August/September 10

Early Season Surprises

Two days of grouse hunting that weren't
by E. Donnall Thomas Jr.
Photo by E. Donnall Thomas

he storm had followed me all the way down from Alaska like a lost puppy. I’d spent two weeks hunkered down on the Alaska Peninsula in wind and horizontal rain, and at the conclusion of a highly successful season guiding bear hunters, my need for some Montana Indian Summer weather almost exceeded my desire to see Lori and the dogs. But when I finally got out of the bush and checked the computer, there it was: the same ominous low-pressure system bearing down on the High Plains like a mass murderer wielding an axe.

I’d barely had time to kiss my wife and unpack a weeks’ worth of moldering hunting clothes laced with rancid bear fat by the time the rain began to fall, and we woke up the following morning to find the foothills behind our house coated in snow. And it was still September! Although I could think of a dozen reasons to spend the day curled up in front of the fireplace, my desire to hunt eventually overruled my common sense. In Alaska, a guide cannot hunt at all while accompanying clients in the field; after all that time worrying about other people’s bears, I desperately needed to head out with my own gun and my own agenda. Besides, I sensed an impending rebellion in the kennel if I didn’t get the dogs into the field soon.

I could have headed for an old, reliable cover, but there’s always something exciting about exploring a new area, and during my absence Lori had come up with a promising lead. An old friend of hers had told her about all the sharptails she’d been seeing at the ranch she and her husband own and extended a gracious invitation for us to hunt the place. I’ve certainly set off into the unknown based on less promising intelligence.

“At least I think they’re sharptails,” she said when we arrived at the door to review the lay of the land and its boundaries. I momentarily felt my heart sink, since pheasant season didn’t open for two more weeks. “Maybe they’re Huns?” she continued. “All I know is that they scare the hell out of my horse when I’m riding the coulees.” Since Huns were certainly the most likely of the three upland species to spook a horse, I felt my spirits rise once more. I’ll trade a limit of sharptails – or just about anything else – for a good Hun hunt any day.

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