Wolves in the Woods

This past Labor Day weekend Wyatt and I were lucky enough to be invited by some friends to stay in a rustic and family owned cabin in the Beaverhead-Deerlodge National Forest. The Cabin is located beyond the tiny and whimsical town of Wisdom, MT. I had been to Wisdom (population 98) in the Fire Hole Valley once two years ago to test Sage in her NAVHDA Natural Ability test. You can read about that adventure here: A Tale of two Sages and a Dog named Sprig.

The cabin is a hidden gem. Nestled solo above the shore of a 75 acre alpine lake. A connecting smaller lake lay not far away and the beautiful adjacent ridgeline crests over into Idaho. The only other people within miles were a few scattered campers down the road camped along the lake in designated campsites. Upon our arrival we stormed into the 1928 built cabin and happily chaperoned it from its often dormant state into full use. Andrew who's family has owned the cabin since the 1950's hiked up a ridge 150 yards or so into the deep woods to turn the water for the cabin on. On the way down he turned a necessary second water connection on and soon after we had the propane fridge fired up, beers had been cracked and some wood was chopped for later use.

Sage and Figs sunset stick fetching

Sage, Figs and our friends German Shepard Reika were plunging into the lake chasing each other immersed in a fanatical game of keep away. All was right with the world. We spent the next two days kayaking and fly fishing the lake from an old row boat. Filling the cabin with smells of bacon and thick coffee in the morning. Mimosa's and then later beers and bourbon would flow. We hiked the woods with the dogs and enjoyed campfires and laughter outside.

Reika getting her hike on

The last night in the cabin the evening drew in and with it came a snow storm that would dump snow all night into the day we left. The few campers who sporatically littered the lower lake packed up and left. The cold weather also brought with it a wolf pack most likely from Idaho.

Hi! I'm from Idaho. I've come to eat you and your dogs.

When the weather turned everything changed. We listened with hairs standing on end as the first howls crept up over the far ridge but soon enough they settled into the woods behind the cabin. The air felt different, the dogs demeanor changed, we all felt eyes on us. We moved our party inside, fired up the wood stove and enjoyed the solace from within the safety of the cabin. The dogs were instantly kept on leashes when taken outside to do their business. Reika who slept by the locked door each night seemed to patrol the windows occasionally growling and barking into the night and early morning. It was cozy but easily could have been the making of a Stephen King novel.

Sage Monkey sidled up to a warm stove

In the morning we started to undo the initial spell that brought the cabin to life. It was time for us to rig up and head out and return it to it's state of slumber. We all felt nervous outside and stayed together in pairs or as a group when heading down to the bathroom, returning the boat to the boathouse or dragging up the kayak.  Figs protested any involvement with being outside and promptly held her business refusing to go to the bathroom entirely. When it came time for Andrew to venture off into the woods to turn the water off I offered to accompany him.

As we headed out I grabbed a can of bear spray off the table in the screen porch. Andrew picked up the ax we used to chop wood the day before. Sure wish I had brought a gun....but off we went into the woods. I couldn't help the feeling that we were walking into a gun battle with knives. We got back about 25 yards to the first water pipe destination. We tentatively looked around. It was snowing, the cabin was out of sight, and we were off trail. Andrew put the ax down and used both hands to turn the water off. That's when a zombie wolf jumped out from behind a tree and killed us both. Angry and restless Ghost of Robyn is writing this blog post now. As soon as its posted I'll be off to haunt the woods and fuck with new campers. Just kidding!

Andrew picked up the ax and I said to him, Do you want to try and make it up on the ridge to the turn the rest of the water off? We both stared at each other as the snow fell silently to the ground around us. We were a quarter of the way there.  He said sure and we turned and set off away from the cabin again.

We walked in silence at first although we both know silence is bad. The situation was so tense basic chit chat was hard to create. We made forced quiet small talk and pushed on. About 20 more feet I reached out and grabbed Andrew's arm. I pointed to a massive wolf track in the snow next to our shoe prints. My brain instantly struggled to make sense of the print. My gut reaction was a split second of denial. Could it have been one of the dogs that obviously hasn't left our sides and have been kept on leashes the last 24 hours? Could they have snuck out here to have made that? OF COURSE NOT STUPID. And for fucks sake its HUGE and its fresh in the snow!! RUN FOR YOUR GOD DAMNED LIFE! Andrew pointed around just feet from us, the prints were everywhere. Then to the left a wolf kipped about 40 feet away. Then another maybe 40 feet to the right. I think its time to go...... We turned and started to hustle.....not running but not out for a leisurely evening stroll either. I clearly remember thinking don't panic you asshole that's how you get killed! Look for the trail!

Andrew and I emerged from the woods completely rattled. Neither one of us stopped until we made it into the cabin. I think my hands shook for a solid 5 minutes. Needless to say the last water connection did not get turned off. We finished packing up, loaded the dogs safely and then made our way back to civilization and pizza and beers in Wisdom. The trip down from our camping spot was like the trip itself a total adventure complete with chopping down trees.

Please note badass Christina jumping out with ax in hand

Our long weekend was super fun and no one got eaten by wolves which is obviously a super bonus. The dogs had the best time sleeping next to the wood burning cabin stove, chasing chipmunks in the rock wall and running like wild women through the woods. We got to cast some lines and hang with dear friends. The weekend was a total win.

Follow our shenanigans on Facebook at: Adventures of a GSP

The Pigeon Burglar

There have been half a dozen situations in my life since I became involved with bird dogs that left me having come to Jesus speeches with myself. Mutterings under my breath along the lines of, "look at your life.....look at your choices". One such moment was a few years back while dragging a duck behind me in a kayak for a duck search for either Cleo or Luna when its tether broke loose and it made a rather half assed and spastic attempt at freedom. I think I cursed a bunch, pond water got in my mouth and I may or may not have thrown an oar at it before I finally scooped it up and there it sat on my lap soaking me through my underwear hissing in my face. I stuffed its crappy prisoner ass back into a bird bag and thought to myself WHAT. THE. FUCK. am I doing?

Flash forward to this past weekend when my frustration level with getting birds in Montana hit an all time high. I need pigeons for Figs. Her determined little soul has been no match for these pen raised quail and I know it. I searched everywhere, called what little bird connections I have here, scoured Craigslist and realized it would be a 6 1/2 hour round trip drive for seven dollars a pigeon. My insides basically hiss like a cantankerous serpent every time I think of making that journey and shedding that kind of dough for flying rats. So after much frustration I sent a text message to a buddy from the local MMA school where I teach who is a flusher guy and I remembered that a season or two ago he had his hands on some pigeons.

Lucky for me he answered right back. He could get us access to an abandoned and dilapidated building a few towns over and we could catch them ourselves.  I immediately signed up. We set a date to infiltrate the building with fishing nets under the cover of darkness of course. This screen shot should sum up our planned outing:

I made sure of course to let at least two people know where I'd be in case the pigeon Chupacabra got us or we fell through a sketchy rotted floor like any good after school special warns you about. I told my husband Wyatt and my sister in-law Becker. Her response was legit although not as supportive as one would have liked:

Off we set with fishing nets in tow, a ladder, a sixer of beer and flash lights. We rolled into the sleepy little western town just as the sun finished setting and waited with beer in hand until darkness over took the area. My comrade clearly had this down to a science.

We spilled out of his truck into the depths of a sincerely occult scene. Close your eyes and imagine an abandoned structure straight out of a horror movie, coupled with the distinct choking smell of the most heinous bird pen times a million. The floors were a few inches deep in pigeon shit. Hard and piled high in some areas and squishy and fresh in others. It was completely dark minus our flashlights streaming around like a sad Pink Floyd laser light show. We got to business right away. Using our nets to grab flying pigeons in mid flight. Capturing ones stunned by our lights on rafters like low hanging fruit. We made quick work of the lower levels, braved the birds shitting from above and used his ladder to ascend to the upper level.

 

The upper level was as sketchy as he warned me it would be. Holes in the flooring peeked down to the lower levels below. The flooring was sloped in some areas and collapsing in others. The pigeons exploded into an uproar showering us upon our arrival and filling the air with a fine mist of pigeon shit. I stopped licking my lips and cursed my self for the fresh application of lip balm I applied before entering the building. I started to randomly spit as a way to purge the nefariousness of the experience. Yet I was running and often fumbling through the treacherous space trying to snag as many flying rats as I could. My pigeon catching skills were no match for the expertise of my partner and the extra height of his net. But we nabbed about 50 pigeons in total. A good bounty and more than enough for what I need.

After an hour plus we made our way out of the thick and cloudy stench and spilled into the fresh Montana air. The clean air reminded me of how gross we had become while entrenched in the building. I wanted to strip naked on the sidewalk, throw my clothes and boots in a bucket, douse them in lighter fluid and run away in the darkness while it burned behind me.

We packed the rats up and cracked open a well earned beer. The second my IPA hit my mouth it fuzzed up out of control, clearly some depraved reaction to the pigeon shit dust still in my mouth and whirling around my body like pig pen from peanuts. My mouth tasted like poor decisions but the beer helped. Beer always helps in situations like this. The things bird hunters do for their dogs. 

Follow our adventures on Facebook at Adventures of a German Shorthaired Pointer. If you liked this post you might like these ones too:

Sage Bears All - Adventures with Bear Spray 

The Unseen Dangers of Duck Work - Whoopsies

Bird Hunter Problems - Another Pigeon conundrum

Ruby River Camping

This past Friday we packed up, left civilization and cell service behind and headed out past Alder, MT to get our camp on. We spent the first night in the Vigilante forest service cabin with my best friend Jen, her husband Ben, their two kids Noah and Alex ages 6 and 2 and their two Norwegian Elkhounds. You know its remote when you log an additional  40 miles on dirt roads to get in and out. The cabin is located in the heart of grizzly country but luckily we were bear incident free although a big black bear did meander down towards the cabin to get a better whiff of some of Ben's caramelized onions for our Friday night dinner.

Dispersed camping along the Ruby river / reservoir system

Saturday morning we parted ways and off we went, 3 rolling stones with no plans in place but all the time in the world. We scoped out a sweet dispersed camping spot on the Ruby Reservoir on a rather large and private peninsula. Dispersed camping is primitive camping that is located within the National Forest Service area but it is outside of a designated campground. There are dispersed campgrounds all over Montana. These spots have very few services such as bathrooms, trash removal and occasionally no fire ring. You can roll up first come first serve and your welcome to stay there anywhere from 14 to 16 days. Our spot was epic for a couple of reasons the first being it was isolated. No one was near us for miles and the most recent visitors to our camp had been some moose who left us sizable tracks imprinted in the sand as well as piles of fresh poop. Sage was of course grateful for the morsels of moosie meadow muffins. In addition we had our own private beach directly to the right of our tent. 

We may be in Montana but thats Taylor pork Roll were making for breakfast. #jersey #philly

Lake stick fun

We spent the rest of our weekend eating and drinking entirely too much and fishing as much as we could handle. Sage spent the same moments marauding around finding mule deer legs to chew on, foraging for moose poop, and trying to ruin every second of our fishing that she could. If I ever had any doubt in my mind its now been clarified and 110% certified, Sage is the worst fishing dog period. She doesn't discriminate….you could be fly fishing, lure fishing or using fresh bait but she will intervene and she will wreck your good time while maintaining an insane level of cuteness. This is how she operates:

She zones in on your lure

Then she swims out scaring away any and all fish all while trying to bite your line 

Then she makes tough choices. It's either enthusiastically wrapping herself in your lines or getting dry flies stuck in her fur. Regardless the end result is always the same….. 

She finds herself excitedly tied to a tree extremely annoyed barking obscenities as loud as she can. Life is so tough when all you want is fishies. 

Despite her attempts at destroying our good fishing times we prevailed. We all made it home with a moderate level of camping hangover. I can't wait until we have another little pup to share all of this with. From this weekend on we will spend a good portion of our time next to some river getting our Montana on.  I can't wait. Be sure to check back and follow our shenanigans on Facebook at: Adventures of a German Shorthaired Pointer. 

Updates and Announcements

I've been receiving emails, Facebook messages and blog comments inquiring about my obvious absence from the blogosphere.  This is the longest stretch I've ever gone without blogging since I began over 4 years ago. After some serious reflection these last few weeks I realize a lot of it has to do with no longer having Cleo and Luna in my life. At times this blog has felt like a painful reminder of them and an aching reminder of the void losing them has created for me. It's been difficult to write having lost my muses and the inspirations brought on by their little spotted troublesome selves. It's been something I have had to work through these last few months. I feel I've evolved and grown from it rather than letting it entomb me and the good news is I feel my inspiration returning with a vengeance I and have been thinking about this blog in a very longingly way. 

First Some Updates

Since moving to Montana Sage and I have flourished. There is not a moment that goes by where I'm not completely happy and fulfilled being here. Sage like me loves the big open spaces and all it has to offer including very little traffic. We have even gotten used to its quirky weather isms that spur reports saying things like 70 degrees and sun with a 100% chance of snow. In fact I found myself smack in the middle of a blizzard this week rocking my favorite pair of flip flops.  Such is life in Big Sky country.

Burning off the Spring time crazies up in Hyalite 

Our 2014-2015 hunting season came and went. We didn't get out quite as much as we had hoped too but we did have some fantastic adventures together. Next season will be much easier to navigate since we will have been here a year and will have had time to make connections and figure out the BMA system. I did go back and finish editing a post I wrote but never published on our first successful hunt last fall. It was a pretty memorable day. You can read about it here: These Mountain Grouse don't Stand a Chance

1500 Acre area we were training in Three Forks

Coming full circle training season has once again arrived. We packed up and made the quick trip down to Three Forks a couple of weekends ago to attend the first official Montana Sharptail NAVHDA training day of the year. I was stoked to get Sage out on some birds but the day was made extra special by spending time with my good friends Keith and Kerry Lucas. Keith, Kerry and I were members of the Del Val NAVHDA chapter in NJ and we have been training together for the last several years. They moved to Montana shortly after I did last year. Needless to say it was comforting to be around and training with old friends. In addition the Lucas's own Grace who is Cleo and Luna's older sister. Gracie and Cleo share the same sassy and intense personality so my heart was warmed by just being near her. I hope to be heading out towards Billings in the coming weeks to train with them again.

Kerry working Gracie

Sage is doing very well and is her normal wild woman self. She's proved to be the absolute worst fly fishing dog on the planet. It took only a few times out for her to figure out the best lies for trout in the eddy so of course she stands in them scaring off any hiding giants. When you do happen to tie in a fish it becomes a frantic and spastic dance of her desperately trying to grab the fish and deliver it to hand and us trying to run away with it still on the line. Luckily she has a soft mouth when she does manage to get a hold of one but she's finding herself getting invited on fishing excursions less and less. 

Sage has developed a love of cat food that was clearly inherited from her mother Cleo. Everyday becomes a challenge of barricading it on the counter only to find she has used her GSP super powers to destroy it in our absence and stuff her face on kitty chow bounty. I often think these dogs posses some kind of black magic voodoo that is of course never used for good. Imagine if she decided to use her wizardly to vacuum the house instead of stealing chapstick after chapstick off my bedroom dresser to eat and mash into the carpet. But she is a gem of a dog and has proved to be the best traveling companion a girl could ask for.

Sage Monkey the world traveler. A Yellowstone National Park aficionado. Deep in thought contemplating eating that big juicy bison patty.  

Sage showing off in Lamar Valley just where GSP's rank with wolves, coyotes and foxy loxys.   

Sage and her favorite fly fishing and lap riding partner in crime Wyatt

A Quick Announcement (drum roll please)

Somethings have been in the works behind the scenes and it's time to make it "Internet official" and announce that our pack will be getting bigger! I sent in our deposit a couple of months ago to Sharp Shooters Kennel in Wisconsin and are on the waiting list for a female GSP puppy. I expect our new baby girl to come home sometime between the fall of 2015 and spring of 2016. I can't even explain how the thought of having two shorthairs again makes me feel. I want to bust at the seems with joy. Sage will love having a four legged companion as well. I can only imagine the bewitchment she will teach her future protege. 

So Whats Next?
We have our first big camping trip planned for Memorial Day weekend so I will be blogging about that for sure. Tomorrow we start our weekly training with the local sub-group of the NAVHDA Sharptail chapter. In addition each week will be training on our own down in Three Forks. It's time to ramp up our training for the UT test so I will be updating you guys on our progress. Also I have been re-editing some old posts I started but never quite finished and will be polishing them for publishing. I'm excited about this blog again and am ready to start putting out content. 

Be sure to check us out and follow us on Facebook at: Adventures of a German Shorthaired Pointer. 

These Mountain Grouse Don't Stand a Chance

Sage and I's first few hunting trips this grouse season has resulted in slightly underwhelming and long hikes with a gun. We have had absolutely zero contacts with birds and I've been valiantly fighting the urge to feel discouraged. It's Sage's and I's first season as a team and needless to say its gotten off to a rocky start. Thank goodness she doesn't possess the knowledge to know what she's been missing. If she had I wouldn't be remotely surprised if she posted a Craigslist ad looking to replace me as a hunting partner.

On Saturday Sage and I headed out to try our luck once again. This time we focused on an 18,000 acre BMA in the Bridger Range. I spent just shy of an hour meandering thru the vastness of the Block Management Area trying to carefully select what I thought would be a good spot to stop and embark on our adventure. Once we settled on a promising looking area we cheerfully set out armed with my Berretta and big can of bear spray.

We worked our way up a steep mountainside that eventually leveled off and opened up to pristine mountain fields. The sky was blue, the air was crisp and the granite peaks in the distance were covered in snow. It felt glorious. It felt like what hunting should.

Sage was off to the races. She was running very big and I knew right away that if we were lucky enough to make some contacts she was going to bust them. I'm so hungry at this point for Sage to have wild bird contact that I could careless. Being 11 months old and not fully steady I want her to have exposure. I want her to learn. I can always tighten her up later.

We had been hiking for close to 40 minutes when a covey of 8 big fat grouse exploded from the under region of a tree. Sage stayed steady and held back from giving chase but she did shoot me a borderline fanatical look as if she was saying, "For Christs Sake woman get up here already". As I closed in she broke free covering the area where the covey had been held up. She was wild eyed and in a frenzy. My heart was beaming. It was what I had been waiting for, the wheels were turning she was figuring it out. I watched the covey fly off and settle down the side of the mountain. I made a mental note to work it on our way back.

Sage and I were pumped! We set off with new vigor and a healthy dose of adrenaline pumping through our veins. About 15 minutes later we hit our second covey and 5 more plump mountain grouse hit the sky with a flapping flurry. They were inevitably out of shooting range but Sage was getting the exposure I had hoped she'd get. We worked forward into the wildness for about 45 more minutes before turning back and working adjacent areas.  When we made it back to the location of the first covey I looped to the far side and carefully made my way down the steepness with Sage leading the charge. The cover here was thicker and Sage had finally settled down into a rhythm. Our best chance was going to be here because she was working closer. After a breath holding 10 minutes Sage finally locked up on point. In seconds three grouse burst into the sky. I pulled my gun up, focused on one and pulled the trigger. It was a perfect shot and the gun fire echoed through the valley like a symphony.

As soon as I had shot the bird and it fell into its final descent Sage and I looked at each other completely shocked. I smiled and said, "You did't think I'd get it did you!!" Then I sent her in for the retrieve while belly laughing alone in the woods. She mouthed it first and then drug it halfway. Not that I gave her the opportunity to bring it all the way in. I was entirely to pumped. She found us birds, I shot us one. It was our first successful time out. It was amazing. It was everything and more than I had hoped it would be. Now that we've had some luck these mountain grouse don't stand a chance.

Be sure to follow our shenanigans on Facebook at: Adventures of a German Shorthaired Pointer.

Sage Bears All

Things have been great for Sage Monkey and I since our last post. We've been out hunting since opening day but more importantly we have been soaking up our new life in Big Sky country. On a personal level part of that for me has been being able to get out and consume as much nature as possible. On Saturday I decided to go hike Sacagawea Peak (Sageless and by myself). It's the highest peak in the Bridger range and offers stellar summit views in every direction. I was blessed enough to run into some mountain goats while at the top and have included some photos below.  It was an awesome day indeed.

Before heading out to hike Sacagawea I swung by Sportman's Warehouse in Bozeman and grabbed a can of bear spray. It is grizzly country after all and it would be irresponsible for me to not at least have some with me. Truth time folks. Let's have an honest talk about bear spray.

#1. It's basically hopped up super mace and is designed to deter aggressive bears.  
#2. The minimum recommended distance to discharge the spray between you and the bear is about 25 feet
#3. Bear spray is pressurized and contains some seriously hazardous contents
#4. It's really nasty shit.....did I mention that yet? It needs to stop a pissed off grizzly. In case you didn't know male grizzlies can weigh 790lbs.

Let's now flash forward past my non-bear encounter hike up to Sacagawea to my Sunday night. I had a wonderful dinner at my best friend Jen's house. I played with her kids (my nephews Noah and Alex), chilled at the park afterwards with them and then read 5 year old Noah his bed time story, proudly getting to be his ambassador to sleepy land. Then I had a glass of wine, said my good nights and headed home to my beloved Sage Monkey.

Then shit got real. I walked in the door to my tiny 700 sq ft apartment and Sage was overly riled. By the time I got 8 feet into the hallway I felt as though I had been hit by a freight train. I couldn't breathe, my eyes and skin were burning and the only thing running through my mind was that there was a fire or some kind of toxic fumes were invading my apartment. Little did I know what was truly in store for future Robyn. Feel free to start pitying her now....but I digress. I ran to the back patio turned around and saw that Sage in my absence had managed to remove my newly purchased can of bear spray from the kitchen counter and had bit into it spewing its contents down my wall, base boards and heater and soaked fully into my carpet.

At this point I was basically dry heaving and snot was involuntarily pouring from my face. I drug her outside and opened all my windows and doors. I carefully removed the punctured can being wary not to touch it and then I called my girlfriend Jen for reinforcements. She had at her house everything a girl could need to combat a super noxious capsicum spray debacle: milk, heavy cream and Ponds cold cream.  

Jen showed up to my shit show and offered two very important things: help and humor. I had already tossed Sage in the shower although she would require a milk bath. Jen quickly pointed out that I hadn't removed her collar and the bear spray could easily be hanging on to it. (I'd like to throw it out there that Sage wasn't even remotely fazed by any of the commotion or painful spray. This could easily be a sypmtom of her being a batshit crazy GSP). When I unhooked her collar bear spray laced water flung directly into my eyes and onto my face. This is where I politely say Fuck You bear spray. It was just about the most painful and debilitating experience. I'd like to add that while I writhed in pain and agony on my carpet and Jen threw me a milk soaked towel I choked and half laughed/cried, "you better get a god damn picture of this." And such is the sadness you see below.

Pretty much the worst moment of my life and I can't stop crying/laughing or 

demanding it to be photographed.

This was pretty awful. If you ever wondered what heavy cream and tears looked like. 

True friends show up to your house when your jerk dog blows bear spray through your apartment, they pull your hair back while you cry into heavy cream in your kitchen sink and they most importantly take unwarranted selfies of you at your complete worst because that shit is funny. In fact it's just about the only thing I respect. They also wash your dog with milk and soap and then have a beer with you before heading home and telling you how much fun you make their life.

Your mocking my life right now. But your washing my dog. 

Pretty sure I may never see the same way again but Ponds is in the 

midst of free publicity. I can only see pain. 

Ignore my ugly suffering mug and pay tribute to how awesome my T shirt is. It says, "Philly, No one likes us and we don't care." Truer words have never been spoken. Fly Eagles Fly. #Reppingphilly

I wish I could offer some moral of the story but it's a couple of hours later and my lips are still on fire, my lungs feel singed and I am still sporting a ponds cold cream hitler stash. All I can say is Sage Monkey may have finally out done her Aunt Luna...AKA Hell puppy with this one. Sage has earned herself back into the the crate 3 to 4 hours a day pending good behavior. Jen and I have another insane story to throw into our almost 27 year history together. Sage is okay which is all I really care about. And if there was ever any doubt in my mind......I don't ever want to be maced or run into a grizzly.

Follow our shenanigans on facebook at: Adventures of a German Shorthaired Pointer