On a pine-swathed Bavarian mountain last week, U.S. Hunter Jack Johnson and his German guide suffered silently through a bone-chilling predawn drizzle. Suddenly, the woods ahead came alive to a bizarre sound: a series of clucks, like popping champagne corks, followed by a throaty gurgle. Johnson lurched forward for three steps, only to freeze motionless—one foot poised ludicrously in midair—as the sound stopped abruptly. In such quick, sporadic scrambles, Johnson covered 150 yds. before he spotted his quarry: a green-and-grey bird with red-hooded eyes, perched comfortably on a pine branch. Johnson's double-barreled...
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