Not just for the birds

Category: Hunting accounts

  • Huntastically mallardiffic

    Angus consecrates the new turf
    Angus consecrates the new turf

    Well, after this morning’s post, I wasn’t sure what today would bring. I went to an Access Yes parcel I hadn’t hunted. I’d heard from one of my students that there were lots of chukar out there, which I doubted. I was right; not being a chukar hunter he no doubt confused Huns with chukar. And there were lots of Huns out there. Angus pointed one covey, I flushed them and fired once. Angus located and retrieved the one bird I saw fall, but I noticed what looked like another bird squirming on the ground where the first one fell. I hustled up there to find three more. My first four-for-one.

    Not far from the rig
    Not far from the rig

    Early in the hunt I approached a little pond with a row of cottonwoods between us and the water. Thinking there might be some ducks there, I slipped some steel in my Benelli. As I neared the water, no ducks in sight. One more step revealed a handful of mallards still in the water ten yards away. They took off and I shot twice and hit both. Angus, who disdains or even fears water, beelined it for the mallard in the middle, swimming, grabbed it, and brought it straight back to me. It was a bird and it was flapping, evaporating his fear. We couldn’t find the second duck. I thought it had sank. On the way back (after a stellar pointing sequence on several Hun coveys), we visited the pond again and Angus found the wounded mallard in the reeds at the far end of the pond and brought it back to me.

    Typical uplandfowl day (not)
    Typical uplandfowl day (not)

    So I bagged 8 birds today, the most killing I’ve done in a long time. I had to look the wounded birds in their eyes as I suffocated them. There’s no pretending. It’s a blessing to get a bird stone cold limp with its eyes glazed over. That hardly every happens (just once today). I’m not used to numbers like this, so it’s weighing on me a bit. But I’ll get over it. Or not.

  • Chukarubbish

    Not for lack of trying, it’s been three weeks since I eyed a chukar (not counting the ones I finally cleaned the other day; oh, were they tender, but that’s another story).

    Praying for partridge
    Praying for partridge (click to enlarge photo to see Angus right in the way)

    I’ve seen lots of Hungarian partridge (or gray partridge) in places I expected to see chukar. I’d say the Hun population in these parts is as good or better than last year’s. The chukar, though, seem to have vanished. I’ve found lots of old chukar sign in places I’ve found them for the past few years, but Angus hasn’t even gotten birdy in those crags. It’s as if they all went Jim Jones on us and offed themselves. Or they packed up and moved to Mallorca because they knew that the only fit people who visit Mallorca are professional cyclists and wannabees who don’t allow themselves to hike because they might damage their ever-crucial gastrocnemiuses.

    Ancient partridge poop (maybe some blue grouse, too?)
    Ancient partridge poop (maybe some blue grouse, too?)

    Disappointment doesn’t quite cover it. I’ve mentioned before that the spring and indicators promised a much better season than last year, but – so far – it’s much worse. Reports I’ve gotten from others concur: apparently nobody is finding chukar around here. There’s an out-of-state group of intrepid chukar hunters who’ve hunted these hills since the 1980s (one of whom is a former Navy Seal), and they aren’t finding the birds despite doing 2,500 vertical feet a day. They’ve turned to ducks now.

    I’ll still go out looking. The Huns are there, anyway. But a new problem has arisen (it’s not really new, but my chukar frustration has refocused what I complain about): I never trained Angus to be steady to wing, and it seems he’s in the way of every covey bust so that I can only squeeze off one prayer of a shot without risking peppering him with lead. Yesterday Angus pointed four nice coveys of Huns. Despite trying to orient myself for a clear shot (below him, above him, to the side), each time the birds’ trajectory put Angus exactly between me and them. It’s my own damned fault. I never bothered to train him to do anything. “Our next dog…” we say. I hate feeling angry with Angus, especially because it is dead wrong. What’s that called?

    Woe is me. At least I’m getting out and seeing some birds. But recalling the mantra (“The worst day chukar hunting is better than the best day at work”) is getting old fast. It snowed here last night, and after a torrential storm it’s a bluebird Sunday. Angus and I are headed out. More later. Life is, despite the foregoing, really good.

  • Lulling, or How to Carry the Wrong Gun All the Time

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    Hunting for chukar and deer

    I’ve been looking for, and finding, birds. I’ve seen chukar, Hungarian partridges, and “dusky” (formerly “blue”) grouse (which makes the statuesque, elegant galliform sound like a porn star trying to make a comeback). But I’ve also seen lots of horned deer while holding my Benelli Ultra Light 12-gauge loaded with 1-1/8 ounce 7-1/2 lead shot. Deer season ends soon, and my freezer’s empty, so I’m kinda hoping to run across (or over) a li’l forkie while sporting my .270. The thing is, though, that I see deer when I’m looking (with the Benelli) for birds, and I see birds when I’m looking (with my Remington 700) for deer. This weekend was a comedy of erred firearms.

    I’d bet there are a few folks out there in the same conundrum. You can’t realistically carry two guns with you. I don’t even know if it’s legal. Once I had my poor wife carry my rifle on a bird hunt, and my shotgun on a deer hunt (she doesn’t hunt). You might guess that on both of those occasions we saw lots of sparrows and squirrels but no galliforms, dusky or otherwise, or ungulates, horned or otherwise.

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    Sometimes, birds don’t matter, right?

    As far as the chukar go, it’s been a little frustrating. We’ve taken the boat out and kept to our goal of hunting new ground every time, but the birds have proven elusive. This past summer, while fishing on the nearby reservoirs, chukar serenaded us – it seemed – constantly. We’re finding more evidence of them now, however, than the birds themselves. I’m thinking it’s a timing thing, mostly. I know they’re moving, and it’s been unusually warm, so they’re near the water. Exactly how near, I think, has been the issue. Arg. After doing this for a while now, it’s bizarre not having a better idea of what to do where and when. When it comes down to it, luck seems to play as big a role as anything else. If I were bionic, and Angus, too, we could hunt all day (we’re no Larry of Tucker’s Chukars, after all!).

    As much as it pisses me off to admit it, and as hard as it is to remember it, we do this for bigger reasons than killing birds. I’m so grateful I have Leslie to shoot pictures to remind of why I shouldn’t care if I don’t shoot birds.

    Elysian Fields
    Elysian Fields

  • Me Find Birds

    Residual chukar
    Residual chukar

    It’s days like this which, despite the snags, make the rest worthwhile.

    I shot horrendously. I tied up the boat after a 12-mile trip in the chill morning air to discover I’d forgotten to put my boots – the most important piece of equipment – in the boat (so I motored back to the dock, and got ’em, adding an hour to the endeavor). Leslie and Angus waited patiently.

    But oh, the birds. In just two hours of hiking (very hard hiking) we saw over 100 chukar in at least four coveys. I haven’t seen this many coveys of this many birds in quite a while, maybe ever. I bagged only one bird (no excuses, but man, that is hard to take), and my friend Dan (who hunted elsewhere this day) thought it was the largest chukar he’s ever seen (he’s a retired US Fish & Wildlife bird biologist and lifelong upland hunter).

    So here’s a short video of the day. Enjoy.

  • Week Two: conflict, torn metal, and joy

    Failed negotiation
    Failed negotiation

    Saturday proved unsuccessful in several areas:

    1. Aside from a couple of stealthy ruffed grouse, we saw no birds of any kind in nearly 4 hours of hiking high and low across chukarific terrain, some of which Leslie termed, “the most technical hiking I’ve ever done.”
    2. During our lunch break in the boat, I was unable to convince The Kid to trade me his peanut butter (Skippy Creamy), jam (strawberry), Cheetohs (made with real cheese), sandwich (on white bread) for my piece of cold pizza. I tried my best to save face after being shot down, but it didn’t feel good. Never try to separate an 11-year-old from his sandwich.
    3. On our way back to the dock, flying along at a good clip in the Sea Runner across some pretty big chop, we encountered a stranded boat, and towed it and its grateful occupants back to the dock. Somewhere along the way, however, our propeller got shredded. Ah, the costs of being a good Samaritan.
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    Sea Runner as tugboat

    As far as the non-chukarness goes, my only theory – which is worth its weight in a couple ruffed grouse tail feathers – is that the stiff wind had them hunkered down somewhere we weren’t lucky enough to stumble across. We focused on the leeward slopes and draws, in places we’d heard and seen chukar all summer long. Maybe the change in weather sent them packing to higher ground, but there’s no greenup anywhere yet.

    Working the downwind slopes with The Kid
    Working the downwind slopes with The Kid

    Sunday worked out better, without the boat. Angus and I headed up an old, familiar trail along a creek, and within 30 minutes I had three ruffed grouse in my bag. We continued up the road a couple miles and then decided we’d better ascend and look for chukar.  Hiking up the steep slopes was bone dry, with thick, very tall bunch grass, often over Angus’ head. Very tough footing. Steady, calm wind, warm. I was dubious about finding birds high up with no greenup whatsoever, but Angus pointed just below the ridge top on the east-facing slope (about mid-day). A good covey of 20 chukar rose, and I got two adults. I kept thinking we’d find some more birds on the way down, but didn’t. Still, a really, really good day.

    I think I learned they can be anywhere, regardless of obvious food sources. Taking a page out of my old book of hiking to the ridge, working it carefully on both sides with the dog, and praying we’ll find something might be the ticket. It’s just that it’s so damned hard to get up the hill.

    What a relief to get to the ridge and mostly flat footing.
    What a relief to get to the ridge and mostly flat footing.
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    A soothing bath for Angus after a great day’s work
    Bonus shed, with the day's plenty
    Bonus shed, with the day’s plenty