Call of the Wild

On a pine-swathed Bavarian mountain last week, U.S. Hunter Jack Johnson and his German guide suffered silently through a bone-chilling predawn drizzle. Suddenly, the woods ahead came alive to a bizarre sound: a series of clucks, like popping champagne corks, followed by a throaty gurgle. Johnson lurched forward for three steps, only to freeze motionless--one foot poised ludicrously in midair--as the sound stopped abruptly. In such quick, sporadic scrambles, Johnson covered 150 yds. before he spotted his quarry: a green-and-grey bird with red-hooded eyes, perched comfortably on a pine branch. Johnson's double-barreled shotgun shattered the morning, and the bird dropped. After six years of trying, the hunter had finally bagged his first Auerhahn--the plump European grouse (English name: capercaillie) so rare that it is verboten to shoot more than one in a lifetime, so elusive that only the most persistent hunter ever brings home his quota.

For delicacy, devotion and disappointment, few sports come close to the Auerhahn shoot. Only the male of the species may be hunted, and the bird is so cagey that it can be approached only during mating season--when its sharp sense of hearing is momentarily dulled by the ecstasy of its own love call. Bad weather or bad luck can plague the most careful stalker. Heavy winds, for example often drown out the telltale mating call; morning alpine mists make successful camouflage. And when the Auerhahn is not clucking rapturously, it is listening intently for female response; the slightest sigh from its pursuer can frighten the bird into flight.

To make matters worse, the Auerhahn sings mostly at night, only when it feels the urge, and never for more than half an hour at a time. Many a luckless sportsman has shivered through an entire night in the dank, cold forest, only to go home at dawn--sniffling and hungry--without once having heard the pop of a cork. Since 1954, only 268 Auerhahne have been shot in the West German woods. Of these, 90 were shot down by U.S. armed forces personnel, who have taken to the sport with so much enthusiasm that they have already organized 100 hunting parties for the 1961 season that opened last week.

Happy Hunter Johnson celebrated his kill in traditional German fashion. First, his guide solemnly removed his hat, plucked two twigs from the nearest shrub. He placed one in the dead bird's beak, dipped the other in the wound and stuck it in Johnson's hatband to symbolize the bond between hunter and hunted. The two men squatted bareheaded on the ground, observed 15 minutes of silence in memory of the fallen grouse. Then Johnson slung his 10-lb. prize over his shoulder and headed for a taxidermist. For though the Auerhahn makes a fine trophy, it is frightful table fare: its flesh has a decided flavor of turpentine.

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