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There are times when a fairly insignificant incident can make a lasting impression. Several years ago, I took my granddaughter Carol, with me as we headed into an area between Wilson's Mills, and Rangeley Lakes, in western Maine, to go brook fishing for Eastern brook trout.

The area is fairly remote, so we had to walk some distance to reach the stream. After a walk through some fairly thick underbrush and old cut over land, we arrived at the brook and started fishing downstream.

We were enjoying the beautiful weather, but not the mosquitoes. Fortunately, we had brought repellent with us, which we applied liberally. We each caught a few trout, but the fishing wasn't as good as it had been in past years. Just the same, we were both enjoying ourselves.

We were engrossed with our fishing, but glanced quickly behind us, when we heard a loud fluttering of wings. It sounded like a partridge (ruffed grouse) taking off. I was somewhat surprised to see a spruce partridge land close by, in a clump of alder bushes. It wasn't over thirty feet away and only about seven or eight feet above the ground.

Carol had never seen a spruce partridge, so she asked me what kind of bird it was? I told her it was a spruce partridge and informed her that this specie of bird does not live in the southerly part of Maine but are fairly common in the northern part of the state. I also added that they are sometimes referred to as "fool hens".

I went on to explain that I have heard stories of how the Indians, who lived in the area many years earlier, sometimes caught spruce partridge with their bare hands, by sneaking up on them ever so slowly, and grasping them by their feet as they sat on a branch. Of course I had no way of proving this to be a true tale, or a fable, but I decided to try to show Carol just how tame they appear to be around human beings.

Slowly I advanced toward the bushes where the spruce partridge was perched. When I got close enough, I slowly reached up through the branches with my fishing rod, intending to touch the bird’s back. Even I was surprised when I managed to do this with the tip of the fishing rod.

Then I slowly stroked the back of the bird several times. The partridge never moved, and in fact seemed to enjoy having its back rubbed lightly.

Carol couldn't believe what she was seeing and even I was a bit surprised to see the bird remain motionless during the time I was doing this. After a short time, I slowly pulled the fishing rod back and moved away from it. It was still sitting on that same branch as we moved on downstream to continue our fishing. I believe I had proven to Carol my point about the term: "fool hen"

A. Sayward Lamb