Getting Started Ruffed Grouse Hunting

Growing up in Montana, I had access to hunting sharptail grouse, sage grouse, Hungarian partridge, doves, and pheasants. My hunting buddy had multiple dogs trained for hunting, which allowed us to pursue these birds effectively. After moving away for college and stepping back from upland hunting, I worried it would be a tough endeavor to get back into it. The thought of needing a hunting dog, potentially new gear, and certainly more grouse-specific knowledge kept me hesitant.

After years of mentioning I’d never shot a ruffed grouse, my wife suggested a drive up the North Shore for a walk with my old Remington 870. I stopped at a few spots with public land and walked a few trails. After a few miles of hiking, I had seen and shot the total number of birds I was expecting: zero. The concept of shooting in thick cover was foreign to me. I was familiar with Montana’s wide-open landscape; the idea of trying to shoot through gaps in trees at a small, camouflaged bird zig-zagging through the branches seemed impossible.

During my last walk of the morning, I followed a trail through the woods but decided to veer off-path for a small loop before reconnecting with the main trail. I started heading down the side of a hill, looking down at my feet to navigate the descent. When I stopped and looked up, there, standing on the top of a log, was a ruffed grouse—standing upright, equally surprised to see me. It took me a moment too long to react; by the time I realized I needed to shoulder my shotgun, the bird flushed. I took an initial terrible shot, then managed a slightly more deliberate one. I thought I’d made a good shot, but then faced the task I’d always relied on a dog for: finding the downed bird. I needed to search for the bird, fairly certain but not positive I had hit it. If you are a seasoned grouse hunter, you know how well these birds blend into the understory cover of the northland woods. Luckily, after a few minutes of searching, I found my bird.

The years of hesitation—not hunting because I lacked a dog or didn’t know where to start—were now behind me. I now had the confidence that it was possible, and that was all the motivation I needed. I continued to hunt, and time after time, I was able to find birds and, for the most part, put at least one bird in the vest.

A common issue emerged: hearing the surprising burst of wings, I’d fire a wild initial shot before properly acquiring the target for a second, more precise attempt. I’m sure many of you have already figured this out, but it seems to be a fairly common problem. It can be difficult to train yourself, but you often have more time than you realize to make a good shot (in most cases), and one good shot is better than two mediocre ones.

Bringing the Dog

We have two dogs, both mutts. Neither was intended for hunting, but when we got Fawn (our newest dog) a few years ago, the idea of finding a hunting dog was in the back of my mind. Even the rescue had listed her as a “hunting breed,” which I later found out was just a general marketing term to get dogs into caring homes. Well, we brought Fawn home, and after a few years of believing she wasn’t an actual hunting dog, I decided to take her with me the next time I went out looking for birds.

I hadn’t done any training with Fawn, but she always seemed sad to see me grab my hiking boots and head out. She also seemed intensely curious when I came home smelling of grouse, sometimes with stray feathers clinging to my vest. Even if she didn’t know what she was doing, neither did I, so it seemed like a good fit.

On her first day out, I was primarily worried about her reaction to the gunshot, hoping she wouldn’t bolt after the first blast. It didn’t take long for us to jump our first bird. I took two shots and watched as the bird slowly started to descend; I wasn’t sure if I had hit it on the second shot or not. Fawn didn’t seem to understand what was happening, but fortunately, she didn’t run away and even helped look for the bird (at least briefly). While I searched, I heard another bird flush, followed by a flash of fur—Fawn. Apparently deciding I wasn’t worth helping after my obvious miss, she had decided to find a bird on her own. We flushed one or two more birds that day, but I couldn’t manage to bag one for Fawn.

We weren’t done yet, though. I was confident that Fawn would figure it out. Our next hunt, Fawn was able to flush a couple of birds. I made a good shot and watched as the bird fell. “Fawn!” I called, eager to see her reaction when she reached the downed bird. I could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she sniffed the grouse. Just as I’d had my own realization earlier, she seemed to finally understand what we were doing out there—and, like me, she wanted more.