The Barberry Grouse By Bob Fala artwork by steve wilson FEATHERED, agricultural-based fare of doves and pheasant had been the only ticket I’d ever known. That was up until my college days at Penn State. Then, there was a new game bird on the block, and I had the pleasure of contending with the rather secretive and cryptically-colored bird. The first such bevy, covey or whatever you call them in the collective I en- countered, came to be known as the “barberry grouse.” At any rate, the birds rather rudely introduced themselves at a particular patch of the thorny stuff on Tussey Mountain’s east slope. In all honesty, they made quite a fool of me each time out. Whatever modest dose of shooting confidence I had earned in the MARCH 2010