Whenever a new spot produced some grouse, we circled its location on our map, gave it a name, and added it to our string o' pearls. Five Aces, of course. Hippie House, Stick Farm, John's Knoll, Arnold's Picker, Red Bloomers, Lost Eyeglasses, Marilyn Monroe. Just naming them floods me with half a century's worth of memories. Dad, of course; Burt Spiller, Frank Woolner, Harold Blaisdell, and Corey Ford, the men of my father's generation who shared their wisdom and their covers with me; Keith, Art, Skip, and Jason, bird-hunting partners of my own generation; Macko, Bing, Duke, Cider, Bucky, Waldo, and Freebie, bird dogs both mediocre and gifted, but all lovable; points and retrieves, flights of woodcock and broods of grouse, shots made and shots missed.