Category: Hunting accounts

  • Stay the Course

    Stay the Course

    This began from a story my neighbor, a golf course superintendent, told us one night. It was fascinating to learn about what his employees served up to him. And so it began.

    About a month into it, I realized that I was writing a sequel to my first novel, The Rim. But Ennis, one of five characters in The Rim, was the sole narrator of Stay the Course. At the end of the first novel Ennis learned, at 18 and just about to leave for college, a lot is left up in the air. Stay the Course begins about 25 years later, but incorporates lots of flashbacks filling in some of the blanks. Now he’s a father and a husband, a skilled professional, no longer a hunter, and has grown as a human. Like you’d expect anyone to.

    This is the fourth book published by Chukar Culture Press.

  • RIP Sam

    RIP Sam

    [Leslie originally posted this on October 30, 2018; it was one of the most heavily commented-on posts we’ve published here. We just received word that Sam passed away, aged 87, on April 18th, 2026. Our hearts are heavy. He played a big part in our chukar hunting lives, and in our adaptation to the area. He trusted us with his “secret spots,” many of which became our go-tos. He was our neighbor. He liked communicating with us, and when he decided he didn’t have what it took to do the gnarly uphill hikes chukar hunting requires in Hells Canyon, he’d call us to ask how we did. Or he’d just stop by, sometimes with a Shiner Bock (he wasn’t crazy about the IPAs I brewed). He taught me how to hand load shells, and gave me most of his equipment and material. He introduced us to Jeremiah Weed. “Want some weed,” he’d say, with that winning smirk. Priceless, especially coming from a highly decorated jet fighter pilot. He was an avid reader of this blog, too, but made no bones about greatly preferring Leslie’s pieces to mine. One of his last comments on this blog was something like, “Keep making memories. You’ll need them.” As if he needed to remind us not to forget him. Impossible. Rest in peace, dear friend. You are missed.]

    If you’ve never been to Hells Canyon on the Idaho/Oregon border before, the first thing you notice as you’re driving down the long, narrow, windy road of Highway 71 and descending deep into the canyon are the very steep hillsides covered in sagebrush, bitterbrush, golden-colored grasses and lots of rocks. Some people say, “It’s no country for old men,” but I’ve been chukar hunting down there with my 80-year-old neighbor Sam for the past couple of seasons, and he’s putting all those naysayers in their place. In my opinion, he’s an Idaho-side Hells Canyon chukar hunting legend. Most people have never heard of him because he’s not on social media, doesn’t have a blog, and doesn’t even know what a hashtag is; he’s just a modest guy with a long time obsession with bird dogs, upland hunting, and Hells Canyon.

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    Growing up in North Texas, Sam got his first taste of bird hunting at the young age of 10 looking for Bobwhite quail in Pineywoods, Texas. A former Air-Force F-16 Pilot, he has traveled the world, and obtained his first hunting dog from a breeder in Las Vegas near where he was stationed in the Air Force. Fond of the pointing dog breeds, he’s never looked back and has since owned several German Shorthair Pointers, German Wirehaired Pointers, and Drahthaars. He told me his favorite birds to hunt are upland birds and that’s why he fancies pointing dogs over flushing ones. Over the past 70 years, Sam has hunted birds and has covered a lot of ground in the process all over the United States. Sharp-tailed grouse and Hungarian partridge in eastern Montana in the early fall, Mearns quail in Southern Arizona in the winter, pheasants in the Midwest, not to mention chukar partridge, Hungarian partridge, Ruffed and Dusky grouse and California Quail in all the Western States.

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    Back in 1985, before moving to Idaho and during a road trip around the West, Sam got his first taste of Idaho chukar down in Hells Canyon in the area now known as the Cecil D. Andrus Wildlife Management Area. Back in the day, when Sam first hunted on it, the area was privately owned and a place where obtaining hunting privileges meant knocking on doors. At the ranch hand’s house, which is now the office for the Andrus WMA, a sign directed you go to up to ranch owners’ home and knock on their door to ask for permission. Sam knocked, and Mrs. Hillman answered the door and gave him permission to hunt along West Brownlee Creek. Sam said he obtained his 8-chukar limit rather quickly, something that would never happen very easily today, and in return, and as a gesture of thanks, Sam went back to Mrs. Hillman and asked her if she wanted some chukar and how many. She was surprised because nobody had ever asked her that before. Sam took the birds down to the river, cleaned them, and gave her 3 or 4 chukar.

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    Watering his dogs

    In 1993, the Richard King Mellon Foundation acquired the ranch from the Hillmans and then transferred ownership and management of it to the Idaho Department of Fish and Game for wildlife conservation. The entire wildlife management area is currently composed of lands owned by Fish and Game, the Idaho Department of Lands, the U.S. Bureau of Land Management, and the U.S. Forest Service.  The Idaho State Fish and Game department is responsible for the daily operations on the Andrus WMA.

    There are 24,000 acres on the Andrus WMA, and Sam’s covered a lot of it on foot. His vast knowledge of the area is something he didn’t read in a book called “How to Hunt chukar on the Andrus WMA” because, to my knowledge, one doesn’t exist. Like most people he did it the hard way and figured it out for himself. That’s something to be proud of.

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    Sam on the descent

    Sam is a wealth of first-hand information. We talk about dogs, habitat, guns, strategy, and terrain on the drive together down into the canyon. He knows the Andrus WMA like the back of his hand. One thing I’ve learned from Sam is that he’s firm believer that the Andrus WMA belongs to all of us, and he frowns on folks that hunt it all the time and act like it’s their own private hunting ground. “Just because it’s in our own back yard doesn’t give us any more right to be there than anyone else.” Sam moved to Cambridge 12 years ago to be closer to Andrus WMA, just like my husband Bob and I did six years ago. “There’s plenty of ground for everyone,” he always tell me. I couldn’t agree more. Access to quality public lands where most days you never see another person is what makes upland hunting down in Hells Canyon so special.

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    Susie on point
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    Sam and Susie

    Besides the exercise that keeps Sam young, he hunts for the pure beauty of the sport; it’s just himself and his two dogs, Hannah and Susie. He doesn’t carry a camera or phone with him for documentation. Instead, he spends all of his time actually hunting rather than stopping and staring at a tiny screen and taking pictures of himself or others. His memories are to share with his friends and family in person when he gets home, oral communication, face-to-face just like the old days. I’ve learned a lot from Sam, and feel that I share his same passion for hunting. We share the love of the outdoors and seeing excellent dog work, that’s our priority while being out there on the mountain.

    Photographs don’t do Hells Canyon or the Andrus WMA justice anyway. You can’t appreciate its unique beauty unless experienced in real life. Another reality of most chukar hunts is that sometimes you can’t find birds, or the ones the dogs do find bust wild before you can get into position to shoot. Last week, we were both lucky and we each got one bird that our old dogs Hannah and Angus retrieved for us. It was a very good day.

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    My favorite view

    When I do hunt with Sam we take more breaks to rest. I’m okay with that because there’s always a glorious view of the vast landscape while you catch your breath, and also it’s more time for the older dogs to rest and get water. Sam is the real deal; I want to be more like him and pray my body holds up until I’m his age. The two of us are quite a pair I’m sure, an anomaly in the chukar hunting world: an 80-year-old man and a 56-year-old woman in this game of chasing chukar up and down mountains that seems to be dominated by young men with big quads.

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    Sam’s dogs Hannah and Susie to my right

    Two weeks ago, hiking around the vast Andrus WMA on ground where you’d swear nobody has ever set foot before, ever, Sam found a stainless steel spoon laying in the dirt. He picked it up, dusted it off, posed for a quick photo with my camera, then put it in his upland vest. I told him, “I bet you’ve never found a spoon hunting before!”

    We both laughed.

    I asked him if he’s ever found any other interesting things in his years of hunting and said the only other thing he could remember finding was a small pocket knife once. In the past, I’ve found at least a half dozen deflated shiny Mylar balloons and one mule deer shed that I almost stepped on, but no personal objects a human has ever lost.

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    Sam and his recent find
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    Mylar balloon from some far away place (we did haul it out to throw-away)

    The days I don’t hunt with Sam or Bob doesn’t hunt with him, he’ll call us on the phone and ask if we found any birds and where. He’s the only person we share our secret hunting spots with, and he shares his with us. In truth, there’s no such thing as secret chukar hunting spots. Our motto is, “The birds are where they are!” Sam and I have both been skunked at our so-called secret hot spots. On one hunt, I asked him, “What’s our strategy today?” He said the recent reports indicate all the birds are down near the water. We found the opposite: a covey of chukar on top of a dry rocky ridge as far from water as possible. It just shows you.

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    Sam and Bob last season scoping out a hopeful hot spot

    Heading home and back up the canyon in the pickup after a recent hunt, the talk turned to the upcoming election. Sometimes we don’t always agree on everything, but it was agreed that we didn’t understand the Prop. 1 historical horse racing initiative that we will soon vote on here in Idaho. Sam and I decided that we had more important things in the world to think and talk about driving home, and agreed it was chukar hunting.

    We both laughed, again.

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    Sam and his new puppy, Susie
  • The Rim

    The Rim

    The Rim is my first novel, started about 10 years ago during a creative writing class I was teaching. Parts of it have been published in literary journals, but this is the first time it’s been all inside one cover. It’s short, and dark, but has a lot about hunting in it.

    Like Chukar Culture: Memory, Dogs, Paradox, it’s available in the store on this site, as well as on Lulu’s bookstore and (soon, I think) at Amazon (which nets me about a dollar, unlike the two other options).

    I’m proofing the copy of the sequel novel to The Rim (called Stay the Course), which will be available before the end of the month.

  • Grace

    Grace

    Unmerited favor.

    I’ve gotten out quite a bit so far this season. The weather’s been good. We recently took a trip to what — in years past — had been the best place I’d ever hunted chukar, for many reasons. We’d looked forward to it for nearly a year. But for whatever reason the hunting was terrible. Or I should say that the bird count was terrible; the hunting was excellent as it usually is when compared to not hunting. But in more miles than normal we saw a small fraction of the number of chukar we’d routinely seen in the area.

    Still, six or seven weeks into the season, it’s been good in many ways. Stats. Because of the nerdy log I keep, I can see that — so far — it’s taking me less time, distance, and elevation to bag birds than it ever has (my duration, elevation gain, and distance hiked, however, are significantly down — which I attribute to age; you can’t win ’em all). My shooting started out much better than average but — with yesterday’s atrocious performance, perhaps attributable to our first outing in Hells Canyon this season, on jumpier (probably much more frequently hunted) birds — it’s back down to my “normal” (but still unacceptable) 35-ish percent. Most of the 23 hunts I’ve done this season have been in completely new places, closer to home, found on onX; I’ve looked for public lands that — on the computer — looked like they should have chukar, and every single one of them has, sometimes with very good numbers of birds, and usually these have been places that I doubt many — or any — people have looked for chukar (they tend to be places that a UTV can’t get near). The conclusion that I make from these interim data is that — finally — it seems I’m getting more efficient — dare I say better? — at finding and hunting chukar. I could go on about all this. But…

    A person wearing an orange hat and backpack walks through a grassy field with two dogs, amidst rolling hills under a clear blue sky.
    Pretty over-grazed and overly flat terrain, but we’d never been here and didn’t see sign of others, either. And there were lots of birds. Plausible conclusion: the lack of homo sapiens is a good indicator of game bird presence.

    One of the best things for me this season has been hunting with nearly-eleven-year-old Peat. Five times now he’s chased down chukar that I knocked down, disappearing for quite a while, and come back with them. Yesterday, for the first time this season, Peat disappeared after a bust in which I was able to whiff three times with no visible evidence of having even ruffled any feathers. It was one of those “I can’t believe I didn’t hit anything!” busts. But he came running back to us at least five minutes later with a chukar in his mouth. One of every seven birds I’ve bagged this season has been courtesy of Peat’s hard work after the shot.

    A dog carrying a chukar bird in its mouth, surrounded by rocky terrain and sparse vegetation.
    Peat with the chukar I didn’t know I’d hit

    The Hard Work Before the Shot award will without question go to Bloom. He covers much more ground than Peat does. Bloom averages more than four times what we cover, while Peat does almost three times our distance. Bloom in 18 hunts with me so far this season has run 272 miles, while Peat, in 22 hunts, has covered 237. We’ve noticed that when we all hunt together, Bloom tends to false point fairly often, especially at the beginning of a hunt. He definitely improves as the hunt goes on, but it’s almost like he’s trying to impress Peat, whose favorite thing in life is to honor another dog’s point (see my YouTube channel for many examples of this). Usually, Bloom’s first point of a hunt is several hundred yards uphill from where we’re just getting acclimatized, and we book it up to him, sometimes after he’s been stationary for up to 20 or 30 minutes, and as soon as we get up to him, he bolts. I’ve started calling it a “self-imposed whoa,” which is weird because Angus, who never once false pointed, always pointed with this very un-stylish posture (Angus is Bloom’s great-uncle). But as the hunt progresses, he seems to get more and more solid locating and pinpointing birds, which is really great. He tends to leave the retrieving and tracking duties to Peat, so it’s a good division of labor. I will say, though, in the couple of hunts I’ve done alone with Bloom that he has not false pointed even once, and has been an ideal hunting partner. It’s almost as if he’s trying to tell me that I can still do this when Peat is gone.

    A brown and white dog running through dry grass while carrying a bird in its mouth, with another dog in the background.
    Bloom doing his thing, whatever that is.
    A dog with a collar standing on rocky terrain, observing its surroundings in a grassy field.
    Bloom’s “self-imposed-whoa” posture
    A dog with a white and brown coat, wearing an orange collar, stands on rocky terrain in a grassy landscape, with hills in the background.
    Bloom in a “real” point (birds were there)

    Maybe the best thing that’s made this season, so far, really good is Leslie. I’m not sure about saying this because I realize it might make me look like much more of an ogre than I think I am, but she’s done two things differently this season than she’s done in the eight seasons since she started hunting. First is insisting I go alone with Peat every once in a while. As I’ve said, that’s been beautiful; I think it’s been beautiful for both of us because she’s gone by herself with Bloom several times and has really enjoyed that. Second is, when we all hunt together, she agrees to go where I want to go, and the discussions about the route we’ll try to take get vastly reduced. I’ll be honest here by saying that the main reason I have liked hunting for the 25 years I’ve been doing it is that when one is really hunting everything else disappears, including language and everything that stems from it. There’s nothing else like that for me (except, maybe, playing music). This, for me, makes it necessarily a solo endeavor. Any “foreign” intrusion on that — whether it’s your wife or best friend or boss or whatever — mitigates the escape from everything that is crucial to liking it, to wanting to hunt. So the thing I think I’m most grateful for this season, among many great things, is Leslie’s realization and appreciation of how and why I like hunting. It’s allowed me, for probably the first time since she began hunting (which was a huge step for her for many reasons), to sincerely enjoy hunting with my wife. I realize her sacrifice here, and that, as I said, I might look bad in the equation, but I’m just trying to be honest.

    A woman kneels in a grassy area, smiling while holding a chukar bird in her right hand. Two dogs are positioned nearby, one is a brown and white dog and the other is a tan and white dog. The background features a mountainous landscape.
    Leslie on a recent hunt

    Finally, the other thing that’s made the season so far very good for me has been the book. Many of you have bought a copy of Chukar Culture: Memory, Dogs, Paradox, and for that I’m very grateful. I’d love to hear what readers think about it, so if you’ve gotten a copy please don’t be shy sharing your thoughts with me. I’m trying to figure out how to market it better, but am kind of stymied there (i.e., I’m open to suggestions!).

    Book titled 'Chukar Culture: Memory, Dogs, Paradox' by Robert McMichael, featuring a dog holding a chukar in a grassy landscape.

    Speaking of merch: hats, shirts, and hoodies are coming soon. I will post here when they’re live.

    Thanks for reading, as always, and may your season be filled with as much world-cancelling experience as you’re looking for.

  • Ellie’s Greatest Retrieve

    Ellie’s Greatest Retrieve

    [NOTE: This is the “winning” retriever story, by Trevor Henderson of Twin Falls, ID]

    Quinn and I were hunting chukars in the rimrock country of southern Idaho, the kind of steep, unforgiving terrain where birds run fast and fly faster. The dogs were working well that morning—Ryder and Joker ranging close, casting along the rocky edges. Then they froze—solid point. We stepped in, and the covey blew out like feathered fireworks. Amid the chaos, I squeezed off a shot and watched a bird fold, but we lost sight of where it went down. We figured it landed somewhere near where Ryder and Joker were already nosing around.

    Five minutes passed. No bird. The dogs worked hard, but came up empty. Then, from far below, I caught movement. Ellie, my little liver-and-white sweetheart, had broken off from us, over 200 yards down the canyon. I whistled once, unsure what she was doing way out there. A few moments later, she crested a rocky rise, tail wagging, chukar in her mouth—our chukar. How she knew where it fell, how she found it when the others couldn’t… that’s something only Ellie could do.

    That was Ellie—heart, drive, and nose like no other. She gave everything in the field, day after day. Last season, she was shot and killed by coyote hunters while we chased chukars in that same country. It broke something in me I don’t think will ever fully mend.

    But I hold on to days like that one. When she proved, again, that she was more than just a bird dog. She was my partner, my friend, and on that hillside, the best damn retriever I’ve ever known.

    Rest easy, my sweet girl. You’ll always be on point in my memory.

    Ellie bringing back a chukar. (This and the featured photo of the author and Ellie are both courtesy of Trevor Henderson.)