Bluestem Kennels

It had been awhile since I’d been able to break away from the home and kids to join Charles in the hunting fields, but Saturday, January 28th was on the calendar as a hunting date, in observance of the last weekend of the season.  We left town around 5 AM with our sights set on the Kansas border in hopes of pheasants, quail and prairie chicken.

We hit a 200+ acre field around 8 AM on a sunny but chilly morning and walked from east to west through a nice blend of big bluestem and indiangrass.  Within 15 minutes Charles and the dogs put up a hen pheasant, a good sign!  About 5 minutes later, Mae made a direct approach to a clump of grass to the south of me, next to the road, and locked up on point.  Sue and BB followed to the clump, all honoring Mae and pointing to back.  It was all girls on this clump of grass and I gave it a swift kick.  The clump of grass growled at me and I screamed!  I called the dogs off in fear of a skunk, but a big raccoon crept out of the grass and went over the road onto property that we didn’t have permission to hunt.

The southwest corner of the piece we were walking looked promising and we turned towards the north to continue our quest for game.  BB locked up on point right in front of Charles.  Another raccoon!  Charles called all the dogs in to work on their raccoon fighting.

The four dogs take on the raccoon

BB faces off with the raccoon

Our inspiration for getting involved with furred game comes from a few different directions.  Charles has always been drawn to using the dogs to their full versatility, but has been egged on by his participation in the forum on http://www.versatiledogs.com/.  I’ve made friends online with griffoniers in Germany and Finland who also use their dogs for furred game.  Here is a picture from my friend Jenni in Finland of her dog holding a supikoira, also known as a “raccoon dog”:

A griffon from Finland holding a supikoira. Photo by Jenni Ruotimo

I have to admit that watching the dogs fight the raccoon was scary as they each took turns chewing on the snarling, biting, scratching beast.  Once I saw that our side had taken some injuries, I told Charles to call the dogs off and shoot the coon.  BB took a bite to the ear and Mae to the nose.  They are all healing fine now, but the chaos of the fight was a little unnerving at the time.

We continued north along the western border with a scraggly treeline: perfect quail habitat.  I never even heard the flush, but it couldn’t have been 10 minutes after the raccoon fight that Charles had a single quail flush and it was quickly placed in the bag.  The treeline border was thoroughly searched with no quail covey found so we turned back east once we reached the northwest corner.  The dogs were all acting gamey, so we retraced our steps a few times in that corner and spooked up a rabbit that Charles bagged.  Sue didn’t hesitate in retrieving it at all, game is game!

The field eastward had a slightly sloping hill with some treelined waterways, so we scoured those for the quail covey, with no luck.  The northwest corner of the property was wooded over, so we inspected it, then crossed to the eastern side of the woods.  Right on the property boundry at an intersection between field and wood and cropland laid a pile of deadfall trees.  One of those places that always has something in it, so we approached it very aware.  Covey flush!  Around 15 quail jumped up and flew back behind me toward the woods, I lined up a shot as best I could following the excitement and surprise, but failed to connect.

The area was searched thoroughly for a good hour, but we never found the covey again.  We expect that they must have slipped on to the other property.  There were a couple of more lockups by the dogs and resulting hen flushes, but no other legal game to be bagged.

We had some lunch and hit a few more fields with no results.  Charles was out the entire Sunday and saw absolutely nothing.  We took it as a sign that game and hunter alike were ready for some time off from each other.

The final day's bag: raccoon, quail and rabbit

As any reader of this blog may ascertain, versatility in the field is an attribute that I admire.  Yes, the purity of working a quail off a point defines refinement and poise.  However, witnessing a dog hammer a gritty furbearer plays to primal instincts.  There is something about uncertainty and perhaps a little fear that makes one’s senses buzz harder than any other expirience.

My hunt last weekend covered these bases from soup to nuts.

The day started out as many.  A few bird hunters rising early, linking up and embarking on a reasonable jaunt into the hinterland of Nebraska.  We had access to a friend’s beautiful  family farm that is a combination of crop and CRP.  Regardless of what you hear, our farmers really do care about the land.  The farm we hunted on Saturday could easily be pulled out of the CRP program, but Marv’s father enjoys ecological diversity.  He has invested the time, energy and foregone income into insure that his place has the complexity to support wildlife.  We were the fortunate beneficiaries of this truly conservation-minded attitude.

Our first push resulted in some great dog work, with points and all the excitement that goes along with them.  This time they were all hens.  No complaints here.  It is heartening to know that next year holds promise.

As we worked through the final patches of cover on this side of the farm, the dogs demeanor changed and they became “wolfy”.  There was a clump of very thick grass that border the corn that drew them in like a magnet.  They buzzed into this area and semi-locked up, high headed and intense in a way that feathers can’t elicit.  After a season of hunting, I knew this wasn’t a bird.  Sam pushed into the vegetation and immediately squared his haunches.  Now any bird hunter gets a lump in his throat when he sees this….please don’t let it be a skunk!  Fortunately, it wasn’t.  I’d like to think that after a particular encounter with Mr. Stinker, my lead dog has learned his lesson.

Sam lunged forward, them sprang back revealing a very irate coon.  Pissed off coons have a specific screech that makes the hair on your neck stand up despite the fact that you may be packing enough heat to end things quickly.  I urged both dogs to engage…and it didn’t take much from me to convince Sam and BB to set on this “mini-bear” like he had insulted their mother.   After the initial round of thrashing, the coon rolled on his back, giving him more opportunities to scratch and bite his canine aggressors.   BB, a 10 month pup, thrown off by this tactic, but Sam was only stimulated.

Sam and BB engage with the raccoon

The two mortal enemies went at it again.  Worried that my best friend was getting more than he was giving convinced me to step in and give the coon a stomp.  I did just that and Sam took full advantage of the distraction.  Before the coon could square up for another round of biting and scratching, Sam grabbed him by the throat and neck.  The “death shake” commenced.  Sam whipped Mr. Nest Raider around enough to completely incapacited the varmit.  When he was done, the unfortunate furbearer was out of commision for good.  A quick slice of the coon’s throat from my Leatherman ended the encounter permanently.

Sam takes on the raccoon

Sam thrashes the raccoon

From that point, we moved on in search of more game.  Our efforts were rewarded soon afterwards in the form of a solid point by BB and Sam that resulted in a nice rooster.   Back to the “purity” of bird hunting.

Charles and Sam with the raccoon and rooster. Photo by Ira Hughey

We moved on and hunted for another 45 minutes before deciding to move back towards the vehicles and lunch.  On our way back we moved a covey of quail which warranted a quick tromp through a brushy waterway looking for singles.  This effort was rewarded with a set of very staunch points by the dogs and a quail in the bag for my friend, Ira.

After a nice lunch of beef soup and a grilled cheese in the nearest town’s only full-service watering hole, we hit a couple of other spots with no results other than strained tendons.

The day ended with the sweet satifaction of watching versatile dogs, in the fullest continental sense of the term, do what they were truly designed to do….point birds and engage fur.

Hunting is what you make of it.

And coon picante is on the menu at the home of the Versatile Hunter.