Coffee steeped in the French press while I took notice of the unusual deep purple hue of the predawn sky. The weather had kept the dogs and I indoors for weeks as negative temperatures stung the skin and snow continually accumulated. With the sunrise, clouds glowing orange like embers, and the rich aroma of fresh grounds drifting through the house warmed my desire to carry the double gun behind a bouncing setter.

The L.C. Smith (L.C.) was sitting on the couch from my failed attempt to reach the grouse coverts the day prior. Yuba was well aware and kept an eye on it, while I worked to empty my coffee mug before taking a stroll to the bedroom. I returned wearing my upland brush pants, and that was hint enough for Yuba.

I save the homestead hunts for Yuba due to her hip troubles. Short runs around the property with plenty of birds are good for her soul when she’s not up to running bigger country. It seems her interest in the local quail intensifies with snowfall, and she whines at the door as they feed by the blackberries in the yard.

A foot of crusty snow makes for an undesirable hunt, particularly on the steep slopes around the house where brush piles conceal the quail coveys. It was a snowshoe kind of day and a new type of hunt for this uplander, and I was unusually excited about it.

With snowshoes attached, I hiked effortlessly atop the several feet of drifted snow on the north side of the house, but the yard gate had frozen to the ground. Yuba and I skirted through the garden where I lifted the small back gate from its hinges, allowing Yuba to charge ahead to execute her own plan of attack.

Bird dogs have the memory of an elephant. They never forget where they have found birds in the past.

Months earlier, on the quail opener, Yuba intercepted a small group of young birds around the neighbor’s barn behind an old dozer. Of course, this was the first place Yuba checked upon busting out of the garden, but I knew better. I catalogue quail movement across the year on our homestead. When the weather is bad, they seek the brush piles and blackberries on our side of the property, where the food and cover provide winter protection. The large brush pile up the hill to my left about 80 yards certainly held quail.

Yuba was reaching a far strip of bunchgrass when she peered back to see me climbing the hill. She instantly knew where I was headed and doubled back on a beeline. Yuba skirted the brush pile to catch the downwind scent and slammed onto point, as expected.

Shuffling my snowshoes up to the brush pile, I could see a few quail scurrying around inside between Yuba and me. The L.C. barrels are choked modified and full, and I frequently miss birds by shooting too soon. Remembering this, I tried to keep my distance and let the covey flush on its own, but the birds refused to fly. Taking a few steps at a time, I closed the gap to the brush pile and was nearly standing inside of it before birds finally got up. The first few climbed the hillside straight away, and I watched the shot wad blow right past the bird twice with virtually no spread. Too close.

The handful of quail I expected in the brush pile turned into about 40, offering four more staggered flushes, prompted by the second report of the gun. The L.C. has a stiff breach, making swift reloading a challenge. “Lord, send me ejectors!” I thought, as I grappled through gloved hands at the empties.

Yuba charged ahead as we traversed the hill to four more brush piles stacked within about 40 yards of each other. Her first point came on a lower pile, but the prior shots put the birds on edge and quail were flushing wild. Luckily, half the birds fled into the pile nearest to me.

Upon approaching within 10 yards of the pile, the L.C. barked at a bird flying straight away and tumbled it cleanly. We enacted a repeat performance when another 20 birds erupted, following the report of the first shot. Yuba, who was still staunch on the lower pile, broke at the second shot and pursued the quail that deposited into the snowpack. She even retrieved one nearly to hand, which is uncharacteristic for her.

With the birds collected, I called the hunt. We had disturbed far more quail than I had intended, and I wanted to snag a few photos to commemorate our first-ever snowshoeing bird hunt before leaving the hillside to be reclaimed by the quail.

As I attempted to set up a photo scene, Yuba circled the next brush pile and struck another beautiful point. Reeling her in for photos was nearly futile, but I finally got her calmed enough to snap a few. The best part of the event was capturing the satisfaction on her face as she sat with the pair of males that came to hand.

Days like these make me wish I had a couple hundred acres. That many quail results in some fine gunning. We could have busted and pursued coveys down our creek bottom for hours if we just had more room. Yuba made a smug stroll back to the house while I pondered my satisfaction in her bird work and the effectiveness of the snowshoes for navigating the snowy quail coverts.