her muzzle fluttering in and out as she sucked in the scent of
the bird. He took another step
towards her, the bird thundered out, and he fired his blank gun. She never moved. Al took her by the collar and led her
back towards the trail. When they
were almost back, he cast her off to the front. It was up to her – she had a great limb find, now she needed
a great race to go with it. Her
next cast took her deep to the right across a steep valley and onto the next
ridge.
