Alaska’s Bird of Fire

Sharp-tailed grouse in the Last Frontier

From our March/April 2025 issue

Some 11,000 years ago, Alaska looked a lot different than it does today. While the rest of North America was still covered with ice, Alaska’s interior region (and part of Canada’s Yukon Territory) was a vast steppe grassland where dinosaurs had once roamed. Raging wildfires continually revitalized the grass and kept the boreal forest at bay. Sharp-tailed grouse thrived.

Eventually the weather changed, the ice melted and the boreal forest began dominating the region. Forced to adapt or perish like the dinosaurs, sharptails adapted to the changing conditions. They continued to thrive and expand throughout the interior region of the Last Frontier. My Brittanys and I are thrilled to have them here and have been pursuing them for more than 30 years. 

Much the same bird that is hunted by so many in Plains states like Montana and North and South Dakota, Alaska’s sharp-tailed grouse presents hunters with some much-different challenges and experiences. Predominantly found in the broad Yukon Valley between the Brooks Range to the north and the Alaska Range to the south, the grouse still requires a grass habitat; but mainly that grass grows in vast wildfire areas a few years after the fires are over and rebirth begins. Considering that as much as 1 million acres of Alaska burn each summer caused by upward of 32,000 lightning strikes, that’s a lot of new grouse habitat. 

Interestingly, after years of regrowth many of these burn areas eventually become less favorable to sharptails, which are then replaced by ruffed grouse. Fine with me. 

Indeed, it’s not just wildfire-burn areas where sharptails thrive; they can be found in many grassy areas like muskeg bogs, grassy river gravel bars and artificial disturbances like rights-of-way and farms. In 1978 Alaska opened some 60,000 acres of potential farmland in the Delta Junction area, in the heart of the interior region. Many farms chiseled out of the boreal forest succeeded, but many did not. Today crops consist mainly of barley and hay, and there is a growing number of beef-cattle and bison operations in the area. 

Farms participating in the Conservation Reserve Program (CRP) have provided sharp-tailed and ruffed grouse with ideal habitat, but don’t plan on getting to hunt one of these farms if you travel to Alaska. Farmers are inundated with requests to hunt and plagued by poachers, so the chances of getting on one of these grassy spreads are not good. 

If you choose not to hunt in a wildfire area and instead find yourself near Delta Junction, there is excellent public land available to hunt. One place in particular is the Delta Junction Bison Range. Resembling a farm with excellent grass and shrub habitat and aspen and spruce windrows where grouse loaf and seek cover from inclement weather and raptors, there are 90,000 acres to roam and hunt. You also may just come upon a herd or two of wild bison when there. 

The Delta Junction Bison Range is tucked below the nearby Alaska Range, where hunters can view steep, snow-capped granite spires or imagine Dall sheep munching on grass and grizzly bears roaming the tundra below. The glacier ice wedged into deep mountain ravines is a bonus. Wolves and coyotes move about the entire valley and beyond, while sharp-eyed eagles and falcons soar on the winds. Occasionally my dogs push moose out of the timber and send them running across the CRP fields where I hunt. There’s more, but you get the point. 

Another interesting twist to our farthest-north sharptails is that many of the birds migrate out of the valleys in early October and head to higher elevations. They take up winter residence on tundra slopes where rock ptarmigan are also found. There the grouse gorge themselves on over-ripened blueberries until the snow covers the plants and they must turn to eating the buds and twigs of prolific dwarf birch—the same food of choice of the rock ptarmigan that will migrate into the subalpine area. It’s possible to take both species on the same hunt, but that’s a subject for another story. 

My close-to-home subalpine area experienced a significant wildfire four years ago, and the grass that has grown up is now prime habitat for late-season migrating sharptails. In addition to the knee-high grass and scattered alder patches, the hillsides are covered with patches of blueberries, which the grouse crave.

September is the fall season in Alaska, and I’ve enjoyed 55 of them thus far and hope to enjoy many more. No more training birds for pups or tune-up birds for older dogs; September is our time to hunt wild birds in wild places. No more hikes up and down local ski slopes to prepare for the long walks behind a brace of enthusiastic bird dogs. It’s showtime, and we won’t rest until the snow covers the ground, the temperatures drop below freezing and the loss of daylight makes each day incredibly short. 

Every time I pull into the parking spot along a grassy two-track on my longtime friend’s farm, my excitement is palpable. Any worries I have seem to drift away on the breeze that’s always present in this wide-open place near the foothills of the Alaska Range. I have decades of unforgettable memories hunting this land with many great bird dogs. 

This particular day I donned my vest, uncased my shotgun and calibrated the compass on my Garmin GPS tracker. Two impatient Brittanys fidgeted in their kennels, and I struggled to attach tracking collars to them before putting them on the ground and sending them off. In a flash, both dogs, which were quite familiar with this target-rich environment, were out of sight and searching for grouse. 

The two-hour drive had left me a bit stiff, but it didn’t take long for my legs to warm as I settled into a comfortable pace. The temperature was in the 40s, the sky was blue with puffy white clouds, and a good breeze out of Canada was keeping the dogs cool and hopefully would carry bird scent to their noses. 

Working along aspen and spruce windrows, where grouse loaf and seek cover, can be productive.

Some days we have to walk a mile before the dogs strike scent, but this day we were within a half-mile of the truck when both dogs began sniffing around some large patches of Kinnikinnick berries along the edge of a thick windrow. The small red-to-orange berries are the food of choice for sharptails when blueberries aren’t available. As the dogs circled about and breathed in the scent, their short tails whirled in small circles—a sure sign that grouse had been here recently. My older dog, Clyde, is well-experienced at circling to find a breeze that might carry grouse scent, and this time was no exception. I held my position and let both dogs work the area. 

Young Teddy was busy working through the knee-high grass in the open field to my right, while Clyde had slipped through the windrow and cautiously worked up along the opposite side. Within minutes, Clyde was standing point, and when Teddy drew near, I held up a hand to signal him to stop. 

I fully expected that whatever birds were there had already moved ahead of Clyde and that I would find them inside the windrow or pushing out on my side. And sure enough, when the small flock of sharptails flushed, some went out on Clyde’s side but several came out of the aspen trees on my side—a huge mistake. My 20-gauge side-by-side came to my cheek and shoulder as I tracked a bird. Butt, belly, beak, bang! The sharptail folded into the knee-high grass and scrub brush. Swinging on a second bird, I was delighted to see it fall as well. 

After the dogs completed the retrieves, I took a moment to look out over the sea of grass and shrubs. I couldn’t imagine the work it must have taken to clear this land. Hard-working men with chainsaws, bulldozers and all-important fire made it what it is today. For all of this, the grouse and I are thankful. 

As I continued along the edge of the windrow, the Garmin tracker alerted me that Teddy was pointing on the other side of the trees, still thick with yellow leaves. I pushed through the undergrowth, and when I broke out on the far side, I saw the young Brittany out in the grass, looking like a statue placed there to honor a great bird dog.

Again confident that the grouse had moved ahead, I circled in hopes of flanking them. The tactic worked to a degree, as when the birds flushed, several were within range, although most were at the edge or beyond. I dropped one and let the others fly. 

The author with his young Brittany, Teddy, and a brace of sharptails taken in a wildfire-burn area.

True to form, there was more space between bird finds than I’d hoped, but as the miles accumulated, my hard-working dogs sporadically found singles, pairs and small groups of fidgety sharptails. Along the way they also found two ruffed grouse, which added greatly to the day’s excitement. 

The glimpse of a coyote slinking away in the tall grass was not so exciting. Earlier I’d found the remains of an adult red fox that I’d presumed had been killed by a coyote. A nearby farm-owner friend who has set out trail cameras has captured images of herds of wild bison and the occasional wolf. Grizzly bears also have been seen in the area. Coming upon bison is no big deal, but I can do without close encounters with big, toothy critters . . . .

With five sharptails and one ruffed grouse in my game vest, I gathered the dogs and headed in a more-or-less straight line toward the truck. Once there, I cased my shotgun and gave each dog a tailgate inspection and rinsed their eyes with saline to get out any seeds or other foreign objects. 

While the dogs lapped up water laced with Glycocharge, I checked the Garmin tracker and found that each had covered more than 20 miles and that I had traveled eight. The dogs looked none the worse for wear—me, not so much. 

After putting the dogs in their kennels and giving them treats for the ride home, I started the truck and reluctantly headed out onto the country road. As I drove, I relived the day’s events and glimpsed some ruffed grouse coverts that I vowed to check out later in the month. Knowing that fall in the Last Frontier flies by so quickly, I was already looking forward to another adventure hunting sharptails—Alaska’s bird of fire—in the magical place we love.  

Finding the Bird of Fire

Alaska is huge—larger than the states of Texas, California and Montana combined. There’s plenty of room to hunt, fish and explore, so a little guidance on where to go is in order. 

The Interior region, north of the Alaska Range, is the best place to hunt for sharp-tailed and ruffed grouse. If you choose Fairbanks, where I live, as your hub, hotels and B&Bs as well as vehicle rentals are plentiful enough. Four significant highways lead out of Fairbanks—Parks, Steese, Elliott and Richardson—and you can find sharp-tailed, ruffed and spruce grouse for at least 100 miles along any of them (although sharptails can be more difficult to locate). In addition, willow and rock ptarmigan are in some of the higher areas.

With few gas stations along these lonely highways, fuel can be challenging to find; so the motto in Alaska is: “If you can get gas, get it.” Don’t be fooled into thinking that since you have a half-tank, you’ll be perfectly fine.

Camping is an excellent idea, so that you don’t have to spend most of your adventure driving back and forth from a distant hotel or B&B. And bring a fly rod. Many interior streams have Arctic grayling, and they are pretty hungry during the fall. 

Not all of the land along the highways is open to hunting, so using the onX app is a good idea. A Garmin inReach is another smart tool to have, because cell reception is nonexistent in remote areas. If you bring a bird dog, it’s best to have a “vet kit,” as well, because once you leave the city, veterinarians are even harder to find than sharp-tailed grouse. 

Regarding sharptails, the Delta Junction area, about 100 miles southeast of Fairbanks, is productive. But there are plenty of other places to find them. For example, you might try the grassy wildfire areas along the Steese Highway out of Fairbanks or the same types of areas along the Elliott Highway after it turns to dirt and heads toward the remote village of Minto. In late September many of the sharptails have left the lower valleys and migrated to higher areas along the Elliott Highway and the subalpine areas around Fairbanks. They love blueberries, and that’s where the grouse (and bears!) feed on them before the snow comes in October. 

Since sharptails enjoy hanging out in grassy areas along highways and other rights-of-way, consider walking sections of the Trans-Alaska Pipeline System. Some of the better sections I’ve found are in the Shaw Creek area along the Richardson Highway around milepost 289 and along significant stretches of the Elliott Highway leading out of Fairbanks. Security patrols the pipeline corridor, and no shooting is allowed on or across the gravel road—or any other road in Alaska. You’ll need a RUG (Rules of Use Guidelines) permit from one of the Alyeska Pipeline offices in Anchorage or Fairbanks. Many trails lead off the corridor, and the grass and muskeg areas hold sharptails. Some of the corridor passes through private property, so beware of those areas.

Want to stretch out and see more of the interior region? The Alaska Highway leads east out of Delta Junction toward the small town of Tok and then on toward the US-Canada border. You can find each grouse species along the 100-mile drive, but there are some excellent areas to hunt for sharptails around Tok. The folks at the Alaska Department of Fish and Game and the Division of Forestry in Tok will point you in the right direction. Motels and all services are available in Tok, and a pizza at Fast Eddy’s restaurant will top off your long day of hunting.

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