A friend responded to a Facebook post I made the other day in which I stated that Leslie made two of the best shots on chukar I’ve witnessed. This is my account.
Since you asked…
The first shot was at a single that busted wild about 25 yards above Leslie on a steep, steep basalt ball-bearing incline. She was moving the opposite direction of the bird, and by the time she moved her feet 180 degrees and swung on it (not easy when you’re side-hilling), it was at full speed and heading away fast. I was just about to yell, “Don’t shoot” when she triggered the shot and I watched the bird fall like a sack of spuds. It was probably 40 yards away when it dropped.
This was her first bird of the season, and using the new 3″ 1 oz. #6 20 gauge steel loads buffered with Angus’s ashes (FPS is probably around 1300-1350). When I asked her how she made that shot, which I definitely would have either missed or passed on, she said that she looked at the bird and swung the barrel just past it and squeezed, keeping the barrel moving. Easy peasy.
The second bird Peat pointed in the brush near the creek. A big covey (maybe 25 birds) busted at a really wide angle fairly close to her, and she picked the farthest left bird, and hit it going away just before it cleared the Hawthorn trees. Like the one before, it fell like a rock, but right in the middle of the dense vegetation. Peat had no trouble retrieving it, though.
Both birds were very large adults, super healthy looking. The second was the easier of the two shots, but what made it tough in my opinion was that so many birds busted at the same time right near her but pretty spread out. I always have a panic-hesitation response to these wide, big covey busts and usually take a flock shot and miss because I can’t pick out one bird. But her focus and patience was excellent, especially considering we haven’t practiced at all this year. These two shots were probably the 6th and 7th shots she’s fired since last January.
I’m shooting 12 gauge steel loads now, too, and pretty happy with them so far (1-1/8 oz., 2-3/4″, #6, about the same FPS as Leslie’s). I was also quite impressed with the number of birds in this spot, which was a place we’d never hunted before. I followed her with the camera and had a great time watching Peat hunt for her.
Starting outA little bit of ground out therePeat is learning to be THE dogThe first birdAlmost 58. She can kick and stretch, too.Second bird just before the bust (Peat’s pointing lower left)It’s hard to imagine Peat stealing from Angus and eating the first 6 birds I shot during his first season. He’s a retrieving machine.Peat’s last point of the day — the covey busted wild before Leslie could get in position. All in all an excellent day.
Decided to up the punishment yesterday with some steep climbing. And it was good. The bagged-bird count wasn’t so good, but we saw lots of birds. Early-season wild busting, way up high (again). Peat did better today, managing to hold two staunch points, but most of the birds we saw were launching far away on their own, probably because the dryness of the terrain makes it impossible to sneak up on anything. At one point, I was looking around and noticed a shady area about 200 yards away with lots of lush vegetation hiding a spring, and headed over to tell Leslie quietly that I bet chukar were hunkered down in the bushes over there when they suddenly busted. A super covey. So yes, there are birds. But the big numbers required 2,000 feet of climbing in less than a mile to get to them, only to watch them bust 200 yards from us.
A point of clarification on my previous post: I mentioned that an Andrus biologist had told a friend of mine they weren’t seeing good numbers of birds there, and I implied they might not be right. That was my bad: the good numbers we saw (both the other day and today) were not on the Andrus WMA. I had a chance to speak to one of the biologists there yesterday and he said that they’re not seeing the birds numbers on the Andrus WMA that they’re used to seeing during their late summer hikes. So it might be a skimpier year there. The only way to find out is to go bust your ass and see for yourself. But that’s what real chukar hunters do anyway, right?
Photos never capture either the actual steepness of the terrain or (more importantly) what it feels like to do this for 45-60 minutes at the very beginning of a chukar hunt.
Yesterday’s hunt was the 4th chukar outing we’ve made since Angus passed away. Over the past five seasons we’d gotten used to the luxury of each having our own dog to hunt with; Peat would stay with me, and Angus — the consummate gentleman — would work for Leslie. She always appreciated and remarked on his dedication and prowess, which makes his absence this season particularly noticeable and sad. Now, with just one dog, even when we agree to hunt together so we can both benefit from Peat, anyone who’s ever hunted chukar knows that this is not possible 100% of the time: inevitably, the terrain or some other unpredictable variable will separate you at least for a little while. And because Peat freaks out when he realizes he doesn’t know where I am, even if he does follow Leslie temporarily, he’ll abandon bird scent to find me. (Angus would never, ever stop following his nose, not for anyone or anything, including the sudden appearance of a honey badger, Medusa, or a well-needed human break.) Near the end of the hunt yesterday, I found myself on the other side of a gully from Leslie, and realized Peat was hunting — as usual — for me, and moving the opposite direction from Leslie. I looked over to find her, and she was sitting down. I yelled, “Are you okay?” And she replied, “I’m just resting.” Believable, given the strenuousness of the hunt, and the heat, and the terrain. But I couldn’t help imagining she was feeling unusually alone in the beauty of this landscape without her steadfast, superlative hunting partner, Angus. On rare occasions near the end of an early season hunt, Angus would stop to poach shade from Leslie or me and settle down for a short break. I could see Angus there, resting next to Leslie as she sat with her head down. Except he wasn’t.
So, on the drive home we discussed the situation. My feeling guilty for always having a dog with me. Leslie’s disadvantage, especially as a newer hunter, not having a dog with her (Angus was a great teacher and far more patient than I). It’s just an unsolvable dilemma whose only mitigation is for each of us to go on solo hunts with Peat every once in a while. We’re hoping for another puppy next spring, but this season looks to contain some adjusting on our parts. Peat, too, is having to figure out his new role. Hunting behind Angus for his first five years honed Peat’s backing skill; it seemed to us that his favorite thing in the world was to honor Angus (what pointing dog wouldn’t feel that way?). And for us, we will miss the visual spectacle of Peat’s otherworldly backing and the metaphorical praise it lavished on Angus’s greatness.
Leslie found this egg after hiking straight up for about 20 minutes. The top of the ridge in this picture is the bottom of the ridge in the next photo.Evidence of humanity, although quite old. Pick up your shells!We didn’t notice the chukar in this photo until we got home (they’re just 3 specks above Leslie’s head).Finally, a lateral movement, only an hour in…Tired. I don’t know how Leslie managed to take this photo given the fact that both of her feet had huge blisters on the balls and heels. We’ll be taking a couple of days off (Peat’s 20 stitches from a losing battle with barbed wire in eastern Idaho also need some more time; the protective wrapping ends up chafing and causing new abrasions.
After a two-week hiatus following the hot, dry, smoky weather of the first week of chukar season in Idaho, we made it out yesterday. I’d been worried since the big early-June storms that bird numbers would be very low in Hells Canyon. One of the biologists at the Andrus Center indicated to a friend of ours that chukar numbers were in fact down a lot because of the storm-related mortality on the chicks that had hatched then.
I’m not sure where he got his data, but we observed excellent bird numbers yesterday, to our great delight. They were high, at ridge tops, not hunkering down, moving steadily on approach. Peat either wasn’t stealthy enough to hold them or they just weren’t having it, but he never held a single point. Instead, right from the beginning, Peat did his best imitation of Angus’s creeping point, the first of which started about halfway up the ridge and went steadily to the top; I could barely see Peat’s little head above the bunchgrass as he stayed at least 120 yards from us until he crossed over and we got a glimpse of the birds busting every which way. A nice welcome-back to the lung-busting, heart-pounding, quad-killing pursuit. I look forward to getting back into chukar hunting shape, but definitely felt old and fat yesterday. Peat seemed to be in a similar boat (he’s never done well in the heat anyway), which is understandable since this was only the second “real” chukar hunt we’ve done this year.
I was able to kill two birds, both busting wild, and felt it was a good day in the field, considering the conditions, which were still quite hot and dry. We’re glad to see that this weekend calls for cooler, wetter weather.
Speaking of which, after selling a crap-ton of Bucking Chukar t-shirts, we’ve still got a couple left (and some beanies and Dri-Duck hats) but are thinking of ordering hoodies. Anyone interested in a hoody, please let me know (we’re trying to figure out how many to order). We’re not planning on ordering more t-shirts unless we hear otherwise.
Anyway, it’s good to be back at it. Stay tuned for more.
Hart Crane’s incredible poem “Repose of Rivers” shows how memory makes up knowing and how we can’t know what something really means until it’s run its course, and even then it could go anywhere. As rapper Shock G so eloquently puts it in “The Humpty Dance,” staring and glaring at and constantly comparing things still probably misses the essence of the comparable.
About a year ago, Angus was diagnosed with bladder cancer. What I remember about that moment when the vet told us he had a month or so to live was just praying he’d live long enough for one last chukar hunt with us. He lived through — and well past — one of his best seasons ever.
Since Angus died on June 12 I’ve been trying to understand lots of things and it seems that the harder I try or the more I think about them the more elusive these things become and maybe it’s because they (or I?) haven’t run their course. Angus has, but — news flash — I’m not him. I’m left without him to help me understand what he meant to me. It feels strange not to understand, but that’s where I am with it. I’ve barely grieved in the three months since we put him out of his pain. How can you grieve something you don’t know yet? I’m feeling old, but age, I guess, hasn’t yet deposited me beyond the dykes. I’m grateful but uncomfortable with the process.
Being left with Peat naturally encourages the comparisons. When Peat came on the scene five years ago, my relationship with Angus permanently diminished. Peat was a cross between Ray Liotta and Pee Wee Herman, while Angus was Olivier. Peat was a Saturday morning cartoon, and Angus a Vermeer or Van Gogh. Peat was a riddle on the back of a Cheerios box and Angus Keats. Peat was “Jimmy Cracked Corn” and Angus was Mahler’s “Das Lied von der Erde.” There’s a photo in the video (see below) of me and Angus sleeping, with his head on my neck just after my hernia surgery; when Peat came, Angus never struck that pose again. Thinking about this reminds me that I began grieving Angus’s death the day we got him, and Peat added a new dimension to the loss-that-was-to-come.
But the wedge Peat drove between Angus and me opened the door for Leslie and Angus to grow closer, and they did. He’d follow her around the house and in the field: he pointed and retrieved her first two chukar, which the video shows. Balance matters.
I miss him terribly, and I feel remorse for how I allowed Peat to come between us. I adore the little bastard, and I’m sure when he passes — if I’m lucky enough to outlive him — I’ll regret feeling anything but sheer joy at the grace he’s bombed us with, but I still struggle with how Angus took the foot of the bed after Peat came. What will Bloom, our next puppy, do to my bond with Peat? We all compare our dogs to one another, don’t we? Don’t we?
Enjoy the video. I know it’s long. Angus outlived several camcorders and cameras, a few computers, and it was agonizing going through hundreds of hours of videos and thousands of photos; I had to leave so many things out.
How much I would have bartered! The black gorge And all the singular nestings in the hills Where beavers learn stitch and tooth…
“Her name is Rosie”, the old man that was camped near us with Florida license plates told me as his dog walked over to me. Rosie was an overweight black lab with gray on her face and eyes clouded over with glaucoma. “Come on Rosie, don’t bother her,” he yelled in her direction.
I yelled back. “She’s okay, I like dogs.” He still walked over in my direction to fetch her.
“I’ve been coming to the Madison every year with her for the past 7 years,” he told me. “This year she’s had a hard time jumping up into the camper. She just turned 12.” I bent down to pet her. “I don’t know what I’ll do when she dies, I love this dog and I’m already dreading the day I have to put her down,” he sighed.
“My husband and I just had to put our 13-year-old Brittany down last month; he had cancer.” I tried not to let him see that my eyes were starting to tear up as I told him about Angus. “He didn’t suffer; he went downhill pretty fast.”
“I camped here with my son years ago, we used to ride motorcycles together, but I don’t ride anymore,” he said. “I like going back to the places that we used to go together.” He paused for a moment, “He died a few years ago.”
I hesitated responding, remembering how my own dad used to ride motorcycles and go on trips with my older brother. On a gorgeous fall day in September, 16 years ago, my brother took his own life only a couple of days after he’d spent the weekend going on a motorcycle road trip with my dad. “I’m sorry to hear about your son, that’s tough,” I told him. I don’t know why, but I didn’t ask him how his son died. I just remember telling him, “Yeah, it’s nice to go back to those places that you shared with someone you loved, it makes you feel closer to them.”
As he walked away with Rosie, he said “I’m sorry for your loss.” I appreciated the words of condolence from this total stranger who reminded me of my own dad.
To get to this place on the Madison River was a long drive in stormy weather on hundreds of miles of winding roads. Bob and I drove in separate vehicles bringing the extra one to use for longer shuttles on the days we fished out of our drift boat. I’d been listening to music along the way, but somewhere between Grangeville and Lolo Pass, a song called “Mercy Street” by Peter Gabriel started playing on my Bluetooth shuffle and it touched a nerve. It caused me an overwhelming sense of emptiness and panic, and I felt like we’d left Angus behind. Teardrops followed like the rain falling heavily on the windshield. Peat was in the cab of the pickup with me; he’d been sleeping soundly but was awakened by my loud wailing over the music. Not wanting to upset him, I made myself stop crying and focused on the curves in the road. I’d been forcing myself to forget about it but I vividly remembered that dreadful day, that day we drove Angus to our vet in Council in the back of our old Jeep that we parked out front next to the curb and we ended this life. I remember trying to be strong and comforting for him and not let his last moments of life be watching me crying and being so upset. He knew what was happening, he was ready, he was the strong one, the stoic one. When I think back and remember life with Angus it isn’t just those memories on the chukar hills but those days in-between because he had a calm presence that just made everything seem right in the world.
I called my father immediately after Angus died to let him know Angus had just died. Angus had been my loyal companion from the time when he was small enough to fit in my hands. I thought my dad should know, but he didn’t answer the phone and never called me back. It’s complicated, thorny, and complex, but I’ve got a non-existent relationship with my dad and it’s been that way for years and I’ve learned to accept it.
After talking to the old man from Florida, I sat in my camp chair and stared at Peat and wondered if he remembers being on the Madison with Angus and running in the golden fields near our campground and if he’s sad because he’s gone. I wanted to come back to this campground on the Madison to remind me of happier times from the previous summer when life wasn’t so strange, surreal, uncertain. The time before lost lives, broken friendships and when people used to be kind to each other, the days before we knew Angus had cancer even though it was already growing inside him.
Innocent times
As we drove away from the campground to head home, the old man from Florida was still there alone in his camper with Rosie. We headed west and through the rolling hills, mountains, and ranches near Dillon and Wisdom that reminded me of home but on a much larger scale. On our last night on the road we camped in a National Forest campground high up on the Idaho/Montana border that we’d visited two years before with Peat and Angus. After setting up camp, Bob, Peat, and I walked along a beautiful little creek where we went the last time we were there. I watched this funny dog that makes me laugh constantly, this little dog that loves life and play and that I adore and that I’ve raised since he was 7-weeks old explore the world without Angus. I remember Bob saying, “I think he’ll be okay.”
I love Peat but we have a complex relationship. At home Peat has replaced Angus as my constant shadow but sadly the last three years he didn’t want to hunt with me in the field when Bob and I were hunting together. Peat prefers Bob, and it is as if I don’t exist. It’s weird but I’m okay that Bob is the alpha. When it’s just Peat and me out together, he’s fine and he hunts hard for me but just like humans relating to one another, relationships with our dogs can sometimes be complicated, intricate, and painful. Angus is missed terribly and I’ll miss having him be my hunting partner on chukar opening day but I’m looking forward to having some quality days with Peat this coming season.
