Jerry McAllister.

Upland bird hunting seasons generally have opening dates in October set by state governments. I began my actual hunting on October 4 in eastern Montana. But, hunting season for many upland hunters and their bird dogs begins much earlier, when the first glimmers of fall appear. In 2023, this happened on August 8…

6 a.m., minutes after sunrise, a few hundred tree swallows, gathered by shortened days, lined up on the powerline and swarmed out intermittently to pick off early rising insects. A great time to flyfish but more important activities awaited the grouse hunter and his bird dogs. Same time a week ago, the swallow number was about a dozen. This gathering is a sure harbinger of fall. I stopped my truck to watch but the bird dogs in their outdoor kennels had none of that; a rolling raucous ensued and continued until I released Lilly and Lexi. The remaining dogs knew they had no turn and went quiet. They all knew me, my brown Ford pickup, and what we were about. My pair did not do their usual tear around the kennel yard searching out new smells. They had seen the swallows, seen the light-shortened days, and knew too. Quickly, they were at the tailgate wanting to load up.

Summer heat hadn’t noticed the reduced sunlight yet. At 6 a.m. the temp was 60F and dew was condensing on the windshield; by 10 a.m. it would shoot above 78F – 10-year-old Lilly’s upper tolerance level. When Lilly was Lexi’s age, today’s heat was not as much of an issue.

The dogs live on Jason Gooding’s expansive property at Good Go Ing Kennels in northwest Wisconsin. It’s a large restored tall grass prairie with intermittent hardwoods surrounding low areas and ponds. Enough bird dog training goes on daily that escapee-planted birds can be found. August 8 was a bonanza. Around 30 birds were flushed. Lilly and Lexi pointed five groups as a brace. I knocked down two for them, missed one, and trees blocked my shooting for the others.

The 6 a.m. bird dog pair had experienced low light from the east which produced huge shadows to the west and orange hues where the shadows ended. Dew was heavy keeping the dogs wet and cool. They wanted to run forever but remembered I was the leader – mostly. My blue jeans were wet for a few inches above the rubber knee boots. Yellow black-eyed susans and western sunflowers were in full bloom. The hairy spikes of purple prairie clover emerged above the shorter grasses, and purple beebalm was beginning to fade. The rising sun was soft and caught the colors of all lucky enough to look east. Lexi managed to flush a threesome of trumpeter swans off a pond. They caught the light too and returned as soon as we were a couple hundred yards away.

Best of all were the big blue stem stands and the orange monarchs waiting on milkweed tops for the sun to dry their wings. Lilly and Lexi were oblivious to all except me and the scents of yesterday’s released ring-necked pheasant, bobwhite quail and chuckar. Their rude crashes through the milkweed inevitably knocked monarchs from their drying perches. The king of the August tallgrass prairie is the big blue stem. It doesn’t rise above knee-high until mid-July but grows to eight feet a mere month later. On August 8, it had reached six feet, headed out, and bloomed a line of small delicate yellow flowers along each of the short spikes on top, like crowns for a king. Alas, these crowns only last a couple days but an eight-foot-high king doesn’t really need a crown to look over his kingdom.

The dogs missed all these early morning shenanigans but didn’t need them to know that it all came together on August 8. Their enthusiasm for the hunt told the story. They were annoyed by the tweedy birds that had stayed on perch for our 6 a.m. crowd. Goldfinch, song sparrows, waxwings, and an Indigo bunting flushed before them but only got a brief identification glance. They will soon be gone along with most bluebirds, blackbirds, warblers, and vireos which departed earlier. When the sun was high enough, it revealed a few red lanterns. Aldo Leopold said that fall’s red blackberry leaves were nature’s direction to a ruffed grouse flush. I sure hope my dogs are aware of this invitation come October.

Jerry McAllister is a retired chemist, writer and avid outdoorsman who lives in northwestern Wisconsin on Big Sissabagama Lake. Once upon a time, he completed post-doc research at Iowa State University. All seven of his grandchildren – college age down to a baby born in 2023 – are growing up in Iowa.