The official forecast for the upcoming sharp-tailed grouse hunting season in Alaska sounded rather bleak, but that kind of news didn’t deter me. My team of experienced dogs always finds plenty of grouse to keep us busy. Some years, we may have to walk more between bird encounters.

After decades of shrugging off such prognostications yet experiencing one great season after another if we just worked harder, I prepared myself to begin another golden autumn hunting season in a wild place. But I had one serious obstacle to contend with for the first time in decades. I would be hunting with only one Brittany after losing one seasoned veteran to cancer and a four-year-old bird finding sensation to an open gate and a speeding car.

As the season's opening day rolled around, I knew 7-year-old Clyde and I would possibly have to work harder and cover more ground if we were to put any birds in the game bag. Clyde would require more rest breaks in the field and more rest days at home than usual, but we were ready to start our season.

The first few weeks of the season did not disappoint. Clyde and I were finding enough grouse to keep us busy, although there seemed to be a bit more space around them, and we were covering more ground each hunt. We were not experiencing our usual target-rich environment. I wrote that off to having only one dog to hunt over instead of two or three. We were clearly not covering as much ground as usual. But I wondered if the lingering snow cover during the nesting season had been tougher on the grouse than expected.

Typically, I hold off shooting because there are so many grouse available, and I choose to prolong my hunting. I don’t view taking a limit of grouse—in this case, five birds—as a goal I must reach. But as the fall season progressed, Clyde and I were seeing fewer grouse and covering a lot more miles to find them. I turned to occasionally hunting ruffed grouse, doing a bit of moose hunting, and squeezing in some late-season fly fishing, so Clyde and I could recuperate from such long and increasingly more difficult sharptailhunts.

Hunting Late-Season Sharp-tailed Grouse in Alaska

Snow often appears in the interior region of Alaska around the first week of October. It may get warm again and melt off that snow. Still, a combination of photoperiod and the first bit of snow covering the Kinnikinnick berry food source that is so crucial to sharp-tailed grouse will get the grouse moving toward winter wilderness areas a long way off, areas inaccessible to the foot hunter. More often than not, I go home from the last couple of late-season hunts wet from rain or light snow and without having fired a shot all day. Yet, I'm drawn to return for just one more hunt each late season because I know what could happen if luck is on my side.

Eventually, after a few arduous and grouse-less late-season hunts, I bid the sharptails “goodbye” for another winter and move on to other endeavors. Still, I’m reminded of those fewtimes over the decades when the stars aligned, and the dogs and I went from long days with no bird contacts to experiencing at least one day of wild and furious hunting. Days that we encountered large coveys of hair-triggered migrating grouse surrounding us wherever we hunted.

One early October day in particular, a long time ago, my dogs and I encountered what seemed like one hundred closely scattered grouse in Alaska during a short distance of hunting. The grouse were edgy, flushed wild, or ran ahead of my dogs, and seemed everywhere. We'd come upon many grouped coveys of migrating grouse and experienced a Red Letter Day after several hunts without even a single shot fired. Because of such epic days, each season I find myself torn between moving off to ruffed grouse hunting or returning for another ten-mile walk and a strong chance of not finding any sharptails.

The Last Hunt of the Year for Sharp-Tailed Grouse in Alaska

Because the snow and freezing rain seemed to be holding off, and the next day's forecast was cloudy with some sunshine and temperatures in the mid-40s, I decided the ruffed grouse, moose, and voraciously hungry arctic grayling could wait a bit longer. Clyde and I headed out on our last sharp-tailed grouse hunt of the season.

I drove slower than usual because of the dark clouds on our horizon and my reluctance to again hunt in cold rain and wind. The thought of not finding any grouse weighed heavily on my mind. I also hoped for a weather change before we arrived at our hunting destination. And as it turned out, luck waswith us, at least regarding the weather. There were breaks in the clouds and enough scattered sunshine to lift my spirits and steel my resolve to walk behind Clyde for as much as ten miles to find some remaining grouse. The hunt was on.

I began our hunt in an area where the grass and shrubs, although imperfect, were more conducive for late season sharp-tailed grouse to drop into while passing through the area on their way to distant wintering regions. It turns out I made a great choice.

Since I figured I was in for another long day and a lot of walking, I was in no particular hurry as I got myself geared up and ready to head out fromthe truck. I wasn't very optimistic about our chances of finding grouse. Still, Clyde was his usual happy self and was already quartering ground some 100 yards ahead as I lazily locked up the truck, rested my gun over my shoulder, and headed off to hunt.

Hunting Grouse in Alaska: A Day to Remember

I hadn’t gone far when I noticed Clyde hunting the breeze earnestly with his face and nose sticking up over the pale yellow grass. He'd slowed from a lope, and stealthily moved from his right to his left as though he was really onto something and was circling to prove his hypothesis. Brittanys don’t have much for tails, but those short tails are easy to “read” once the nose encounters bird scent and the tiny tail gets to gyrating.

So close to the truck, I hadn’t even loaded my gun! As my brain processed this visual information—too slowly—I was caught off guard when Clyde suddenly locked up solid with his quivering nose stuck up into the breeze and his right front foot suspended up off the ground. It wasn't the first time my dog(s) had found grouse near the truck, but clearly, I wasn't expecting it that day as I scrambled to place two shells into the chambers of my side-by-side.

As the covey of some seven or eight grouse exploded from their hiding place in the grass and adjacent brush, I quickly closed the action of my gun and awkwardly brought it up toward my cheek but fired my first shot ineffectively due to a poor gun mount. But the second shot was well placed, and my first bird of the day fell to the ground.

While Clyde moved in for the retrieve, a few other grouse several yards off to our right burst into flight, but I let those fly off even though Clyde had performed as usual and had stopped to the flush. As soon as Clyde made his snappy hand-off of the grouse, he raced off, and within another 25 yards, he whipped around to his left and pointed nicely.

As I moved quickly ahead of Clyde, many grouse began flushing and chuckling off to my left and straight ahead of me. I took one grouse and decided to hold off shooting another. I figured I might need to pace myself, or else my day of bird hunting might be over in less than an hour. No need for doubles on grouse today, I assured myself.

Because some of the grouse had flown into a nearby windbreak of aspen trees and willow brush, I directed Clyde to follow me and cross through and over to the opposite side of the ‘break.’ This move would put Clyde into more favorable scenting conditions and perhaps provide me with more challenging and fun shooting scenarios. Lifelong ruffed grouse hunters like me enjoy shooting at grouse when trees and thick brush are involved.

Clyde moved along as though he were a soldier crossing a known enemy minefield, and it was great fun to watch him. Another 30 yards ahead, a large covey of sharptails erupted into flight off to the windbreak's left side, while others flushed up the middle and off to the right. But not all the birds chose to flush, and I could see birds moving about on the ground around us. To my astonishment, I even detected a group of very nervous grouse move in behind us.

At this point, I was reminded of the words of the late U.S. Marine Lieutenant General “Chesty” Puller when he and his warriors were surrounded by enemy forces on the battlefield: “All right. They’re on our left; they're on our right; they're in front of us; they're behind us; They can't get away from us this time!”

I’d just stepped past a rigid Clyde when birds began flushing around me. I took a nice two-pound male as it rose raucously up through the aspen trees, but Clyde remained standing point. I moved around a bit when three or four grouseleaped from the grass on the far side of the trees, but with two birds already in my game bag and one lying out there waiting to be retrieved, I held off shooting.

My well-trained and typically compliant Brittany hunting partner was reluctant to make the retrieve, with all the birds likely hiding ahead and his concern over flushing them. Still, stubbornly, he found the grouse and brought it to my hand. In a flash, he was off again doing what he loves most.

We moved slowly and confidently, knowing we would find plenty of grouse ahead. A few singles and pairs flushed off to our left and right, but I planned to extend our day of hunting as long as possible, so I let them fly off, too.

Ending the Hunt on a High Note

Not even a mile from the truck, and I had become picky about what I would or would not shoot at and let plenty of grouse fly off. Eventually, I couldn't resist any longer, and I took a very large grouse weighing over two pounds (I age, sex, weigh, and examine the crops of every bird I take) that rose steeply out of the trees, chuckling the alarm call along the way. Clyde went to retrieve my bird but whipped around on his way back to me, only to point another group of sharptails while holding the last bird of my five-bird limit clutched in his mouth. But wait a minute, I thought, had I taken five birds? Or only four?

As Clyde stood his point, grouse in mouth, I reached around and into my game bag to count birds. It turns out my math was off, and I had only three birds in the bag, and one still being held in the mouth of my faithful huntingcompanion. I moved forward and let Clyde drop that bird into my hand, and then I moved forward, flushed another group of what appeared to be eight grouse, and cleanly took my last bird for the day.

I let Clyde hunt on as I came up from behind with some ten pounds of grouse stuffed in my game bag and flushed more grouse for his enjoyment. Turning around to head back to the truck, it was more of the same: find grouse, flush grouse.

Snacking on treats and water back at the truck, Clyde and I sat together on the truck tailgate to relive the short day of hunting and our great fortune of having experienced an epic day to remember hunting grouse in Alaska.