Even the most seasoned Minnesotan was probably taken off guard by the blast of wintry weather on October's second weekend, dropping snow over much of the state and temperatures to well below freezing.

When we think of early tastes of winter, the standard seems to be Halloween, usually accompanied by fears that wee trick-ort reaters will freeze their little fingers and toes. Many Minnesotans re - member the Hall oween blizzard o f 1991, which dropped two to three feet of snow on much of the state. It was a mid-continent remnant of an uncommonly strong Atlantic weather system, which inspired the book and movie The Perfect Storm.

It's a pretty safe bet that we'll see a return of more seasonable weather before real winter arrives. Still, as I pondered the prediction of more snow and temperatures low enough for it to stay awhile, I felt an urgency to get out for an afternoon of grouse hunting.

What a difference a couple of weeks make. Instead of an impenetrable green jungle, much of the leafy canopy lay soft and wet on the ground, a result of the high wind and snow shower less than 48 hours before. There are still a lot of factors that make grouse shooting difficult, but at least there would be a chance for flushed birds to be seen.

In contrast to the unpleasant warmth of our last grouse trip, I was eager to hit the ground and get walking to begin generating some body heat. As was evident earlier, this is a good year for some of the foods most favored by grouse, especially gray dogwood. Also evident in this little patch of woods was the fact that they were being eaten; a good sign. Another good omen was the sound of a grouse drumming somewhere in the distance.

One of the benefits of damp earth and leaves is better scenting conditions for a dog. But a hunter with a reasonably good nose will pick up scents, too. Not the scent of grouse, but the spicy pungency of withering, decomposing vegetation. It's not fragrant like a flower. But when associated with something as enjoyable as grouse hunting, I find it sweet.

We walked briskly down a grassy trail and veered off it into an especially "birdy" looking tangle of brush. I question whether a hunter can truly feel a grouse's presence; at least not in the way that a dog catches scent. But I believe past experience can tell a hunter when he's in a spot with all the right elements. When it happens, senses come to full alert in anticipation that a bird is near. It happens too often to be mere coincidence.

Up ahead out of sight I hear a grouse flush. So much for the benefit of leaves being down. Moments later, from behind a blown-down tree, another rises, staying low and barely above the dead limbs. It's one of those "Should I?" flushes and I wait to see the bird before beginning to mount the gun to my shoulder.

That's the first mistake, but one I make at some point almost every year. Don't wait, but begin mounting the gun as you turn to catch sight of the flushing bird. It's just as easy to decide whether to shoot with the gun at your shoulder and you'll be ready for what may a very brief chance. I wait too long and don't fire. Replaying the scene in my mind, I probably could have taken the shot.

Daisy and I head back west, then veer south to walk a patch of brushchoked grassy meadow, thick with willow, alder, hazel and dogwood, with grass and wild berry vines underfoot, studded with occasional aspen, birch or scrub oak. It's here, from the base of an alder clump, that another bird erupts.

This time I don't make the mistake of waiting, but fire too soon, before the grouse is even at the top of the alders. Some may believe that you have to shoot with blinding speed to hit grouse. Often just the opposite is true. The rapid shot is often the poorly aimed shot, the gun not fully mounted, the shooter's face off the stock and not seeing the top of the gun's barrel. Mentally counting to two, or even three, before pulling the trigger is pretty good advice.

Having taken the shot with adrenaline-stoked speed and the poorest gun mounting form possible, I miss and to compensate I hurry the second and miss that, too. If this were football, we might call it pregame jitters. On our way out of this patch of cover, Daisy stops to sniff the skeletal remains of two deer, picked nearly clean by the scavenging clean-up crew of birds and rodents. Timber wolves, I'm guessing.

Frustrated by my poor performance, we move on to another patch of cover. Daisy flushes a woodcock, which flies almost directly at me, then veers hard right to barely miss my head. It flies just a short way and alights where I see it clearly on the ground, its large black eye a dead giveaway if you know where to look. It seems almost unfair to flush and attempt to shoot this "sitting duck," so I let it be. We flush two more and I make the same choice.

I've shot quite a few woodcock, but am less inclined to do so these days, now that I don't shoot over a pointing dog. The woodcock is a quail-sized bird, with dark meat, generally strong in taste compared to a grouse and not nearly as wary or elusive. Still, hitting them can sometimes be pretty challenging. A few hunt them almost in preference to grouse.

More grouse are occasionally heard drumming, from all quarters of the compass, it seems. We make a swing back through a good-looking corner we hunted before and I'm taken by surprise by a grouse flushing close by and to my left. I take more time for this shot, but the bird has only a short flight before it will be out of sight.

I don't see the bird fall, but when Daisy comes in I tell her "find the bird." We look carefully, but find nothing. It's what I thought, a miss, but we've checked anyway to be sure we don't leave a cripple or a dead bird in the field. It's nearly dark and we head for the car. Our scorecard does not read well, but we've moved birds and had shots. I tell myself I'll perform better next time, with some early season mistakes out of the way. We'll see.