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.
The Badlands Upland Game Vest is a mixed bag. I wanted to use it a bunch before reviewing it because I thought the things I didn’t like about it might get resolved through familiarity. And while familiarity in this case has not bred contempt, I am probably going to go back to the Cabela’s vest as my go-to bird bag.
First, the good:
It fits like a glove. The vest is contoured nicely and fit me perfectly right out of the box. Over the course of the season, as the weather grew yuckier, it still fit really well with lots more clothes underneath it. It’s very adjustable, too, so fit gets a 10.
It’s very light. At 2.8 pounds empty, the vest is light. Even with a full 100-ounce hydration pack, two boxes of shells, and most of the many pockets filled, I hardly notice I’m wearing this vest. Compared to the other packs and vests I’ve used, including the Cabela’s, it’s much lighter. I think the contoured shape of the vest helps a lot in this regard, equally distributing the weight across the shoulders, back, sternum, and hips. Give it a 10 for lightness.
Hydration pouch is perfect. All the other vests I’ve used have had under-sized or poorly designed hydration bladder pockets. Not this one; it easily fits my 100-ounce bladder even with the insulated Camelback pocket it’s in. It zips at the top (nicer than a Velcro closure), and has good routing for the drinking tube.
Construction and quality are as good as I’ve seen. I really like the materials used in this vest. The nylon panels are strong but not overly heavy or rough; the L.L. Bean vest’s Cordura was like sandpaper. Zippers are good and easy to operate with or without gloves. The magnetic closure on the shell pockets, while initially causing some concern about phantom opening, have never failed and are one of two or three favorite things about this vest.
Now for the things I don’t like about it:
Bird bag is too small. I rarely limit, so haven’t tested the maximum capacity of the bird bag. But with the pockets on the back of the vest holding my hydration bladder, first aid kit, light snacks, and extra shells, getting even one chukar in it can be a challenge. Perhaps the tradeoff from making a super low-profile vest, the bird bag needs another couple inches of clearance to live up to the tag’s claim that it features “the easiest bird access ever developed.” Compared to the Cabela’s vest, bird access is really quite poor, as is one of two reasons I’m switching back to the Cabela’s vest.
Storage space insufficient. For an all-day hunt in variable weather, you will have to modify this vest. Despite the numerous, nicely designed pockets, there’s no room to put any layered clothing, especially a bulky jacket or sweater. Same with extra food or water bottles. The only really usable storage space for bulky items is in the bird pouch, which (as mentioned above) is also a bit too small. The Cabela’s vest has a cheap bungee thing on the back that I could quickly and securely strap bulky layers to; the Badlands vest has a thin elastic cord threaded vertically through the upper part of the back of the vest, which actually came undone the first time I tugged lightly on them. I ended up pulling them completely out of the threaded strips and tied them to the carry handle on top so I could strap a jacket to the vest. Not an ideal setup, but it worked in a pinch.
To be fair, I love everything about this vest except for the two (critical) things above. There are several other good, much more thorough reviews of the Badlands vest that give it a more positive spin, so if you’re considering this vest, check them out: JT’s Upland Blog, and Linton Outdoors.
Graded student papers all day, and by 2 p.m. Angus and I were looking at each other. “Is this the best we can do?” It’s one of the things I like most about having a canine best friend. You support each other’s habit. Not much paw- and arm-twisting necessary here. The fog had started to lift and the chukar hills morphed into recognition to the west.
Sunday afternoon looking west to the Wallowas
Ten minutes later we were on the road. After a 30-minute drive down into the icy canyon I pulled off at a place I’d never tried, and hiked straight uphill from the shadows to the light. It was cold and windy, and the snow had burned off, leaving the ground peanut-buttery. Lots of greenup, even more wind. The birds would be catching the fading rays in hollows out of the steady, icy wind coming from the southeast.
I got to the top of the first plateau, and was surprised that Angus hadn’t gotten birdy in the spots that looked good. They must be higher. Up we went.
In the first hollow at the next level up Angus got really birdy, and a small covey of Hungarian partridges rose downwind of him. I shot once and watched three birds tumble to the ground. Bizarre. Angus got one, I snagged the other, and the third, which I think had only gone down because it got tangled with the other two, escaped (hopefully unharmed). Still, that’s a first for me.
As if I were tempted to feel too proud of myself for the “augmented double,” catching the second bird cautioned me against it. As I reached down to grab the wounded Hun, writhing on its back, it shrieked, with its mouth wide open, like I’ve seen baby birds do waiting for regurgitated worms from a caring parent. But instead of giving it nourishment for a lovely life ahead I was ending it. I grabbed the frightened Hun, and she scratched me with her feet while I suffocated her and watched her eyes go opaque.
I spent the rest of my time that spectral afternoon following Angus around as usual, hunting. I killed one more bird and saw lots more than I’ve seen in a single outing this season. And I’ll go out again as soon as I can. But I wonder how long I’ll want to keep it up. It’s weird to say that about your favorite pastime.
Seems weird to call something from 1992 retro, but there you go. There it went. Doing my sporadic chukarstalk on youtube, I found this video from Idaho Fish & Game (not to be construed in any way as an endorsement thereof). Some good information about chukar hunting, and some good footage. The Brittany doesn’t hurt any, either…
Two of my favorite creatures in one of my favorite places
Thanksgiving is coming, and since I’ve been complaining about the scarcity of birds I thought I might refocus a little here.
I think one of the reasons I love chukar hunting so much is that the landscapes I get to inhabit are particularly compelling to me. I remember driving through dense alpine forests on some forlorn road trip, anxious to get to my destination, and wishing I could stop the car and crawl into the deep, dark woods. That was before I got a dog and discovered the arid high desert habitat laced and punctuated with bromus tectorum, bunch grass, and bitterbrush. Basalt steeps. Lichen walls. Vistas unlike any I’d seen except in eastern Turkey long ago. It’s almost as if the birds don’t even matter (while they’re precisely why I’m there).
Anyway, I have lots to be thankful for, including my wife Leslie for being so good with the cameras and such a wonderful companion. And my new friends, young and old, who’ve decided I might be worth putting up with out there. And, of course, Angus (who redeemed himself in tremendous fashion last night, just as it was getting dark, by retrieving a sure-to-be-lost winged quail from the densest of slough-thickets).
Enjoy a few of the sights I’ve been blessed to experience this season: