Fall is my favorite time of the year. The days are cool, the nights are cold; I can finally sleep under the covers again. Water temperatures are low and the trout seem a little less selective. I live for the leaves, the color, the manifest glory of the Creator and . . . bird season. Rain, sleet, snow, or sunshine make no difference to me. I wake up early every Saturday morning from Opening Day till the very last for the pure pleasure of tromping through briars, bushes, fields and woods for grouse, pheasant and woodcock. Often I carry an old 16 gauge double my wife still thinks I bought for her.
There's always a pipe in the car to provide much needed warmth for my numb fingers during the drive home. That ritual has become a pleasant habit conducive to pondering what may have happened when a gaudy rooster went straight up but never came down. I tend to miss those easy shots.
Ever hear of Grouse-Moor by The House of Samuel Gawith? I hadn't, at least not until I wandered into a Northampton smoke shop last Friday. I'm a foolish man. Paste a hunting or fishing scene on something and my attention is instantly riveted. The graphics on the canister consist of a couple of dogs, a side-by-side and brace or two of grouse. Naturally, I just had to buy the blend.
Grouse-Moor is magnificent. I wish I could tell you what's in it, but I can't. Only three people associated with the manufacturer know the ingredients and flavorings, and they're not telling. The tobacco burns well, smells phenomenal, and tastes superb in a mossy sort of way. If a complaint has to be made, I would say it smokes a tad hot if puffed too vigorously. It's an Autumn mixture, without a doubt, eminently suited for the season depicted on the tin. You can bet I'll be burning a few bucks worth of this stuff over the next few weeks. The State of Massachusetts gives me seven sacred Saturdays in which to indulge the guilt of politically incorrect barbarism. I may not drop any more grouse than usual, but I'll definitely enjoy Grouse-Moor on that ride back to my humble, new and overpriced abode.
Try some yourself.
�copyright 2001, Perry S. Fuller
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