Though it was 20 years ago, I remember looking out of my window like it was yesterday. The December wind honked from the Northeast, and with it came single-digit temperatures and a foot of snow. Sure I could slather up my dogs' paws with Musher's Secret, coat the inside of their bells with Pam spray to keep the clappers from filling up with ice, and slap on a pair of snow-shoes over my boots. My winter grouse hunt in the frozen tundra would be short thanks to the varsity effort required by all of us trudging through the snow. The birds likely would flush wild, I doubt I'd get even a single point, and if I did I'd have on so many layers that I wouldn't be able to move and would miss them anyway. I decided then and there that it was far better for me to head South and run the dogs on Bobwhite quail in ideal conditions. Nowadays, when our bird seasons close or the weather makes them impossible, I take my show on the road.