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Woodland Double Barrel Brittanys

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Elkhart, IN
Woodland Double Barrel Brittanys

We're not a licensed kennel yet, just lovers of the Brittany breed and great hunting in general. No history of health problems. We are upland bird hunters.
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We are careful breeders of excellent Brittanys from strong hunting pedigrees. Our pups have earned praise for trainability, personality and passion for the hunt. AKC registered litters, dam and sire certified OFA good or better for hips. Our passion is ethical pursuit of game while enjoying the outdoors. We love our working companions and enjoy watching their hard work & personalities shine in the field and around home.

11/12/2024

There is always next year.

Most of a month had passed since woodcock season opened in Indiana for 2024. This year ushered in changes to our kennel. We added a new puppy in March, Crosscreek October Sky, "Aspen". It had been nine years since we had a puppy and all that brings with it. It had been 1 1/2 years since the matriarch of our kennel, Lydia Leigh, that started this journey, crossed over the Rainbow Bridge, leaving behind a legacy of learning, teaching, overcoming as well as sons and daughters that carried some of her into the future.

Two hunting seasons had passed with just Double Barrel First Shot of October JH as the other part of the team in the fields. Now, at 9 1/2, pushing closer to 10 years old, a little bit of gray showed up in his muzzle. His mother, Lydia, did not start showing any gray until after she had turned 11. October's face bears a striking resemblance to her--a solid liver mask, with just a touch of white frosting on the right side of his nose. Not only did Lydia leave her DNA prints on him, but she passed on a passion for the hunt. He has an engine that runs at high idle, most of the time, as he courses through the fields in search of game, but he has mellowed over time and loves the moments when he gets scritches and loving.

Introducing Aspen to October brought the question, "Will they do alright together?" As the summer progressed, Aspen wanted to play more than work, and October wanted to enjoy a good run and not play with Aspen. There was a nagging question in the back of my mind if Aspen would ever grow up--physically and emotionally, into the dog that October is, and his mother before him. You see, Aspen comes from a line of brittanys that are truer to the size of original "poacher's dog" of the French region in which they originated. At 7 and 8 months old, she started to show the promise of being less dependent on October and me, and started to venture into the big grasses, off the mowed paths.

One week before woodcock season opened in Indiana, we travelled North to hunt ruffed grouse and woodcock in Michigan. Five hours of hunting, several grouse flushes (heard, but not seen) and Aspen handled the time afield very well. In the Spring, I had figured out how old she would be by the time the season opened around home, and hoped that it would be a good opportunity to get her field experience on wild birds, especially ones that are not likely to try to tussle with her, if one was wounded, and would hold tight for a young dog learning what this new game was all about. She turned 9 months old the day before the Indiana woodcock season opened.

Opening Day arrived, with the excitement and the anticipation of the season. Would there be birds? Was it going to be too warm? What about the coverts? It had been dry for the past two months, sending much of Michigan and Indiana into drought conditions. Opening Day found us in an area I only learned about a year before, but that held a lot of promise, with a prime aspen run. The leaves were still on the trees, having barely started to turn gold; the ferns were high and the briars thick. October dove in, while Aspen stayed very close on my heels. We encountered a few birds, which was a good sign, and a relief.

We travelled to the coverts about every 3-7 days, as work and weather were factors. As time passed, it appeared that the flights of woodcock kept coming. From finding four birds on Opening Day, followed by 8 birds a week later, to a season high of 11 birds in less than 3 hours on another day. In almost 30 years of chasing woodcock, I could not recall a season of this many birds, except one, that produced near 20 flushes in 2 1/2 hours.

I had chosen to hunt with a double barrel flintlock muzzleloader the majority of the season. This particular arm was a gift from a friend two years prior. It is a magnificent piece; well-balanced, light for gauge with good lock time. I had hunted with it, shot it in competition, struggled learning its secrets and what it liked and did not like, since I received it. And this season brought its personality, if any tool can be said to have a personality, to the forefront. If there were going to be challenges in rearing and training a puppy, why not double the trouble, by having a finicky gun along for the ride as well? The right lock was the culprit of frustrations afield. No spark, missed shots due to poor handling on my part, flashes in the pan, but not igniting the main charge, sometimes even forgetting it was a double barrel, which barrel did go off, and loading a fresh charge on top of another, in the barrel that did not fire. Sigh.

There were a couple of hunts I decided to "cheat"; instead of the muzzleloading shotgun, I chose a favorite cartridge gun, of 100-year old vintage, an Ithaca Flues 20 gauge, with 2 1/2" chambers. When this arm was first acquired, there was a (thankfully) short learning curve that lead to a love affair with this little gun (it is little only by the standard of gauge). It is light in the hand, a joy to carry in thick cover, quick to the shoulder and does not punish the shooter with recoil. I seemed to shoot better with the little Flues, making short work on one morning and one of two evening hunts.

After the first week of hunting, Aspen pointed her first woodcock. By the second week, she seemed to understand that at the sound of the gun, there was likely a bird; she showed no fear at the deep boom of the muzzleloader or the crack of the Flues, rather getting more excited. One particular Monday morning, she pointed a woodcock that was relocated and reflushed a couple of times, but by the third point and flush, it was brought back to earth, and she connected the dots: bird goes up, gun goes off, bird falls and the reward is feathers!

This season had shaped up better than one could hope. Seven different days of chasing the little russet fellow, going from point to point, new experiences for Aspen, October being a good mentor, sometimes even acknowledging the pup "getting it right". There was always the tickle in the back of the mind, "When will the birds move on?" Normally, there is a about a 2 week window to find woodcock, but this season, there were birds to be found for four weeks!

It was the last planned day to schlep through the coverts. It was getting late in the season, according to the calendar, and the birds should have continued their Southern journey by this time. We had to give it a try. A little tinkering on the double flint seemed to correct a multitude of errors, and by this time, I had figured out my handling issues. October coursed through the cover like the veteran that he is. Aspen dove into the ferns and thick grass as if she had done it for years. Herons squawked over head, moving from feeding to resting areas, but no other birds, not even songbirds stirred the air. So, we moved on to another covert, and finally a third.

During two hours of hunting, the wind had shifted from the Northeast to the East, bringing a very dry feeling with it. East winds do not make for good scenting conditions. As we moved into the last little slice of heaven, October went on point. There must have been something at some time, because he acted as if a bird would lift off at any moment. Aspen came up from behind, and honored Tob's point. She stopped suddenly, upon seeing him. I was sure the rustling of the dry leaves would scare up whatever it was, but nothing came of it. "Sorry, Tob. It must have run out."

We moved on; I was hoping there was a woodcock, almost trying to wish one into being under foot. October's bell fell silent, once more. A little glance through the cover, and I saw him staunch on point, again. As I went wide to his left, looking for a good shooting space, Aspen stopped several feet behind him, as soon as she saw him. This time, there was no wishful thinking; there was a woodcock. The little brown bomb exploded off the ground, twisting, stalling and restarting its forward flight to the top of the aspens. Time slowed down as I watched the bird climb out of the trees, seeking space to escape. The double flint came to my face, my finger finding the front trigger, the flint striking the steel, and without hesitation, the shot belched forth.

As the bird fell, October went forward to find it, with Aspen close behind. I think it was out of jealousy that he only wanted to retrieve birds about halfway to me this season, often stopping, dropping them and giving me a look of, "Get it yourself." Aspen was more than happy to get feathers in her mouth, as she picked it up and brought it to me.

As we stepped out of the cover, and onto the short, green grass leading back to the truck, I was struck by how the little drama had played itself out, once again. The teamwork of the dogs, the flight, the shot, and the retrieve. If there were a more fitting way to wrap up a season, going out with a "boom", after so many experiences, I could not think of a better way than how this season did.

There is always next year.

11/07/2024

But what of today?

Writing about chasing game in the fields brings certain challenges. On the one side, there are the days of frustation due to poor performace (canine and human), questionable weather, poor habitat or low numbers of game. On the other side, there are the successes: dogs that act upon their training and instincts and produce picturesque points combined with good, some would say stellar, shooting, especially in heavy cover or on game that utilizes all of its instincts to evade the hunter. There is the teamwork of dog and hunter, both seeming to understand the other's thoughts without a word spoken, only a look, a motion or whistle for direction.

Dog handling, particularly as a solo hunter often brings its own challenges. Which dog to take afield? The veteran and the rookie or just one of the two? If both, which dog do you focus on in the field? Do you expect the seasoned veteran, that has gotten better each day in the field, season after season, to do the majority of the work, or do you gamble a day or even an entire season, on the pup that is still learning what this game is all about? Has the pup learned some independence, not relying on the human or the veteran to do the hard work of pushing through the briars and monster thorn bushes? Is the pup eager to please and shows excitement about grasses, bushes and trees that seem to reach out to hamper its foward progress?

Each hunt has new experiences and shows a new dimension that makes up this game called hunting. Maybe the hunter's thoughts wander, not unlike the path through the brush, that doesn't appear to have a particular destination, or are there expectations that heighten the anticipation of the going, and focus attention on certain details? Perhaps the graceful lines of an early 20th century side-by-side, the checkering on the grip and forearm that have been worn smooth through the years and case colors that have been mostly worn off by the hands that have carried it in generations past. Maybe the sweet or pungent aroma of the season as the leaves turn, the frost-bitten grasses trade the greens and tans of Spring and Summer for the various shades of brown and gray of Fall.

Watching the seasoned veteran's tail vibrate with excitement at the invisible stream of scent that has been detected on the ground or a wisp that floats through the air. The pup leveling out, from its nose to its tail in a point, awakening an ancient instinct that causes it to freeze in a statue-like pose. The quickening of the hunter's heart, both at the sight of the dog and the drama that is unfolding and the anticipation, not knowing when the game will flush or in which direction. Will tree branches catch the barrels or will the flush be cause for the hunter's feet to get ensared in the underbrush, as the hunter winds up like a clock spring trying to catch up to the fleeing creature? Or is the scene an iconic snapshot of a staunch dog, a clean flush, where the hunter's eye can pick out fine details in the feathers and seems to have minutes on end to admire the beauty as the bird pitches up, feet hanging low, wings cupping the wind, lifting it above the understory?

What about the quizzical look on the pup's face when a bird falls back to earth? Or the veteran's ambition driving it to search harder, because of what the crack of the shot has meant in the past? What of the days when the fields and air seem to be empty of game, or due to poor shooting, the game bag is empty? Is the time afield to be viewed with a cynical eye, a frown, a head shake of disappointment or does the hunter count the blessings of canine companionship, the aromas, the sights and the sounds? Someday, the bells will fall silent, the gun will be cleaned and put away and the gear will be hung up. But what of today?

Today, teamwork, beauty and grace all came together. The pup had the first point of the day. A staunch, almost pitch-poled point, as her nose was fractions of an inch above the ground, as she inhaled the intoxicating aroma. The veteran, a little more gray in his muzzle (maybe from the "kid" always wanting to play instead of work, when it is time?), comes up from behind, struck a pose, even cocked a paw, as if to say, "Yup, she got it." An up and away flush, a miss with the first barrel, but solid connection between hand, wood and metal and the first bird fell back to earth.

A few minutes later, a bumped woodcock, and restraint ruled. The bird was not pointed, so no shot was taken. The veteran pointed two more woodcock. The last bird was a runner. At first glance, the veteran did not look as if he were on point; his head was high and his mouth was open, but his ears were forward, his tail straight out and his gaze was focused ahead. There was a flash, as the woodcock ran among the aspen leaves, almost like a shadow in the morning sun. Several large steps forced the flush, and the bird attempted escape through the stand of young growth, but a well placed swarm of pellets found its mark. The pup put her paws on the hunter's leg, looking quizzically, but with excitement at the statement, "Dead bird!" She wasn't sure what to do. A path was traced on the relative mark of where the bird had fallen, hoping the dogs would pick up the scent. The hunter saw the bird, where the ferns gave way to aspen leaves and young trees. The pup found it, and scooped it up; feathers were the reward for her efforts.

Today, the time afield seemed too short, especially with the balance of the day left for other tasks. The challenge for today, after such a short hunt was to tell the dogs, "We are all done. Let's go home." But, the memories of today, the smiling pup, the satisfied veteran and the happy sound of the bells in among the ferns and aspens was worth every moment of anticipation.

11/01/2024

State Fish and Wildlife Area that manages specifically for woodcock has experienced drought conditions this Summer and Fall. Due to the lack of moisture, there have been very few woodcock encounters. Today was no exception. One wild flush in 2 hours of hunting and that within the first 15 minutes of hunting.

The most productive point by the dogs is captured in the picture.

A field mouse made a clean get away.

10/28/2024

Another morning finds us, October, Aspen and I, among the aspen. What a morning! 11 woodcock flushes, most over points. Best part of all...Aspen the puppy had a FANTASTIC point on a woodcock. Shots were not well presented, so a few relocations were necessary. Two other woodcock were found & flushed, with the 3rd presenting a good opportunity. At the shot, the bird fell, Aspen saw exactly where it was and went for the retrieve!! Crosscreek October Sky, "Aspen" with her first woodcock!

10/24/2024

What a morning! Woodcock hunting was the order of the day. When we arrived at the State land, to hunt, the temperature was 30 degrees, there was fog, and frost on the ground. The fog seemed like it would make it difficult, but it was not foggy where we hunted.

2 1/2 hours in one area produced 8 flushes and 3 reflushes. Poor shooting led to frustration, especially with both dogs working so hard with little to show for their efforts.

Aspen pointed the first bird of the morning, with October honoring! YAY!! The first bird (of 2) that was brought to bag, was a good opportunity for Aspen to get feathers in her mouth. She loves to retrieve! She is getting excited and showing some confidence.

All in all, a beautiful morning, with very good dog work and some nice memories captured.

10/24/2024

What goes with October (on the right) and Aspen (on the left) on a glorious October day? Doodles!!

10/15/2024

Opening day of woodcock season in Indiana. Glorious day!!! Rain last night, cool temperatures, NNW wind, made for a great opening day! It was WET!! October was so excited to be out and Aspen was excited to be out, too, but really didn't know what to look for, at first.

Less than 2 minutes in the field and October bumped a woodcock that did not fly far. He pointed it the second time, but it flushed and flew across the road into thicker cover. Over an hour later, we swung through where the first bird had gone. October pointed 2 birds, while Aspen walked up not realizing October was on point. Thick cover made for very difficult shooting; compounded by water getting knocked off brush and branches, that dampened the powder in one of two of my flintlocks, effectively making my double-barrel a single-shot shotgun.

We journeyed West to another area. Aspen pointed her first woodcock!!! She was pointing, and this time October went by like he didn't know was going on! Again, short-hop flights, combined with very thick cover and poor shooting; we left empty-handed, except for seeing Aspen, at 9 months and 1 day old having pointed her first wild birds!

07/26/2024

We have spent time on runs, firing primed shotshells (not powder, wads or shot) to get her used to gun fire. The weather has been mild this week, so it was time to introduce Aspen to birds. Her first bird encounters have been with 8 week old chuckar partridge (small, but strong flyers). We started by planting one bird in a small "fenced" (12" tall snow fence, staked out with fiberglass driveway markers in a ~15" circle) area in the field. The pup was brought into the area, downwind. The first morning out, when she entered the scent cone of the bird, she immediately froze in a point. The bird was flushed and she was allowed to chase, to develop excitement. The second bird was put on the ground (it ran ~40 yards; never flushed). Aspen tracked the foot scent of the bird, into the edge of the woods, but was not able to find the bird.

Second day out, a repeat of the planted bird in the "fenced" area, only at the flush, a primed shotshell was fired.

Third day out, a bird was planted in the "fenced" area (the bird got out under the snow fence, but only went a few inches). Aspen pointed, the bird was flushed, and two primed shotshells were fired. Aspen held her position, not chasing the bird, nor flinching at the sound of the shots. A second bird had been planted several yards from the first, but just left in the grass. Again, Aspen pointed the bird, it flushed, she held her position as another primed shell was fired.

A third bird was planted, but this time, loaded shells were in the shotgun. A find, point, flush and shot. Aspen held position. She was encouraged to "hunt dead", but the mark of the fallen bird was off about 10 feet (she did not find it). A friend and his GSP were out, so the other dog was brought in to find the dead bird. With the bird found, it was tossed out a few yards (with a good mark), and Aspen was encouraged to hunt dead. She pointed the dead bird very well. A short game of fetch with the dead bird, built a lot of excitement. She has very nice form on point and a natural deisre to retrieve to hand. Not bad for 6 months old!

06/28/2024

5 1/2 month old Aspen, in her natural state...DERP!

Address

61292 County Road 7
Elkhart, IN
46517

Telephone

+15742932124

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