My setter, Rowdy, had 10 points in wide-open flight covers before I even got to the prime hunting area, but I didn’t pop a cap. Instead, I shot pictures of birds on the ground. One was right next to the river, and when I was done photographing my model, I flushed him across the river. He landed in Mr. Beaumont’s field of thick, winter rye. Hmmm. Ten yards farther, Rowdy pointed again, and we repeated the drill. I took more pictures, flushed the bird, and it, too, flew into the field. Say what? This oddity happened two additional times, so I paused before reaching the aspen and white birch whips. Four woodcock, one field. What the heck?