As you learn about hunting small game, especially sporting birds such as quail, rail, pheasant, woodcock and grouse, you’ll eventually run into the terms “upland” and “lowland.”
Uplands are generally the drier ground above the meadows, swales and plains found along rivers, streams, lakes and oceans. The latter are the lowlands, sometimes encompassing wetlands, marshes and swampy areas.
I dearly love those terms.
There’s something poetic about strolling through autumn’s upland leaves or stepping gingerly through the damp lowlands.
They belie the wet socks, nose-swatting briars, boot-sucking mud, loose-rocked hillsides and greenbriar-vined thickets. The words also overlook the hours spent de-burring burdock, trefoil, sticktights, foxtail and assorted other hitchhiking seeds from your trusted dog’s fur.
I won’t even get into the occasional skunk or porcupine Rover provokes during these upland-lowland excursions.
Nevertheless, when autumn arrives, there’s a hypnotic pull that urges hunters to prepare for a return to these bird-hunting haunts.
My dog’s keen nose catches the season’s scents drifting by on the cooling breezes, as she impatiently paces the yard. Shotguns are oiled and thrown to the shoulder to track imaginary crossing shots. Calendars are marked with the hunting season’s opening dates.
Another fleetingly short year is approaching its grand finale and, with it, one more chance to follow it into its waning days.
Add a light autumn rain, and I’ll become as infatuated with the season as my wife would at a golden retriever puppy convention.
The aromas of wet leaves and damp dogs seem to awaken every aspect of the landscape, and my English cocker appears to shed half of her nine years as she dashes happily about searching for an errant woodcock.
I’ve been asked what the best shotguns and dogs are for hunting the uplands and lowlands.
There are plenty of experts offering skilled opinions and dozens of books on the subject. I’ve always appreciated their views, but I’ve got my own ideas.
I believe those ideas evolve with our experience, just as our dogs develop their own strategies while investigating coverts and thickets. Available cash may have its influence — but that’s often overrated.
As for shotguns, farm work during my teen years helped me replace my Winchester pump with a more graceful Ithaca double. That started a lifetime affair with side-by-sides and the advantages they offer.
Since then, I’ve used about every gauge available. My favorites remain the 16 and 28 bores, though I still grab a 12 when opportunities become scarce.
My first real bird dog was Shadow, a springer-pointer cross whose litter was destined to be discarded.
To me, that was offensive and something I couldn’t stand to see. I volunteered to take the pups once they were weaned.
Each found a home except one.
And he became the best dog I’ve ever known.
He was followed by a springer, two Britts, a Gordon setter and a couple English cockers — followed but never replaced, just like each one of the others.
At that time in my hunting life, some would have said Shadow was an imperfect dog, learning to hunt alongside an inexperienced person carrying a less-than-ideal shotgun.
Since then, my equipment has improved, my dogs have become more thoroughly bred and I’ve become more experienced.
Regardless of that progression, those long-ago hunts remain the most memorable — possibly even the best — of my life.
So, what have I learned? What are the best combinations?
I’m not sure there really are any.
Maybe the best happens to be whatever you have available at the time.
It’s not about your equipment, your experience or your dog’s pedigree. While those “things” may contribute to the experience, it’s the experience itself that you’ll hold tightly in the years yet to come.
You never know when the best will arrive.
Or when it will end.
“I want there to be woodcock forever flying over in October, and solitude, and Hunter’s Moon. But most, I want there to be Grouse…”
— George Bird Evans
