Christmas Day offered clarity, and we felt it would have been rude not to accept it, so we went. First, we drove down into Hells Canyon, where the temperature began in single digits.
Then we climbed up (about 1800 feet in a quarter mile) on a ridge I’d never hunted. The effort was worth it.
We saw lots of birds, but I shot poorly, depriving Angus, once again, of significant mouthfuls of feathers. He’ll get over it.
Enjoy the video…