Forecasts for lots of birds this season are, in my experience so far, true. Covey sizes have also been relatively (or extremely) large, and locations have been all over the place: high, low, sage, open, rocks. Last weekend we hunted what was for us a new area, one I’d bet doesn’t get much pressure as it’s rather a pain in the ass to get to. I eclipsed my single day elevation gain and saw chukar everywhere. One area contained, conservatively, more than 150 birds.
Spring in the Fall
We found it tough, though, to get close to any of them. For the most part, all bigger coveys busted quite wildly. Boots crunching bone-dry arrowleaf telegraphed our presence on the open slopes, and satellite chukar moving along the ground made it tough for the dogs to point anything. Once the huge groups busted, Angus and Peat made some good points, some of which I got to, but – after shooting pretty well the first couple of weeks – I shot crapulously. Lucky chukar.
Dogs have been hot so far this season.
The wild-busting chukar got me thinking about my dogs, worrying actually. Why weren’t they more cautious? Were the birds moving more than normal? Were the dry conditions making it harder for them to pinpoint scent? Were the myriad partridges exciting the dogs too much for them to be more cautious? Was it just an example of early-season pointing rustiness? I admit to feeling exasperated as I watched dogs busting coveys from 100 or 200 yards away, but then they’d “redeem” themselves a few minutes later with a solid, classic point. Ah, the mysteries of chukar hunting; I think if I ever completely understand everything that goes on whenever we go out there I’ll be bored and quit.
I like these guys, and can’t say enough in support of their take on this issue. I just got back from hunting on BLM land that abutted former Idaho State Endowment lands, which is now private and posted “No Hunting.” As I headed out this morning, three big coveys of chukar coasted from the BLM land onto the now-private-but-formerly-state land. I still saw lots of birds, and bagged enough, but if those BLM lands are transferred I’ll be watching football on Saturday instead of being outside with my dogs because there’ll be nowhere to go.
I learned yesterday about a chukar hunter in the area who hunts nearly every day (from what I’m told) with numerous dogs and often with many other people, and apparently almost always limits. According to a trustworthy source, he and five friends killed 96 chukar over opening weekend. There’s nothing illegal about this (although I do wonder how he gets around the possession limit). But it bothers me, so I thought I’d ask what others think about this.
For me, just because something’s legal doesn’t mean it’s ethical if taken to the extreme. Someone who doesn’t know me might read this and conclude I’m spewing sour grapes here. Honestly, I like cleaning birds even less than I like killing them, but I do both as part of the deal. I certainly wouldn’t want to clean 10 times more than I already do. In other words, I’m fine with my bag stats.
The Kid and I set out to bag his first chukar. This is the fourth season he’s come along. He has never complained. He’s always been right there. If I ask his opinion on route options, he’s always up for even the hardest one. And when the hunt’s over and our bags are empty there’s not a shred of disappointment in his aspect, while I try my best to hide mine. I joke with him and his folks and grandparents about my being the World’s Worst Chukar Guide, and I actually get a little more nervous each time I bring him back without a bird. It’s starting to become less amusing. At least to me. He still says he wants to keep trying, and I’m grateful for that.
Sidehilling Splendor
On opening day we hiked 7.5 miles and climbed 2100′, my longest hunt ever. The dogs got birdy a few times and actually pointed twice. But the wind was fierce and the points were off. Near the end of the hike, down near the creek, the dogs ran into and scattered the biggest super-covey I’ve seen. We got to watch, from a slightly sad distance, nearly a hundred chukar run and scatter up a long scree slope. Despite bumping them a couple more times, separated by brush far too dense to traverse, we never got another chance. As I drove the curvy road home, while he ate his peanut butter sandwich (which might have contained Cheetos), he said he’d get one the next time. I’ve gotten to know this fairly quiet kid fairly well by now; he doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean.
He couldn’t come with me the next day, which – history will tell us – means I’ll be in some chukar. We saw plenty, and had a few good points and got a few birds. Don’t say “jinx.” It’s not funny anymore. I’m trying not to have this complex, and don’t want him to develop one (unlikely), but it’s going beyond whatever. You know?
Anyway, we had a typically hot and – atypically – humid second day. We took the boat and went to a favorite spot which, we learned – not too surprisingly – soon after disembarking that several folks had been there earlier that morning and probably the day before as well. But I’d always found birds there so we moseyed along, albeit with slightly lowered expectations.
For once, though, my guess or reasoning or instincts or whatever you want to call it was right and the birds (at least the ones we found) were quite close to the water. Angus was well above me, though, accompanying my friend and Leslie, and busted a decent covey which I only saw as they sailed past me, several in range. Lucky. They could have gone anywhere. I hit one. Peat scurried to it, and brought it right back, no questions asked. Last year, he ate the first six chukar he got close to. Lucky again.
A while later, both dogs pointed solidly at the edge of a cliff near the water. I managed a double, but Angus could only find one bird. The second was a long shot and, although I couldn’t see where it landed, I thought it might have made it to the water even though it was a ways away. We looked and looked with both dogs. Peat suddenly headed straight down a steep rocky slope to the water. I thought he would find the bird, but he kept on going, swimming straight out into the wide river, leaving a trail of broken surface algae blooms in his wake. Yes, it was hot. After a good 20 or 30 minutes we gave up looking.
The little white speck heading out to sea is Peat.
Back at the boat, we decided to cruise past the cliffs to see if the second bird had made it to the water. More luck: we spied it on its back on a ledge of the cliff just above the water. Wanting to spare the tired dogs, and me, some effort, Cam generously made the retrieve, demonstrating his rock-climbing prowess. After his unprecedented retrieve we discovered that Angus had taken advantage of our collective distraction and eaten Cam’s roast beef sandwich on Oat Nut bread (his favorite).
Maybe Angus should have eaten the wrapper, too.
So my dogs and I, and our mutual friends, survived a long opening weekend in great form, and we’re eager to head back out in a few days.
Oh, and a warning: we saw two big rattlesnakes. Look into the rattlesnake shot you can get your dogs, and make sure you carry Benadryl and plenty of water in case of a bite. Luckily, Angus and Peat missed both reptiles, but it makes you think.
Tomorrow we begin again. This off-season has seemed longer than others for some reason. Maybe I can blame it on Peat, who continues to exemplify quintessential puppy-hood mischief by stealing and bolting with whatever he can get his chompers on, causing me to embed in my brain what is probably the worst movie theme song of all time (“To Catch a Thief“).
Or maybe I’m getting younger and time is passing more slowly.
Nah.
Or maybe it’s the fact that I’ve been finding chukar in unexpected numbers and in unexpected places.
In any case, I’ll try to figure out something to do to make today pass faster, and try not to get my hopes too high for tomorrow.
But we’re ready. Are you?
This is what good bird dogs are reduced to during the off-season
