In honor of Public Lands Day, Sept. 26, 2026
He thought he kept the universe alone;
For all the voice in answer he could wake
Was but the mocking echo of his own
From some tree-hidden cliff across the lake.–Robert Frost, from “The Most of It”
One of the reasons I was attracted to chukar hunting long ago was that it was the only activity I wanted to do that allowed me to be truly alone. None of us normally has that level of control over any situation outside of the privacy our homes. Being in a beautiful environment that pretty much guaranteed solitude, on land that was available to anyone, was — in my life — rare.
I’ve been lucky all these years to replicate that nearly every time, even hunting with others I chose to hunt with. Focusing on the landscape and the dogs and where the birds might be was the limit. For me, that was chukar hunting.
Yesterday we were lucky enough to hunt for the second day in a row with a good friend visiting from out of state. He’d brought his UTV to get us to places we hadn’t hunted for years since we’d moved away. Hunting along a reservoir with more than 75 miles of shoreline, and no other vehicles on at least half of that it felt like we were surrounded by endless public land occupied only by the wildlife and grazing cows.
The dogs found birds immediately. Before we got to the first point, gunshots rang out close by, surprising all of us. We’d thought we were alone. Clearly, someone else was hunting nearby. We hustled away from the shots, which continued — clearly they were getting into birds. We corralled our dogs and headed up the large draw in front of us, thinking we were moving away from the other person or people. Within a few minutes, four hunters appeared at the bottom of the draw we were in; they’d come from the drainage to the south. They spread out so we could easily see them; three wearing hunter orange, one not. Only one dog. They watched us climb away from them up the draw for at least 20 minutes, and we speculated on what they might be thinking. We’d been planning to spend the day hunting both sides of this very large and steep draw and suddenly we felt our plans evaporate in the face of another party’s gaze. Were they hoping to cross to the other side of the draw? Were they thinking they might follow us? They didn’t move. Finally, I started heading to the other side of the draw, and soon found a rock to sit on. I sat while Leslie continued climbing. For twenty more minutes I sat there watching them. They didn’t move. Peat sat by me, whining, confused, not hunting. Finally, one by one, they slowly headed back to the draw they’d been in. Sounds of their shots began choiring frequently again.
With the seemingly infinite amount of land all around us in every direction, and the obvious prevalence of chukar nearly everywhere, it seemed absurd to me that we would even see other hunters. That this group seemed to be pressuring us, or affecting our plans in any way, seemed even more ridiculous. Clearly, this group was operating with a much different mindset than I was: if I knew I was even near another group, especially in an area with almost unlimited places to hunt, I would quickly move away from them.
That’s all I’ll say. I don’t know why they did what they did. Maybe there’s a good explanation for it. I never talked to them. We ended up hunting up and over the ridge into another draw entirely and had a good hunt. But I can’t forget that other group and the impact its actions had on the first hour of our time out there.
Chirp away