Palouse Outdoors: A Walk through the Understory

It had been a minute since I last felt the forest's presence, and not the kind you experience on a typical sunny summer day. The ground was covered in fresh, soft snow, untouched by high winds throwing twigs and limbs or branches dripping from rising temperatures. While the evergreen forest often carries a solemn aura, nothing compares to the quiet, soothing heaviness of dark timber beneath a blanket of snow.

The creek tumbled behind us with the migrating waters of the unusually warm, rainy season we've experienced so far. The surrounding snow muffled the canyon's echo, soaking in the stream's rush like a sponge. The result was like walking through a gentle, soothing white noise chamber. The forest was entirely still, as if all life had been lulled to sleep, except for a few Oregon juncos. 

We had come to hunt grouse, but the idea of shotgun fire breaking the tranquility seemed sinful. Still, I drew the over/under, stuffed an earplug in my left ear, and tucked a few shells into my left hip pocket. "We won't see anything, anyway, will we?" I asked cynically of my youngest setter, Zeta, who couldn't have cared less. She was ready to scorch the earth with speed and agility, jumping over windfalls, drifting through the corners, and possibly spooking every creature into the next canyon. 

Zeta vanished in seconds, her orange vest flashing through the shrubbery. Her footfalls were quiet, but the occasional "thwap" of a branch hitting her vest straps let me track her without using the GPS.

Carrying the shotgun felt more customary than purposeful. Like grabbing a favorite hiking stick for a walk in the understory, the hunt isn't quite the same (or a "hunt" at all) without it, and grouse hunting is a different kind of bird hunt entirely.

Ruffed grouse are tricky critters that like to flush wild and throw a curveball when the odds are in the hunter's favor. Zeta and I hunted this same canyon on a similar day before and found a passel of grouse. Most flushed straight into the thickest cover, leaving no time for a shot. Others flushed right over Zeta's forehead, offering no shot. Then there are the birds that flush directly overhead into the tree branches above Zeta before I reach the scene. I find her tentatively on point with a puzzled look, which puzzles me until the big red male, looking nervously at both of us, flushes from just above Zeta. 

Grouse hunting demands that the gunner be alert at all times. Past hunters like George Bird Evans and Burton Spiller wrote about this very necessity to succeed in the grouse woods. I can attest to that, since the only days I end up with a grouse in my vest are when my focus and reflexes ride a hair trigger, anticipating the slightest sign of a grouse flush. However, on this day, knowing I wouldn't find any grouse, I was able to relax and drink in the scene. I wore the forest like a cloak, shielded from the outside world.

The first thing I noticed was a sharp American red squirrel track scampering among tree-limb piles and ending at the base of a large ponderosa, where it climbed upward. It may have been watching us, but we would never see it. Red squirrels, like all other animals on the planet (humans included), have routines or at least favorite hangouts. You know you're in their dining room when you come across a log with a pile of pinecone scales spilling off in heaps on the ground. 

Crimson rose hips and plump, white snowberries were scattered about the streambank, adding a splash of color and revealing some of the local wildlife's cuisine among the emerald evergreens and snow. The plant that always captures my attention is Oregon grape, Berberis aquifolium. This beautiful, low-growing, spiky-leafed plant is part of the barberry family, features a vibrant yellow, clustered flower in the spring, and displays stunning mahogany hues in winter. It bears a tempting purple berry that serves birds as well. 

Brad Trumbo

Mosses and lichens are particularly vibrant when viewed against a snowy backdrop.

I've read that Native Americans used Oregon grape to treat ailments like arthritis and itchy eyes. Supposedly, the berries act as a laxative, though I haven't tried them. Other uses include making a yellow dye from the roots or bark to color baskets and wool, and it is still used today as a wool dye. Learning about the uses of native plants gives me ideas, but the simplest benefit is their beauty, especially in winter.

Brad Trumbo

A young patch of Oregon grape boasts burgundy leaves that add a pop of color and texture to the forest floor in winter.

I've mentioned before that I believe the sands of time stop when we step outside to appreciate Mother Nature, and this day was no different. We enjoyed the silence of the forest, felt Mother Nature's presence all around us, and took in the fresh air and sense of freedom, protected by the blanket of snow that cleanses the landscape.

We capped the day with an obligatory daddy/daughter photo, then Zeta loaded up, cold, wet, and tuckered out. I tossed her a few cookies, then headed home. We didn't find any grouse, but that really wasn't the point. It was just an excuse to find ourselves and enjoy a moment of peace as we walked through the understory. As if anyone needs an excuse.