wnb5th
New member
A story about Willy and Griffey's woodcock season...
So Griffey and I took to the woods this season to try to hunt a bird that quite frankly I never even really knew much about, and definitely never hunted. I am a 1st generation upland hunter, and trying to figure it out along the way with my griff (named Griffey - the name works since both my boys are baseball junkies and that is pretty much our life right now outside of hunting - travel baseball).
Me, Griffey, and when they are able - my sons, a few times my wife, and even once my mom, took to the woods to chase after what I have learned is unfortunately about the only wild bird you can hunt in our upland deprived locale of South Carolina. I did a ton of research, asked a lot of questions, and had some help from a lot of really nice people. Everyone has various opinions on habitat, etc... but it was enough to get me started.
So Griffey and I loaded up the truck on many occasions and defaulted to the tried and true method of putting the miles in! Most of the time it felt more like hiking than hunting. There was honestly one day that we hunted so hard and for so long that I cramped up on the drive home and thought I'd have to pull over. We aren't fortunate enough to have private land, or relationships with folks that do, so we took to the public land that is available to us and burnt some serious boot leather. A ton of miles, hours, and scouted all sorts of public land (which was actually a benefit in itself as the boys also love to hunt deer, turkey, etc). When we did kick up birds, most of the time we flushed them, and I wasn't able to get any on the ground. Let's just say I am not yet a good shot. The dog made a few good points here or there, but I could tell he was struggling with the scent on a consistent basis. When I would find some splash, and then show it to him, it would definitely amp up his intensity level and I knew with each outing we were getting closer and closer to figuring out the game. Griffey has an high drive but I really felt the need to get a bird in his mouth. Griffey and I were also both trying to prove my wife wrong with her repeated comments that "woodcocks were a myth" and asking if we were looking for big foot instead.
Countless hours, miles, boot leather, and a ton of mistakes and many missed birds later, we finally got our hands on our 1st bird. But how we got our 1st bird is actually hilarious. Maybe ridiculous is the adjective I should use!
Me and the boys were down at a buddies farm in upstate SC a little over a week ago, sighting in our rifles before we took off to Alabama to go hunt the blackbelt whitetail rut, with some buddies on their annual marine reunion. I took Griffey down to the farm with us. After we were done shooting rifles, we decided to take a quick walk around my buddies property as he has about 300 acres, some wetlands, some cleared pines, etc. We gave it about an hour and didn't kick up any birds. On our way back to his little farmhouse we decided to make one last stop along a fence row that has a stand of some fairly mature pines that separate a green field from a fairly wide path. I'd say this stand of pines was about 20-30 feet wide. The plan was to walk the pines with the dog and my sons, and my buddy was going to drive the path on the other side of the pine divider, keeping pace with us. Seriously low expectations here! This fella has never hunted woodcock in his life, he has only heard me talk about how hard it has been, how many miles I have walked, and that I have been essentially getting my @ss kicked. So we are about 5 minutes into our walk and my buddy says "hey - is that a woodcock?" I look over to where this @sshole of a buddy is pointing and low and behold there is a woodcock running off the grass path into the pines. Needless to say - my buddy shot it after I frantically hollered at him to not let it get away! My buddy looked over at me as if to say "I thought you said that woodcock hunting was hard?". I love this fella like a brother but at that moment I could have put some #8 shot into his rear. I got my hands on the bird and was able to whoa the dog, then toss the timberdoodle, have my son shoot, and then have Griffey retrieve. A quick simulated on-the-spot training opportunity. I let Griffey keep that bird in his huge mouth for a few minutes, salivating and chewing, and told him how awesome of a dog he was, and then I took the bird and told Griff to go find me another one. And I'll be damned if he didn't lock on point literally 3 minutes later, about 20 yards further up the pine stand from where we just where. At this point my ill-guided resentment towards my buddy turned to gratitude! Man - getting that bird in his mouth made a world of difference.
We joked about it the whole time we were down in Alabama... how I literally devoted hours and miles to no avail, and this dude shoots a woodcock one step from his buggy. Couldn't actually script the memory any better. If I had to sum up "hunting" to someone, I'd tell that story.
Along the way, I have definitely learned a few things! Habitat is a great starting point but it seems like these birds are where these birds are! Sometimes there is no rhyme or reason. I also learned that I am NOT a good shot. Give me a rifle on a side of a mountain with a mule deer at 600 yards and I'll confidently take the shot. Give me a timberdoodle flushing at 20 feet and I feel like Shaquille O'Neal trying to make a foul shot. Needless to say, there is going to be a lot of time spent this offseason with me and my O/U shooting sporting clays. If I don't figure out my part, my dog may leave me for another man.
I'll also share one more of my other favorite moments from this season... Me, the wife, and my youngest boy, a 12 year, took off to a piece of WMA for a quick hunt a few weeks back. We drive the hour to get there only for my son to tell me he forgot his boots! He only has on a pair of yeezy slides which look like as if a pair of flip flops mated with a spaceship and these pieces of rubber were birthed. My son is somewhere in the early stages of his puberty journey so he has become part time mentally incapable so forgetting boots is about par for the course. After the steam disappeared that was coming out of my ears, I tell him there is no way he is sitting in the truck and that we are going hunting in his slides. I did however tell him that I have a roll of duct tape and to jump up on the tailgate! So I did what any reasonable father would do, I duct taped the alien rubber foot devices to his feet to construct makeshift boots and I laughed inside to myself as I thought that I am going to make this kid cross every creek, stream, body of water that I can find. No way he'll ever forgets boots again. Until the next time he does.
So as I finish my woodcock story, I'm looking outside at the cold and rare Carolina snow burning off, and I am wondering if there are still timberdoodles out there and if I might be able to get one or two more hunts in?! I imagine I'll go anyways because even though I wouldn't count my season as being successful in regards to the number of birds I put on the ground, I would say it was a though because of the knowledge I have gained, the amount of time I spent in the woods, being able to exercise my body and my mind, building a deeper bond with my dog, spending time with family outdoors, and relishing in the enjoyment and challenge of digging my heels into something that has not come easy. I think I'd take the latter versus having my season be "easy" any day.
dang it! I CANNOT wait until next season gets here. Me and Griffey are going to be ready.
So Griffey and I took to the woods this season to try to hunt a bird that quite frankly I never even really knew much about, and definitely never hunted. I am a 1st generation upland hunter, and trying to figure it out along the way with my griff (named Griffey - the name works since both my boys are baseball junkies and that is pretty much our life right now outside of hunting - travel baseball).
Me, Griffey, and when they are able - my sons, a few times my wife, and even once my mom, took to the woods to chase after what I have learned is unfortunately about the only wild bird you can hunt in our upland deprived locale of South Carolina. I did a ton of research, asked a lot of questions, and had some help from a lot of really nice people. Everyone has various opinions on habitat, etc... but it was enough to get me started.
So Griffey and I loaded up the truck on many occasions and defaulted to the tried and true method of putting the miles in! Most of the time it felt more like hiking than hunting. There was honestly one day that we hunted so hard and for so long that I cramped up on the drive home and thought I'd have to pull over. We aren't fortunate enough to have private land, or relationships with folks that do, so we took to the public land that is available to us and burnt some serious boot leather. A ton of miles, hours, and scouted all sorts of public land (which was actually a benefit in itself as the boys also love to hunt deer, turkey, etc). When we did kick up birds, most of the time we flushed them, and I wasn't able to get any on the ground. Let's just say I am not yet a good shot. The dog made a few good points here or there, but I could tell he was struggling with the scent on a consistent basis. When I would find some splash, and then show it to him, it would definitely amp up his intensity level and I knew with each outing we were getting closer and closer to figuring out the game. Griffey has an high drive but I really felt the need to get a bird in his mouth. Griffey and I were also both trying to prove my wife wrong with her repeated comments that "woodcocks were a myth" and asking if we were looking for big foot instead.
Countless hours, miles, boot leather, and a ton of mistakes and many missed birds later, we finally got our hands on our 1st bird. But how we got our 1st bird is actually hilarious. Maybe ridiculous is the adjective I should use!
Me and the boys were down at a buddies farm in upstate SC a little over a week ago, sighting in our rifles before we took off to Alabama to go hunt the blackbelt whitetail rut, with some buddies on their annual marine reunion. I took Griffey down to the farm with us. After we were done shooting rifles, we decided to take a quick walk around my buddies property as he has about 300 acres, some wetlands, some cleared pines, etc. We gave it about an hour and didn't kick up any birds. On our way back to his little farmhouse we decided to make one last stop along a fence row that has a stand of some fairly mature pines that separate a green field from a fairly wide path. I'd say this stand of pines was about 20-30 feet wide. The plan was to walk the pines with the dog and my sons, and my buddy was going to drive the path on the other side of the pine divider, keeping pace with us. Seriously low expectations here! This fella has never hunted woodcock in his life, he has only heard me talk about how hard it has been, how many miles I have walked, and that I have been essentially getting my @ss kicked. So we are about 5 minutes into our walk and my buddy says "hey - is that a woodcock?" I look over to where this @sshole of a buddy is pointing and low and behold there is a woodcock running off the grass path into the pines. Needless to say - my buddy shot it after I frantically hollered at him to not let it get away! My buddy looked over at me as if to say "I thought you said that woodcock hunting was hard?". I love this fella like a brother but at that moment I could have put some #8 shot into his rear. I got my hands on the bird and was able to whoa the dog, then toss the timberdoodle, have my son shoot, and then have Griffey retrieve. A quick simulated on-the-spot training opportunity. I let Griffey keep that bird in his huge mouth for a few minutes, salivating and chewing, and told him how awesome of a dog he was, and then I took the bird and told Griff to go find me another one. And I'll be damned if he didn't lock on point literally 3 minutes later, about 20 yards further up the pine stand from where we just where. At this point my ill-guided resentment towards my buddy turned to gratitude! Man - getting that bird in his mouth made a world of difference.
We joked about it the whole time we were down in Alabama... how I literally devoted hours and miles to no avail, and this dude shoots a woodcock one step from his buggy. Couldn't actually script the memory any better. If I had to sum up "hunting" to someone, I'd tell that story.
Along the way, I have definitely learned a few things! Habitat is a great starting point but it seems like these birds are where these birds are! Sometimes there is no rhyme or reason. I also learned that I am NOT a good shot. Give me a rifle on a side of a mountain with a mule deer at 600 yards and I'll confidently take the shot. Give me a timberdoodle flushing at 20 feet and I feel like Shaquille O'Neal trying to make a foul shot. Needless to say, there is going to be a lot of time spent this offseason with me and my O/U shooting sporting clays. If I don't figure out my part, my dog may leave me for another man.
I'll also share one more of my other favorite moments from this season... Me, the wife, and my youngest boy, a 12 year, took off to a piece of WMA for a quick hunt a few weeks back. We drive the hour to get there only for my son to tell me he forgot his boots! He only has on a pair of yeezy slides which look like as if a pair of flip flops mated with a spaceship and these pieces of rubber were birthed. My son is somewhere in the early stages of his puberty journey so he has become part time mentally incapable so forgetting boots is about par for the course. After the steam disappeared that was coming out of my ears, I tell him there is no way he is sitting in the truck and that we are going hunting in his slides. I did however tell him that I have a roll of duct tape and to jump up on the tailgate! So I did what any reasonable father would do, I duct taped the alien rubber foot devices to his feet to construct makeshift boots and I laughed inside to myself as I thought that I am going to make this kid cross every creek, stream, body of water that I can find. No way he'll ever forgets boots again. Until the next time he does.
So as I finish my woodcock story, I'm looking outside at the cold and rare Carolina snow burning off, and I am wondering if there are still timberdoodles out there and if I might be able to get one or two more hunts in?! I imagine I'll go anyways because even though I wouldn't count my season as being successful in regards to the number of birds I put on the ground, I would say it was a though because of the knowledge I have gained, the amount of time I spent in the woods, being able to exercise my body and my mind, building a deeper bond with my dog, spending time with family outdoors, and relishing in the enjoyment and challenge of digging my heels into something that has not come easy. I think I'd take the latter versus having my season be "easy" any day.
dang it! I CANNOT wait until next season gets here. Me and Griffey are going to be ready.
Last edited:
