Not just for the birds

Category: Hunting accounts

  • Chukar Lucky

    Chukar habitat par excellence
    Chukar habitat par excellence

    After the last couple hikes with Angus, I’m feeling pretty lucky.

    With Leslie away, it was just my best friend and me. We went to a new spot, the opposite direction from our normal compass bearing. Filtering through private land, endless rolling hills, creeks, basalt scatter, barbed wire in various states of repair, muddy tracks betraying several weight classes of vehicular passing, we reached some large parcels of BLM land. I picked a spot with some inviting chukar habitat and we set out.

    Break time
    Break time

    Within minutes, Angus pointed. One bird went up, and I managed to wing it, but I knew it would run. Angus disappeared over the ridge top. I checked where I saw the chukar hit the ground, and found just a few feathers. Five minutes later, Angus appeared with the bird.

    P1100598It went like that all day. A few singles, then a covey or two, then more singles. Angus was birdy all the time. Almost seven miles later, we made it back to the pickup. The next day, we went back to the same area, but hunted on the other side of the road. Carbon copy day. Chukar lucky.

    P1100600 1214141312 P1100605

  • The strangeness of hunting chukar

    A couple of windy hunts with not much bird action but lots of pretty stuff to look at. Leslie’s photos add spectacularly to our videos, I think, and to this blog.

    I’m grateful she wants to go chukar hunting with me, even though while we’re out I almost totally ignore her. To use my friend Peter’s phrase, it’s symptomatic of how hunting underscores “the strangeness of being who one is” (see his excellent book, Making Game). In one of the rare moments during a hunt when she and I are actually walking together (she stays behind to minimize the chances of me shooting her), Leslie asked me if I think about other things when we’re chukar hunting. I said, “No, that’s probably why I like hunting so much.” It’s not that I think much when I’m not hunting, but that it’s the purest form of doing something I get to do frequently. Playing music comes close, but the ear often interferes by letting you know when it’s unforgivable crap, and then the musicking becomes a vehicle for self-loathing. But that’s another, super fun, story.

    Anyway, here are some of Leslie’s lovely photos from our past couple of hunts.

    Leslie's eye at work
    Leslie’s eye at work
    A rare conversation
    A rare conversation
    Sloping into the light
    Sloping into the light
    Sloping in shadow
    Sloping in shadow
    Can you see the wind?
    Can you see the wind?
    Water seeker
    Water seeker

    Speaking of strange, we experienced an unprecedented moment on our hunt yesterday when a coyote we flushed flushed the only covey of chukar we saw in five miles of hiking. Leslie got it on video (see below; you might have to replay it a time or two to see it unfold).

  • Going up?

    chukar hunting Hells Canyon
    Hiking up out of Hells Canyon

    Had a couple good hikes on Wednesday and Thursday (Thanksgiving). I ponied up for the 3-day Oregon non-resident bird hunting license, a transgression caused by the “grass-is-greener” syndrome. In any case, we had a good time. Our vertical accomplishments vastly exceeded my shooting prowess and the coveys-per-hour encountered.

    Brownlee from the top
    Brownlee from the top

    The video below is our little story of getting ready, going, and returning. It features almost no bird action or chest thumping (but plenty of foot-stomping music by Yusef Lateef, one of my favorite tenor players).

     

    chukar hunting habitat
    So much chukar habitat, so little time

    Angus and I went again on Thanksgiving. Ironically, we hiked straight to the top since we only found birds there the day before. Nothing (except a bedded elk Angus ran straight into in the tall grass!). Lots of guano up high, but no birds until we got nearly back to the boat. By that time we were beat and had only enough time and energy to chase them four or five ridges, and couldn’t get close enough for a shot because of the lack of cover – they saw us coming and busted 100+ yards away. Chukar hunting.

  • Just another chukar hunting video

    Action, and lack thereof, from the last week. Enjoy.

  • Insanity

    Riffing on "Mouthful of Feathers" post...
    Riffing on “Mouthful of Feathers” post…

    Was it Einstein who defined insanity as doing the same thing over and over and over, always expecting different results? Chukar hunting might expose some holes in ol’ Einstein’s inference.

    Angus huffing chukar snow scent
    Angus huffing chukar snow scent

    Last weekend I busted major hump looking for chukar in some spectacular habitat which, in seasons past, has held good numbers of coveys. Angus found one covey and I blew the one shot I got. A little pissed, driving home, we rounded a corner near another place I’ve hiked with decent luck and noticed this: a fat guy not more than 50 yards from his pickup shooting straight up the basalt cliffs. Chukar tumbled down the rocky cliffs like rain, much to the chagrin of his giant white poodle who’d run up and sniff the dead birds and whirl away in disgust like Oscar Wilde power-scorning an undercooked scone.

    Insanity in the bag.
    Insanity in the bag.

    Today we bee-lined it for the fat guy spot but another couple had gotten there first and appeared to be returning from their hunt. So we drove a drainage over and headed uphill. When I crested the first ridge and realized the habitat we’d committed ourselves to was vastly inferior to Fat Guy Gulch, I got pissed, yelled at Angus, kicked a rock, and incensed Leslie with my childish behavior. “Total waste of time, not gonna be a single f-ing bird here,” I blurted. Two minutes later, and only twenty minutes into our hike, heading back to the pickup, Angus pointed. A large covey exploded, and I nailed one bird, which Angus brought back. We pursued the busted birds and Angus relocated them within ten minutes. I got another. Ten minutes later we were in the pickup heading back to the fat guy’s spot since the early bird couple were long gone. Angus and I hiked hard for 2-1/2 hours in awesome habitat and saw one piece of semi-fresh chukar poo. Not a bird was seen nor heard.

    Fat Guy Basalt Cliff
    Fat Guy Basalt Cliff

    It doesn’t matter, and you truly never know. Just go. Be insane. Do the same thing over and over and over and the results will always differ, despite the best of your intentions.