Of the half dozen or so really memorable performances I have witnessed, Grouse Ridge Storm’s 1994 win of the Grand National Grouse Championship at Gladwin, Michigan has to be one of them.

It was a tough stake — birds were really down for Gladwin. The judges were Dave Grubb from right there in Michigan and Ron Ashfield from New Brunswick. Dave, of course, had run on those grounds many times himself. If I remember right, the dogs got split up early on in the hour so Dave had Grouse Ridge Storm for the whole brace.

Storm, handled by Dave Hughes, ran huge. He had that kind of ground-eating gait and was on a mission from the first cast till the moment he was picked up. Every time I thought he was gone, he’d show to the front, right where he should have been and hunting every step of the way. At about the half, a grouse flew out of a tree and I remember hoping that wasn’t going to be Storm's lost opportunity. It wasn’t. Maybe 12 or so minutes later, his bell stopped way out in front. We had to walk a hundred yards before we even saw him, standing tall, facing us still about 80 yards off looking bold and confident. As Dave started towards him, a grouse exploded from right in front of him and blew back over his head. Storm never flinched. It was a beautiful piece of work.

Of course, the dog was really on fire after that but still handled and showed when he was called on. I knew that performance was going to be hard to beat. They had four or five other good ones but nothing I saw came close so, in my mind, the judges got it right.

Grouse Ridge Storm

Judge Dave Grubb, reporter Dave Fletcher, judge Ron Ashfield, Dave Hughes with Grouse Ridge Storm, Scott Chaffee with runner-up Jet's Aimee, various field trial officials and well-wishers.

1994_GNG_Report_Excerpt.pdf

Photos, excerpt of report courtesy of The American Field

Through the years I have been fortunate to witness some great races on the Canadian prairies. The prairies are a measurement of a dog who must be able to run them to the extreme if he or she is to be called an “all-age” contender. Whether it be the prairies of Mortlach, Stoughton, or Broomhill, the requirements are the same. One would like to see a great race rewarded, but that is not always the case when there is an absence of bird work. Such was the case in September 2006 during the running of the Pelican Open contested in Broomhill, Manitoba.

Lester’s Absolute handled by Colvin Davis was loosed in the rough pasture east of the Davis camp to begin the sixth brace of the stake. Heavy rain and wind had caused a two-hour delay and the threat of more rain was evident as dark clouds rolled across the prairie sky. Absolute wasted no time in going to the likely places in the rough pasture. Finding no game in the pasture, he crossed over into the Gervin alfalfa field. He was putting distance between himself and Colvin. He stayed on the north line in the alfalfa field and was last seen nearing the boundary road as Colvin entered the alfalfa field. Colvin stayed the course as he turned toward the Forsythe stubble field. Rip (Absolute) began to exhibit his training and desire to stay with Colvin because, although at a great distance, he turned on his own toward the front. He stayed on the east field edges as he took in the Forsythe and Tillbury fields. The distance between boundary roads here is one mile. Rip was consistently three quarters of a mile from Colvin. The course turned back west at the boundary road, but Rip held the line and continued southward. Normally the scout would have been dispatched, but the distance was much too great. Colvin continued to ride at his normal pace and “sing” to Rip. We watched as Rip neared the next boundary road and were amazed when he turned at the road. He was literally over a mile from his handler when he passed the distant farm headquarters without stopping. Rip continued to stay at this distance for the remainder of his bid, but he was never out of contact with Colvin. He crossed into the Gervin property and was seen working the shelterbelts as he headed toward Broomhill. Time was called as Colvin topped the rise in the alfalfa field. Rip was not in sight, but then he was spotted along the abandoned railroad roadbed still running hard almost a mile to the front. During the brace he had consistently stayed to the front at a range of three quarters of a mile and at times reaching a mile.  

Rip did not place in this trial; there were other dogs with acceptable races and bird work, but he laid down one of the greatest all-age prairie races that has ever been run. It was a race that will be forever etched into the memories of all who saw it.

Lester's Absolute, 2006, Broomhill, Manitoba

Colvin & Mazie Davis, Lester's Absolute, 2006, Broomhill, Manitoba

William Smith during a coffee break judging the 2007 Manitoba Championship in Broomhill. Also pictured, Canadian Vizsla trainer/handler John Reid, Randy Anderson, Ben Adams (judge), Mazie Davis and Hunter Gates.

Lester's Absolute, 2007

I guess my favorite field trial bitch of all time was Stanton’s Victory. Her kennel name, of course was “Vicky”!!!

The first time I saw Vicky as an all-age performer was at the Continental Championship in 1955.

A freak “Blue Norther” misdirected from Texas and Oklahoma eastward to Georgia blew in at the Georgia-Florida border, about 30 miles east of Tallahassee, where we were running.

I was thirty years old and I had never seen sleet and hominy snow that far south. It was about January 24th, and the system just invaded, with winds over 25 miles an hour. You could tell, because the broom sedge was bending almost horizontal to the ground.

Judge Dick Dumas was into his handy slicker suit in a flash. Dr. Earl Miles, from Brooklyn, donned his parka and drew the string tight. I had no rain suit.

But Stanton’s Victory and one-eyed Howard Kirk, who had walked iron, cared not one whit for the inclemency.

Mrs. Livingston’s quail greeted the storm with glee and paraded out to meet Vicky.

She pointed first at some budding plum bushes. That’s how warm it had been. She had ‘em right in front of her, and Howard showed the birds. About nine minutes later, and I could see her pink-frosted tipped tail now, trembling and high.

Now it sleeted and visibility was bad—for everyone except Howard Kirk and Vicky. Howard picked his leather and ruberoid hat off of his bald head a third time and the little ice granules showered and bounced off his pate as he rode to a hilltop.

I was soaked and shivering and I cannot remember whether the other dog had been taken up or not. But, for one reason or another, as soon as he had Vicky away from that last find, Howard drifted back behind Judge Dumas to Dr. Earl Miles, reached over, and drew the drawstring bowknot loose from Dr. Miles slicker-parka top, and hollered in his ear:

“Tha’ll due respect. Doc Miles, you cannot see nothin’ through that consti-pated lil hole, now!!! Come on up here, throw that parka back and watch this bitch... Cause she’s dam sure winning this champeeenship!!!”

As we finished that brace, and Howard rubbed Vicky down, Mrs. Eleanor Livingston, owner of Dixie Plantation, sent her horse trainer in a jeep to get me. He wasn’t ever solicitous of anyone’s discomfort, left to his own designs and decisions.

“Mrs. Livingston says you get down and get to a dry warm place,” he said sternly. “You ain’t dressed for this.” I hadn’t noticed that my windbreaker and vest were soaked through. My old newsman’s fedora was soppy like a rag. Only my behind was dry. Well...damp.

“Okay, J. B.,” I said. “She’s got more sense than all of us. This field trial is over, anyway...”

And it was. But here’s a sequel.

A shooting dog entrepreneur tried all spring and summer to buy Vicky from her owner, Mr. Mitchell. This man from up east had enough money to burn up a snow packed woolly mammoth, but he balked within a few dollars of Mr. Mitchell’s asking price.

Howard Kirk told John S. Gates what was happening, and hinted that Gates had “some owner, certainly” who could step in and snatch up the great young bitch. “If I can’t keep her, I hope you can get her,” Kirk reportedly said.

On the anniversary of Vicky’s miraculous performance, John Gates turned her loose at Dixie Plantation in the Continental again. This year it was 80 degrees in the shade in January, and it hadn’t rained between Monticello, Florida and Quitman, Georgia in five weeks.

Vicky swept away independently and had three finds in the first 40 minutes, all perfect. Then she was gone for a while. I don’t remember just how long, but it was nearly 15 minutes, and she was a front running, showy field trial performer, and this was extremely uncharacteristic.

She came back from the left side of the course, and had three more finds—one on which she was found straight ahead and to the right under a live oak, near pickup time, the 110-minute mark.

She won the Championship for the second consecutive year.

But, for the time she was gone, she had been, mistakenly, collared and locked in the Quail Lodge kennel by another dog trainer. And, she was released by another pro, who hastily interceded and directed her back to her handler, Gates and the horse gallery.

I always wondered who the zealous fellow was and who the good Samaritan was. About two months before he died, John told me who the trainer was who returned Vicky to the field trial in time to keep her from being disqualified. It was Bill Conlin, a classically educated architect who was smitten with pointers and setters and trained professionally for the “eastern circuit” and attended some Southern trials and trained in Canada. He and I were always very close, I thought. We were drawn to one another and discussed many things outside Birdogdom. But he never told me who put Vicky up.

Just four years later, a great old Hall-of-Famer, Ed Farrior, won his last championship at the Continental with Crossmoke, a white an orange pointer bitch, whose last find was so far away, that Mr. Farrior didn’t get there for four minutes. Prior to that, the large gallery and both judges took at least three minutes to get to the live oak copse where John Gates sat on his horse, hat raised. He had called point for Mr. Farrior and remained there, protecting the bitch and her “find”, until judges and handler could get there.

In doing so, he neglected his own brag dog, Medallion, which was soon lost out of judgment. Mr. Farrior and Crossmoke won the title, of course. I can remember one dog trainer in that gallery, Winfred Campbell, crying... Huge tears rolling down his cheeks. I remember thinking at the time. “Yeah, that’s really unselfish of John but isn’t Winfred overreacting?”

Then, on April 11, 2005, I have corroboration of an aged suspicion, born on that desert-like day of Crossmoke’s triumph at Dixie.

A witness has unloaded on me: It was Mr. Farrior who, believing she was lost and out of judgment, mistakenly placed Vicky in the kennel in 1956, and John Gates repaid him with gallantry.

Stanton's Victory

Howard Kirk

John S. Gates and Bill Allen

Ed Farrior

John S. Gates

I met Robert Wehle, Dick Shear and Elhew Flying Dutchman on Sunday, November 3, 1974. I was at the Gladwin grounds after the Lake States Grouse Championship had concluded and had arranged to stay right through the conclusion of the Grand National Grouse Championship and Futurity. The Grand always started on the first Tuesday of November and it was the Sunday before.

I was standing in the parking lot of Alibi Hall when a dark green, wood-sided station wagon pulled in with New York license plates. I recognized Bob Wehle immediately and casually welcomed them to Michigan. Bob said they had just arrived in town and needed a place to work their dogs on some birds. Not being suspicious, I volunteered to show them some spots as I was going to work my dog too. Afterwards I realized that they had probably been to Gladwin more times than I and just wanted to find some new places. Anyway, I volunteered and took them to one of my favorite spots where I had found grouse a few days before.

On our way out of the Gladwin Refuge, with me following behind them, Dick Shear suddenly slammed on his brakes, jumped out of the car, ran to the rear hatch and opened the four wooden crates that were stacked in the back. Four liver pointers jumped out and ran to the front of the car. I opened my door, got out and walked to the front of their car and there was Elhew Flying Dutchman pointing a grouse on the side of the road and the three younger dogs backing him. Dick had seen the grouse on the side of the road and wanted to show off. Bob Wehle and Dick Shear were showman if nothing else.

Bob Wehle was one of the most imposing and, frankly, intimidating men I’ve ever met. If you’ve ever seen a movie with Shaun Connery, they could be clones. Bob was at least 6’ 3’’ and built like a prize fighter. He had very bushy eyebrows and a deep, resonant voice. Every word he spoke was cautiously selected and you could tell he was used to being the boss. He had been raised in a very prominent family, was well educated and certainly made his presence known.

Dick Shear was somewhat the opposite. Although he was known and respected as one of the deans of grouse trials he was always unassuming, kind and gracious. He did have his opinions but seldom offered them unless asked. I headed a committee that started the National Amateur Grouse Championship and when I called to ask him to support our efforts with the AFTCA, he chewed me up one side and down another. He was insistent that there were already too many grouse championships and an Amateur would only distract from the Grand National.

After reaching my favorite cover, Dick and Bob took Dutchman out for less than an hour and then ran the three younger dogs at once. I was told that each of them had a well handled grouse find but I had stayed behind and can’t verify it.

The morning of Dutchman’s brace, Dick asked me if I’d scout for him. I was certainly glad to do so even though Dick had told me it would more than likely not be necessary. Dutchman had the reputation of being a hard running, hard to handle dog so I smiled when he said it and fully expected I’d be running all over God’s green earth looking for the dog.

When Dutchman was turned loose, in a light rain, what followed was probably one of the very best performances I have ever seen. He was a powerful, high headed, high tailed animal that moved through the woods with unusual grace. He rounded his casts to the front and when he popped out of the cover, Dick simply pointed his walking stick in the direction he was to proceed in and Dutchman responded immediately. Four times, at the end of long casts Dutchman had grouse finds with the birds pinned and precisely located. Birds had been scarce and four finds was an incredible feat. There was no doubt Elhew Flying Dutchman was the 1974 Grand National Grouse Champion.

After the announcement, the celebration and all the hoopla, Bob Wehle moved next to me, extended his hand to shake mine and thanked me for helping them. He then said “I know you have setters but I want to send you a dog.” I assured him that was unnecessary but in my heart I was hoping he remembered and meant it.

The following March, one evening after work, I answered the phone. It was Bob Wehle saying he had a dog for me. It was a liver male out of Elhew Huckster, had been born in January and was ready to go. Of course I was ecstatic and immediately made plans to add a third run to my kennels. Ten days later I picked up Elhew Drummer at the Saginaw airport and began my 35 year love affair with Elhew Pointers.

An excerpt of the report describing Elhew Flying Dutchman:1974GrandNationalGrouseChampionshipReport.pdf

Photo and report courtesy of The American Field.

In the early eighties I attended the National Amateur Quail Championship when it ran at Inola, Oklahoma. I was just starting to cut my teeth in the horseback game and wanted to watch some of the best dogs in the country. The lineup of dogs included White Knight’s Button handled by his owner, Jack Fiveash, Judge Lee West’s string of Barshoe dogs, and many other greats who were on the circuit at that time. There were more trucks that had the look of a Uhaul than there were pickups and the big horse trailers we see today. These trucks where customized with dog crates and a large area for the horses who were walked up a steep ramp into the back of the truck.

The performance that I have referred to many times as the best All-Age performance that I have ever seen was Addition’s Go Boy handled by his owner, Mr. Pete Frierson. Go Boy broke away, disappearing over the far-off horizon. Before long, point was called by his scout and, following a long ride to get to the dog, a large covey of quail was flushed. Go Boy was released again, made another far-flung cast and as far as you could see ahead, the dog was pointing again. After another long ride, we moved in on the motionless dog and a large group of prairie chickens lifted! This may had been around the 45 minute mark. Yet again the dog reached for more country and the call of point came from the scout. The dog’s style was perfect. As Mr. Frierson moved in to flush the birds, they lifted and went over the dog’s head. He turned and marked their flight, taking about one too many steps causing him to be disqualified...but the performance was unbelievable. It may have been THE ONE that headed me in the direction to the All-Age game as a breeder, amateur handler and now as a professional All-Age trainer. 

That year, The National Amateur Quail Championship was won by the great El Sauz Doll. The prior year, Addition’s Go Boy and Pete Frierson won runner-up laurels in the same event held at the Blackwater River State Forest near Munson, Florida in which Charlie Jackson’s pointer “Nitch” was named winner.

In 1988, Addition’s Go Boy did finally win the prestigious National Amateur Quail Championship handled by Pete Frierson’s able assistant, Jerry Black. Reporter Linda Hunt wrote:

“Addition’s Go Boy, puissant ten-year-old white and liver pointer male has captured the 71st renewal of the National Amateur Quail Championship, the flagship event of the Amateur Field Trial Clubs of America. The celebrated veteran, owned by Mr. and Mrs. Pete Frierson of Clinton, Mississippi, was handled by Jerry Black in the 90 minute challenge during which he logged four finds to emerge victorious in a field of 46.”

The running was contested over the fabulous Chinkapin Farm of E. L. (Ted) Baker near Lake City, Florida. (commencing March 7)

In October, only months later in the same year, “Buddy” won the 56th running of the National Amateur Pheasant Championship at Killdeer Plains. Reporter H.O. Price wrote:

“What is left to write about a dog which has already won eight championships outright and has been runner-up in fourteen other championship events?...

“...it is the redoubtable Addition’s Go Boy, the white and liver pointer — soul-of-consistency — has become ten years of age, despite which, in the period since the color insert (1987 American Field Christmas Edition) appeared he has won two of the four majorest National Championships sponsored by the AFTCA...”

Champion Addition’s Go Boy was inducted into the Field Trial Hall of Fame in 1990. Here is the write-up: AdditionsGoBoy_HOF_1990.pdf

Photo and excerpt courtesy of The American Field

I had the privilege of being asked to judge the Continental Championship in 2002. The performance of Barshoe Esquire, handled by Andy Daugherty, will always stick in my mind as one of the greatest all-age performances on wild birds that I have witnessed. Esquire ran in the first brace in the morning, which is usually good for wild birds, so my judging partner, Dale Bush, and I were already looking forward to a good heat and Esquire showed us that it would be by pointing his first covey at about 5 minutes. The dog had an uncanny way of staying to the front. Every time we thought he was gone, he was either on point or showed up front. I recall having him a long way to the front on one occasion and then after making a turn on the course, not seeing him again until point was called by the scout, Colvin Davis, in the same area I last saw him take the front. He had a woodcock find and handled it perfectly. His bracemate was picked up so Andy had the course to himself after less than an hour of the 1 hour 50 minute heat. I remember Andy gathering Esquire up just at the right time once as we rode into a tight turn through heavy cover. Dale and I were very thankful for Andy’s foresight to get him through that difficult part of the course as he was really running hard. He could have easily been lost there.

As soon as we got out of that area, Andy let him roll again and out of site he went. As you might guess we were a bit uneasy about him doing this now. To this point Esquire had shown us all the qualities we were hoping to see for a champion in this trial. As we continued, low and behold there he stood, high and tight on yet another covey of birds, his fourth out on a limb find! He just kept getting stronger and reaching farther and Andy just going along like it was just another workout. Dale and I got really nervous when we did not see the dog at about 1 hour 25 minutes after making a huge cast to the right near some really thick woods. Andy called and called to no avail and then went in search of him along with Colvin. We got on a hill trying to hear the call of POINT. Finally after a lapse of 10 minutes, which seemed like eternity, the called came from out front, which shook the trees. We and the gallery rode like we were at Churchill Downs to get to the magnificent statue of a dog standing down in a gulley with high head and tail. Andy got off, flushed his birds and asked how much time was left! I cannot remember exactly but I know it was less than ten minutes and we told him so. He turned Esquire loose and never hesitated to send him on. When he got to the end of a long cast rounding a field we called time and I believe it was about a minute or two ahead of the 1 hour 50 minute mark but we could not stand another suspenseful time hunting him up on point again. He had great 5 finds and a true all-age race.

2002_ContinentalReport_BE.pdf

Championship Winners. In foreground, from left: Barshoe Esquire with Colvin Davis and Miller’s Southern Pride with Scott Beeler. Standing: John Finlayson, Dale Bush, judge; Andy Daugherty, John Rex Gates, Sharleen Daugherty, Sherry Ebert, judge; Hanna Miller, Julie Miller, Rick Furney, Peter Miller, Chip McEwan, Sonny Reed and Joe Milligan.

Courtesy of The American Field Publishing

Flaming Star, 6 1/2-year-old white and orange setter dog owned by Mrs. G. Gunby Jordan of Columbus, Ga., handled by Herman Smith, turned in a sterling performance in 95 degree heat to capture the revived Saskatchewan Chicken Championship. Star rendered an hour of distinction, delivered in oven-like heat, just two degrees shy of the all-time high for September 4 in the Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan area. Star had two great finds in a ground devouring effort.

The revival of the Saskatchewan Open Chicken Championship was on a high note and despite almost record-breaking temperatures, well conditioned contenders made stout bids for the prized crown. Flaming Star’s triumph will be hailed by setter fans everywhere. Many have been awaiting such a victory by the stylish longhair and to have him achieve the distinction under weather that would seem to wilt even the stoutest of heart brings an extra measure of gratification.

As has been said, the thermometer showed 95 degrees and what little breeze there was seemed only to worsen matters. But the gritty setter paid no attention to the heat and ran without a letup for the full hour, just as hard driving at the finish as when he started. He negotiated his country well, his casts were huge and directed intelligently to promising cover. He used the wind advantageously when he neared objectives.

Flaming Star’s first find was outstanding. It came as a result of a swing from a barren rise where he had completed a huge forward cast. Star, slanted across the gallery, well forward and headed for a pocket of bluffs; he did not show and a scout was dispatched to find the lofty setter on an inspirational point. The work was flawless. Sent on towards another series of bluffs perhaps an eighth of a mile ahead, he rounded the upwind edge and pointed again, handling more chickens perfectly. Star, for the remainder of the hour, ran to the limits of the course, finishing strongly over a far rise.

Runner-Up: Homerun Johnny. Flaming Star’s superlative first find provided the wee margin he needed to take the title.

Judges: Delmar Smith, Edmond, OK and John Criswell, Ada, OK

Reporter: David A. Fletcher. Photo and excerpt courtesy of The American Field