A Season of Sharptails

The birds erupted from knee-high grass, a scant 40 feet from the dark, twitching nose of a black-and-white English setter, his flanks, ribs and legs invisible to the eyes of the hunter. I swung on the nearest bird, the barred primary feathers of its wings beating frantically for lift into full flight.

- Jack Ballard

Too hasty, my first shot flew wide. Now thoroughly panicked at the prospect of failing to reward Percy’s diligent dog work with a grouse, I cycled a second and third cartridge fruitlessly through the action of the Weatherby semiautomatic.

Sheepishly, I watched the birds glide back into the yellowed sward some 200 yards ahead. With the birds now scattered, no longer an intact covey, the odds seemed promising Percy would again get a snootful of sharptail scent and his handler, an opportunity to redeem his shoddy shooting.

In the world of fly fishing, when directing the casts of a novice angler, the practical trout guide loves cutthroats. They’re easier to catch than rainbows or browns, affording the neophyte a welcome opportunity for success. The same is true of sharp-tailed grouse, for young canines and people alike. Gray partridges and pheasants routinely sprint from pointing dogs, frustrating the designs of pup and trainer. Sharptails, on the other hand, are much more likely to feel pinned by an advancing canine. Bouncing about in the kennels of many upland hunters in the likes of Montana and Wyoming are hundreds of pointers, setters and bird-hunting mongrels that first held a point over a single sharptail or a covey of its kin.