So, I had a camper on the back of my old F250 years ago. I used to go just about as far back as you could. To various spots in an area I named "Partridge Flats". The land didn't rise over 30m in near 10km, 'cept fer at the brooks, and they easy saw 40m, some of it straight up. And a beaver dam every time ya turned around. And clear cut in the 60s and left to grow back on it's own. Which is why I was there. Not many people care for bear country, and they was thick.

But, the reason I was there was fer the Birch... Birch Partridge... Ruffed Grouse... Bonasa Umbellus. Look that up and you'll see. Even better fried in butter and washed down with black rum and stories at the end of a 30km day.

Now, I have hundreds of stories about The Flats, but this is a bird thread, so, I'll tell ya one about my favourite bird in the backwoods of Kent County, New Brunswick, Canada. The Gray Jay. Canada Jay, Whiskey Jack, Camp Robber, and other names… Moose Bird, locally… is a treasure. I've had them land on me, feed from my hand, play with me by sneaking up from behind and flying within an inch of my head and then sit a few feet away and "laugh" at my startled roar.

I worked like a dog at the office one October day and got away in the afternoon. Raced up country. It was sunny and about 6C and there was nare a strip a wind. Couldn't order a better day. Decided to put on supper and have it ready after a two hour walk before dark. I was fryin and peelin and havin a snarlpe (black rum, OJ and marichino cherries to deaden the OJ acid – try it… let two cherries and the juice settle… like a prize at the bottom of a Cracker Jack box) when into the camper he comes.

He alit about 1m inside the door. Scared the crap outta me. And then hopped toward me and nattered. I threw him a piece of the fried from the table and it was gone. He flew up to the table and grabbed a large piece and, as Moose Birds will do, tried to get it back out the door to store it somewhere. However, he grabbed a big piece. He lifted and then aerodynamics became a wee problem.

After getting such a huge prize, he wouldn't let go of it. Even after he sunk to the floor and pranged with all the grace of a rock, he struggled with it and smacked into the cupboard on two subsequent attempts to get out the door. Given the fact he came into the camper and was so brazen, I knew what to name him… Stupid. He finally made it and was skimming the ground when a Blue Jay mugged him. Poor bugger! I cut up some smaller pieces and feed him by hand… outside.

WARNING…. The feint of heart, tree huggers, vegans, and the like should go read another thread now.

Finally. Time for my walk. Guess who was with me. Sometimes behind, sometimes ahead, but like a stray dog I had fed.

Then, at an old pulp yard, all hell broke loose. Now, I haven't hunted in years, but, when I did, Birch were my passion. And, I was taught by my old man, who was the best I ever saw, and I learned better than he over the years. My double trigger, Russian made Baikal O&U, 28", vent rib, full & modified, thundered and every shell was true. I had my limit of 6 in jig time and headed back to the camper… yes, with Stupid in tow.

I cleaned the birds and Stupid had a feast, along with his mate and little ones (two) and some buddies that he called up, I guess. They hung around til dark. Then, the weasels took over and there was nowt left at dawn.

WARNING…. The skeptical and the like should go read another thread now.

At 7AM, I went for a walk. Guess who was with me. ALWAYS ahead. When he would fly way up in a tree and natter while looking down, I got ready by putting three shells between the fingers of my left hand. No shit. I kid you not. Best dog bird I ever had. But, I can get with that… he liked Bonasa Umbellus too. Had a great fall that year. So did Stupid.

I don't hunt anymore. Never even get up Kent County these days. I know Stupid is long gone but, I will always remember him.

Hehehehe… I got a great story about Stupid and a loaf of bread.