Bill Culp was sad. He had just retired, at age sixty eight, from his job as dog trainer on Mossy Swamp Plantation. For the first time in forty years, he would not be going North July 6 to train bird dogs on the prairie. In the earliest years he had gone as a helper to an all-age for-the-public pro handler, then as a pro handler himself, and the last twenty years as the trainer on this South Georgia shooting plantation.
He told himself he had nothing to be sad about. He knew he was fortunate, was financially secure, unlike many who had “followed the dogs” and ended up at his age with nothing but arthritis from horse falls or worse. But the thought of not spending July, August and three weeks of September, his favorite part, on those limitless lands, not seeing the glorious sunrises and sunsets, not feeling the ceaseless winds on his face when they finally changed from blow torch to cool, then crisp at dawn, and again at the long day’s end, depressed him.
Then like a miracle he got the call. The caller was Ben Reach, the Albany lawyer. He had a most unusual proposal for Bill.
“Bill, how would you like to make one more trip to the prairies?”
Bill’s first thought was that Mr. Ben was calling to ask him to judge a prairie trial, which he would decline.
“It would be for a sort of luxury summer, compared to what you are used to.” (Ben had been to the camp Mossy Swamp’s owner provided his dog training team, a homesteader’s Sears house on lands bordering the Standing Rock Reservation with no electricity except a generator and limited other amenities, to put it mildly).
“What sort of trip are you talking about, Mr. Ben?” Bill asked.
“It’s a long story, Bill, but maybe it’s an opportunity you ought to consider,” Ben said.
Now Bill’s interest was peaked, and Ben sensed it. “If you are going to be in town this week, come by and I will explain. Or better still, let me buy you breakfast,” Ben said.
“I’ll meet you at Millie’s at seven tomorrow,” Bill said.
As expected, Bill saw on his arrival Ben Reach and Sam Nixon sitting in their usual booth in the back. On the way back to join them, he stopped to pay his respects to Millie, sitting behind the cash register by the door.
“Sit down, Bill,” Ben rose to shake, as did Sam. The tall gaunt outdoorsman took a seat besides Sam, his physician.
“How’s retirement?” Sam asked. “Trying to get used to it,” Bill said.
The three ordered fried catfish with grits and biscuits. As they sipped coffee and waited for breakfast, Bill said, “Mr. Ben, tell me about this opportunity to go north.”
“It’s a rescue mission. For an eighteen year old boy who is wandering in the desert.”
Bill knew from experience what this likely meant. He had several years in his long career been asked by Ben and Sam to hire on for the trip north a youngster in need of getting away from his environment and working hard physically under non-parental, that is objective and demanding, supervision. Bill had served as a Marine in Vietnam before becoming a dog trainer, and knew the Marine way of instilling discipline through work.
“What’s his story?” Bill asked.
“Lives in New York City, where his father is a banker, his mother a psychologist. Parents just split. He just finished high school and is supposed to enter college in the fall but is saying he won’t, apparently upset with both parents. His paternal grandfather thinks a summer working with you on the prairie training dogs might clear his mind.”
Ben said the grandfather’s name. Bill recognized it. He owned a plantation outside Thomasville, was rich as Creases, old Yankee money. Bill knew his plantation manager-dog man.
“Why doesn’t he send the lad north with Fred Eanes?” Bill asked.
“He considered that, but thinks he would do better with a stranger, and I told him of the successes you’d had getting rebellious boys straightened out with long days in the saddle,” Ben said.
“Here is what he proposes. He’ll supply you a rig and horses and his Montana ranch near Choteau to work on. You can take your grandson as a second helper — he knows from me about Eddie and thinks he might be a good influence on his grandson. (Eddie had gone north with Bill summers since he was twelve and he was now seventeen). He will pay you 50% more than you were making when you retired and pay Eddie whatever you say is fair.”
“What do we train?” Bill asked.
Ben smiled mischievously. “I’ve got that figured out. Tell me how many derbies you want to take. I’ll have them lined up.”
“How about twenty?” Bill said. Then he added, “Pointers or setters, no shorthairs, Brittainys, Gordons or other such.”
Ben nodded. “No problem.”
Ben had secured permission to offer a free summer of prairie training to dog owners of his choice for as many derbies as Bill wanted to take. That would be a deal few would refuse, considering Bill’s reputation for producing broke bird dogs, most without serious faults.
* * * * * *
They left Albany July 7, pulling a trailer loaded with the derbies and puppies and Bill’s three horses. Other horses, green, would be delivered to the ranch later and with the dogs would be part of the boys’ summer of education. The plantation owner’s grandson, Jimmy Walters, seemed to Bill sad and sullen, though polite.
For the first leg Bill drove, Eddie rode shotgun and Jimmy occupied the back seat, accompanied by Bill’s English Cocker, Rocket, given him as a retirement present by the employees of Mossy Swamp. Rocket was a male pup now nine months old and in basic training since Bill got him just after weaning.
Soon both boys were fitted with ear phones attached to iPhones, listening to music, and at the same time playing video games on other devices. Bill drove in silence until he reached the outskirts of Atlanta, then said, “OK, lads, the electronics era is over. Put those things away and help me with this traffic.”
Jimmy said, “Mr. Culp, I’ve got an app on my phone that can help you with the traffic. Let me show you what it can do.” With that Jimmy tapped Waze and placed his phone, connected to a charger port, on the console between Bill and Eddie. A minute later a voice directed taking an unscheduled exit to avoid a traffic tie up caused by a collision, then directed further detours around the mess. Before they came out on the north side route to Chattanooga, Bill was a firm believer in Waze and moods in the truck had lifted.
Bill asked Jimmy what he had done during his earlier high school summers.
“Camps mostly — sailing camp in North Carolina, soccer camp in New Hampshire, Lacrosse camp last summer in Vermont.”
Bill wanted to ask if he’d ever had a summer job, but resisted the urge. Then Jimmy volunteered, “During the school year I tutored autistic students two afternoons and on Saturdays.”
“Good for you!” Bill said, silently castigating himself for pre-judging. Then he said, “I’ll bet that will help you with the dogs and horses, because teachers gain patience and powers of observation it seems to me.” In minutes the three occupants of the cab were deep in a discussion of what this summer’s work would entail, with Jimmy asking most of the questions.
By the time they reached Choteau four days later they were not strangers and Bill and Jimmy had a healthy respect for one another. Eddie and Jimmy were also comfortable with each other and had discovered a mutual fascination with Major League Baseball statistics.
Bill found the ranch quite different from the Canadian and Dakota prairie lands he had summer trained on in earlier years. Twenty miles to the west stood the eastern-most ridges of the Rocky Mountains. Snow collected on them in fall, winter and early spring and their summer-melted snow fed ditches that irrigated the flat fields to the east, growing wheat and other crops and some grasslands. The fields were strewn with small rocks brought down by glaciers.
These were the lands Ivan Doig celebrated in his epic memoir This House of Sky in which he told of coming of age here with his father and grandmother, an itinerant ranch hand and ranch cook. It was perhaps Bill’s favorite book. He gave his dog-eared copy to Jimmy to read, and he finished it in two nights, then passed it to Eddie who also read it quickly.
The twenty dogs they had brought to train were between nine months and two years old, mostly pointers raised on plantations as wagon-string replacement prospects, and a few Kentucky-bred offspring of notable field trial sires. A few had been socialized and started, but most were pure green, allowed to run loose in puppy lots with other youngsters. These would present the biggest challenge.
The first few days the three worked on checking and patching pasture fence, installing fifty-gallon plastic barrels as dog houses in a shelter break, and stocking the modest ranch house with groceries. They visited the nearby Miller Hudderite Colony where fresh vegetables were offered for sale, and would return there often.
Bill divided the dogs between the boys, ten each, setting up a summer competition. Using the time-tested watch what I do method, Bill began check cording pups and the boys followed suit.
Bill found a source for pen-raised Chukars and barn-trapped pigeons and the three built a small pigeon coop with a Judas gate and a chicken-wire enclosed protective structure for the Chukars. Bill set up two horizontal barrel rigs under cottonwood trees. In the evenings the three watched dog training videos produced by a half dozen experts. The boys’ favorite was Ferrell Miller’s. The boys asked Bill questions as they watched.
They began roading the dogs with an ATV using a harness rig Bill had hauled up from Georgia. Bill was relieved to learn Jimmy had learned to ride on his grandfather’s plantation and that he naturally had instincts for dealing with dogs and horses. He also liked the lad’s curiosity about everything, a trait shared with Eddie.
They discovered the ranch lands held pheasants, sharp-tails and Huns in good numbers. Soon the three settled into a routine of working from horseback, at first allowing the pupils to find and chase. Only when the dog signaled its readiness to hold point did Bill begin steadying techniques. Bill emphasized patience, calmness and repetition. “Study your dog, each is different,” Bill said repeatedly.
They did most of the horseback work early in the morning and late in the afternoon because of heat. This left plenty of time mid-days for exploring in the truck the mountains to the west and the flat lands to the north and south.
Jimmy’s grandfather leased the farming and pasturing on the ranch to the next door neighbor, a third generation homesteader’s descendant, who also served as caretaker-watchman for the property. On his first visit after their arrival he said, “Before you go to training dogs here you have got to get one thing and never go without it, bear spray. There’s a bunch of grizzlies that will be holding up in the berry thickets in the woods on the west side of the ranch as soon as they start to ripen. They will move in one night, and as soon as you see bear sign you can count on it they are here, no telling how many. “
That day they went to the outdoors supply store in Choteau and bought six canisters of the recommended pepper bear spray. Bill also decided to holster at his side the 357 magnum revolver he usually kept locked in the truck’s glove compartment. For the first month no bears were seen. Then the neighbor came to warn that a bear had been reported seen crossing the highway from the west into the woods holding the berries.
When the pointers were well along in training, Bill decided to try using Rocket to flush for the most advanced derbies. Their routine now was for two men to be mounted horseback, and one to drive the ATV pulling a small trailer fitted with airline crates for four dogs. Rocket rode atop a crate fitted with a saddle blanket to give him traction.
Each man carried a canister of pepper bear spray attached to his belt with a backup in a saddle bag or attached to the ATV. They had studied carefully a YouTube demonstration by a Canadian Park Ranger on the proper use of the spray. “Be certain you are spraying down wind if you can. Otherwise you will be spraying yourself,” the Ranger said. The clerk who sold them the spray warned the same. The Ranger closed by saying, “Spray is the most effective way known to deter a bear attack, estimated effective 90% of the time.” What about the other 10%, they each thought. And what to do if the bear is upwind?
Suddenly their departure day for home approached. They had made good progress with the dogs, thanks mostly Bill felt because of the plentiful wild game birds. Snow melt in the irrigation channels, released there periodically, was ideal for allowing the dogs to take cooling dips occasionally.
Jimmy and Eddie each had a favorite derby that had demonstrated a super nose and a willingness to take training. They were steady to wing and shot now about 90% of the time. They had sparked a friendly rivalry between the boys, who called on Bill to comment on their performances (They were always put down as bracemates, sometimes early, sometimes near mid-day, most often late in the day. Bill’s recent comments had the dogs nearly equal. )
On the day before their departure for home, the derbies had been down forty minutes, each had scored two pheasant finds and one on Huns when they approached an irrigation channel hunting upwind. Suddenly they froze simultaneously. The boys were mounted, Bill driving the ATV with Rocket perched on his usual high seat watching.
“What do you think, pheasants, sharp tails or Huns?” Bill asked as the boys dismounted close behind their dogs and Bill heeled Rocket up for the flush. Then suddenly in the irrigation channel ahead an enormous Grizzly stood and stared at them. The ground tied horses caught its scent and thundered away to the rear. Bill realized his revolver was in its holster tied to the SUV’s handle bars.
Each of the three reached to his belt for bear spray and realized the bear was upwind, and thirty yards away. Bill thought of the Park Ranger’s warning and simultaneously said silent thanks the bear apparently did not have their scent yet. But Rocket had its scent and, ignoring Bill’s “Hup,” moved upwind to investigate.
When Rocket reached the bank of the irrigation channel the bear caught sight of him and roared. To Bill’s amazement Rocket did not tuck tail and flee but ran down the bank to investigate. Then the Bear charged Rocket who shot up the bank and circled toward the ATV, apparently planning to go to his perch atop the dog crates on the trailer. The Bear followed Rocket, so fast the three humans were sure the Cocker would be caught and destroyed by the claws or jaws of the bear.
Then they realized that Rocket’s maneuver had put the bear downwind of them where their bear spray had a chance to be effective. If only they could bring it to bear before the bear could destroy Rocket. According to the Ranger’s YouTube video, they needed to be within five meters (sixteen feet) of the bear before spraying.
Bill and the boys ran toward the bear, who was still intent on Rocket. Rocket mounted to his perch just as the bear reached the ATV and trailer and, standing on its haunches, swiped with a huge paw for Rocket, tearing the crates from their bungee cord moorings. Bill and the boys, approaching, yelled at the bear which turned toward them and received bear spray in the face from three canisters simultaneously. It shook its head, a fearsome scene, then ran on four legs for the berry-filled woods a hundred yards to the west. They could not believe its speed as they stood watching, dazed.
Meanwhile Rocket had returned to his place at Bill’s heels as if nothing had happened. His stub of a tail wagged with joy.
Then Jimmy turned to look for the derbies and realized they were still on point! The three men walked up to them and Bill signaled Rocket to flush. A dozen sharp-tails burst from the wheat stubble and flew for the woods.
“We won’t be going for more points on those,” Bill said.
They found the horses grazing a quarter mile away and returned to the little ranch house. After caring for the dogs and horses they grilled steaks and roasted vegetables from the Miller Colony for their final Montana supper. Early next morning they lit out for home with two more horses than they had come with, ready to be guest horses on Jimmy’s grandfather’s plantation.
All three took turns behind the wheel and they drove straight through except for a few breaks to let the horses and dogs relax and stretch and drink and eat. The last day, Bill asked Jimmy, “What are you going to do this fall?”
Jimmy smiled. “I’m going to join the Marines.”
* * * * * *
Author’s Note: This fictional story is dedicated to Jim Heckert, who for many years has trained dogs on a ranch near Choteau and who now serves as manager of Cedar Grove Plantation at Clarksville, Virginia, Will Pannill’s quail plantation founded by John Taylor Lewis II, kin of Meriwether Lewis of Lewis and Clark fame. The plantation’s manor house, built in 1838 and restored in 1929, 1950 and 1992, is a treasure and can be seen on the National Trust for Historic Preservation’s website (google Cedar Grove Plantation Clarksville, Virginia). Jim served in combat as a Marine in Vietnam.