Serving Waitsburg, Dayton and the Touchet Valley
Serving Waitsburg, Dayton and the Touchet Valley
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Rather than hunting my traditional last-day trac tin Lind, I spent the final morning of the 2022 upland bird season with new friends Ryan and Jessica. They had traveled from Canada to Ryan's old Palouse stomping grounds to finish their season. Ryan and I met a couple of years prior on social media, connected by the Palouse and a love for upland hunting. Once he had dates set for their trip south, he graciously reached out with an offer to join them in some formidable yet productive covers....
As the December snow fell softly on the homestead, I peered out the kitchen window at the quail, songbirds, and pheasant that sought the bird feeders around the house. My double guns were locked in the safe. Four Llewellin setters snoozed on their beds by the heat vents. My desire to chase birds teetered on a tight wire between maniacal and non-existent as the thermometer plummeted, eventually bottoming out at six below zero. There is nothing quite like a snow day hunt, and there were plenty of...
At the bottom of a narrow east and west running canyon, on what little flat ground was afforded, stands the remnants of an old homestead. Barns. Outbuildings. Machinery parts peeking out from beneath heaps of blackberry and rose bushes. There is no sign of the old home. Maybe it was never there, but all signs suggest otherwise. Apple, cherry, plum, and apricot trees are scattered about the moist drainage. The fruit that falls is kept clean by the deer and birds. Elderberry hangs heavy with tiny...
One of the things I appreciate the most about valley quail is its laid-back personality. The older I get, the less likely I am to crawl out of bed in the dark to go hunting. I am still motivated, but my best sleep comes from about 4:00 a.m. to 7:00 a.m., making hunts earlier than 8:00 a.m. less desirable. Coincidentally, valley quail tend to agree with me. They often loaf in the thick stuff on cold mornings before heading out to feed around 8:00 a.m. Eight o'clock is when I asked Dale to meet...
Smoke hung like a heavy fog in the Palouse River canyon, making for a simultaneously mesmerizing yet apocalyptic scene. The sun appeared ablaze, blood-orange behind the smoke as it climbed above the dark basalt bluffs. Ahead, the moon was falling behind the horizon over Connell as if retreating from the sun. It was massive and glowing orange but confirmed that the smoke was less intense over the miles ahead. Good news for the Blue Mountain Pheasant Forever's first-ever Women on the Wing upland...
Stepping outside for the evening dog potty, the cool of the settling night air brought instant relief from the heat of summer. The moon appeared massive and low – the Man in the Moon eyeballing me from the horizon while shedding increasingly intense light on the rain-starved landscape. As the setters scattered in the dim of evening, the stillness became most obvious. Nary a leaf turned on the crab apple or lilacs. The scream of a juvenile Great-Horned Owl pierced the tranquility, and for a b...
The high cumulonimbus clouds born of afternoon heat, dust particulate, and inexplicable humidity morphed into a nebulous gray bank of doom. Nate and I were headed east into the Blues for an evening of temping mountain rainbows with big dry flies – his last outing before moving to New England two days hence. "Seems to storm every evening I fish the Blues," I said as we wound out of the foothills into the mountain canyon. "A little rain just makes the fishing better," Nate replied, ignoring the p...
It had been some time since I made the drive up to the Godman Guard Station. As familiar geography passed by, I realized I had never made the drive outside of hunting season. A steep and jagged ridge, narrow as a razor's edge, reminded me of a time one archery season when I contemplated trying to find mule deer in the bowls of the canyon below. Considering the pack out cured me of that notion. Passing Stockade Spring and Midway Campground reminded me of my last hunts for snowshoe hare and...
The pond could not have been more than a couple of acres, just small enough that I could fish a full lap around in my float tube before the consequences of sitting belly-deep in frigid water required a scramble to shore. The shorelines were steep and shaded by conifers except for along the manmade dam, which allowed enough sunlight to encourage a healthy aquatic vegetation bed to grow. Per my usual mode of operation on trout waters, I cast a small wooly bugger-like fly on a five-weight rod and...
Spring outdoor adventures can be hard to come by when we allow routine to take priority. I don't hunt turkeys or fish the desert lakes nearly as often as I should. Instead, I tend to the property, trying to complete my seeding and get a handle on weeds as quickly as possible. But breaking away from the homestead for a quick hike into some likely deer winter covers can be done on short time and nearby on the Palouse. And why would I want to look for deer hideouts? Shed antlers. Running the dogs...
"So, you wrote a book on bird hunting? You should write one on fishing", Scott said. "That's a strong possibility, considering I have twenty years' more fishing stories over bird hunting in the bank," I replied. "Lately, I've been thinking of the days when we fished below the train trestle where the creek spilled into North River." Scott is one of my long-time fishing buddies from Virginia. Hunting just never resonated with him the way fishing did, and I could hear him light up at the mention...
Ali and I had been looking forward to our winter vacation since we booked the flights in October. Heading south for a week of good food and scenic beaches ranks high among the options for properly ringing in the new year. But Mother Nature had bigger plans, as she often does. Airlines were strained by the volume of holiday travelers and our beloved COVID "Omicron" variant sweeping through flight crews. Hence, it was no surprise that our flights were canceled with no opportunity to rebook as...
I knelt on the edge of the precipice with my knee dug into a sandy spot beneath a massive aromatic sagebrush while Finn ravenously lapped water from a small, green collapsible bowl. Behind and below us, the Columbia River wound lazily between lush, orderly, emerald orchards, jagged rock faces, and scree slopes. My friend Chas stood slightly downhill to my left, packing away a massive wild chukar that he had come to harvest with a combination of Finn's good work and a peck on the cheek from Lady...
While hunting is still largely viewed as a man's activity, the number of women hunters increased 25 percent between 2011-2016, according to US Fish and Wildlife Service, and the numbers continue to climb. Embracing women in the outdoors is not news to Pheasants Forever (PF), but their "Women on the Wing" (WotW) initiative is relatively fresh. "In 2018, Pheasants Forever & Quail Forever's Women on the Wing Initiative officially kicked off in response to the rapid interest and engagement among wom...
When a stranger reaches out for bird hunting help, it can be a tough sell for the community resident, but that didn't stop Dennis from giving it a shot. He and his wife recently moved to Walla Walla from scenic New England and were struggling to adjust to the landscape. The difference between the Palouse grains and grasslands and the Northwoods is the difference between a tropical rainforest and the surface of the moon. Needless to say, Dennis was feeling a bit out of his element. Being an...
Shaking hands across the table, I immediately pegged Marvin Shutters as Pennsylvania Amishman. His thick gray beard and high cheekbones were a dead giveaway. It's risky diving into your potential supervisor's culture during a job interview, but it seemed necessary. Although not actually Amish, Marvin was from Pennsylvania Amish country. He and I shared roots of the same Appalachian longitude, and I could see it in him. What I couldn't see was that Marvin would later become my one consistent...
The early golden hour bathed the landscape in a peachy hue as the setters and I stood by the truck. It was somewhere around day number 200 that I had set foot on the grasslands between Waitsburg and Minnesota since 2011. This day, we would embark on the Sheyenne National Grasslands in North Dakota. Sharp-tailed grouse were beginning to stir somewhere in the expanse before us. We were north of the Sheyenne River in an area where it was safe to hunt sharp-tails. Endangered Species Act-protected...
Outdoor photography goes far beyond birds and mammals, even for this hunter who loves nothing more than trying to capture that perfect pairing of upland birds and pointing dogs on the grasslands. We all have our muse, but the natural world in its entirety offers countless opportunities to capture Mother Nature's splendor at home and in town. Bugs and blooms are among my favorite practice photography opportunities because of their brilliant colors, intricate details, and the fact that they...
The old cliché "The only thing constant in life is change" was coined by Greek philosopher Heraclitus. This epiphany struck him around 500 B.C. I assume taxes were not a thing at the time, otherwise, that little tidbit would likely have been included, as folks like to claim today. While Heraclitus was correct, that time is like a flowing river, and you will never step into the same waters twice, there is an ebb and flow to events among the seasons and years – the past approximately 15 months pr...
The dog days are close at hand, and with a record heatwave happening as we speak, what better way to beat the heat than to head down to your favorite swimming hole with "Rover" in tow. Few things are as rewarding as a romp in the river or pond with your pup, particularly the variety that enjoy a good fetch and retrieve. My setters are shy on the game of fetch, but a good swim is a home run when the temperatures soar into the 90s and beyond. One of their favorite spots is right in Waitsburg,...
Our jet sled bobbed near the infamous "Buoy 10" in the mouth of the Columbia River. It was a stormy September afternoon with angry Pacific surf bullying its wave action far upriver. Coho were the target, yet no one aboard complained at the prospects of landing anything willing to trounce the cut herring corkscrewing behind the boat as we drifted. Kicking back, we enjoyed the ride, and the experience of fellow fishermen jumping hurriedly for a bent rod, ripped from the complacency of a lull in th...
Picture a portly, toe-headed boy standing along the muddy shoreline of a farm pond as the sinking summer sun casts a warm amber glow across the water. He wore pastel yellow jogging shorts and a Mr. T "I pity the fool" shirt, white socks with two red bands pulled up just below the knee, and navy Chuck Taylors. Wielding a seafoam green fiberglass fishing rod sporting a prototype Zebco 33 reel, he cast a bobber and small hook baited with nightcrawlers he dug from his grandpa's back yard. As the bob...
Honestly, I have no legitimate excuse for not having returned. The experience still calls like a siren song playing softly in the background. Snow-capped peaks and glaciers. Expansive vistas of low-country lakes surrounded by ghostly granite, golden grasses, and solemn conifers. Hot springs and chaparral scrublands. Mountain quail. And honest-to-God golden trout. The jewel of California's Sierra Nevada Range. It was a bucket-list trip. One I had dreamed of for how many years, I am unsure. We had...
In 1992, ten years after Pheasants Forever came to fruition in Saint Paul, MN, Walla Walla’s Blue Mountain chapter (BMPF) held its first fundraising banquet. Among those responsible for its success were John and Bertha Hinchliff of Dayton, WA. Upon moving to the Dayton area from Lewiston, ID, the Hinchliffs purchased property near Turner and later a farm near Dayton. Fitting with their commitment to conservation, the Hinchliffs assisted the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife (WDFW) by raising and releasing ringneck pheasant, bobwhite qu...
Glimpses of white flashed through the heavy sagebrush as Finn dashed across the scablands. Hungarian partridge and valley quail hunkered somewhere among the sage sea, and she was working her best to locate them. A carpet of spent grasses and forbs provided ample food sources for upland birds, which were inexplicably absent from the flood-scared landscape. Circling a small basalt butte, I recalled the last flash of white being off to the left about 30-yards. Starting in that direction, my...
