Not just for the birds

Tag: chukar culture

  • More Birds, and a Dilemma

    More Birds, and a Dilemma

    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.
  • So Long, Angus

    So Long, Angus

    I could never remember
    That seething, steady leveling of the marshes
    Til age had brought me to the sea

    –Hart Crane, “Repose of Rivers“

    Ya stare, ya glare, ya constantly compare me
    But ya can’t get near me

    –Shock G, “The Humpty Dance“

    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…

  • Love and Grief

    Love and Grief

    “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.

    Grief is loud but love is even louder.

  • Home Movies

    Home Movies

    After the light came

    We got an early start and headed up the mountain in the dark wearing headlamps for the first part of the climb. After about an hour of zigzagging up the mountain the sun started to rise in the distance. Some parts of the climb were super steep and I ended up having to grasp some clumps of bunchgrass and branches of sagebrush to pull myself further up. Legal shooting hours were one half hour before sunrise but Bob’s goal was to reach the top of the rocky ridge and not start hunting until the downhill. This was early fall and still pretty warm outside during the day and he was hoping that the birds would be heading up after spending the early morning drinking water down by the river and, as they say in cowboy movies, “Head them off at the pass.” This was my first time hiking for chukar with Bob and Angus and this whole world of seeing things off trail was new and exciting.

    Bob asked if I’d carry our video camera to record some of the hunt that day. I’d never used our video camera before and he showed me how to operate it the night before. He told me that the red light meant you were recording and the green light meant it was stopped. Besides negotiating new terrain and trying to keep up with Bob and Angus, my job was also to stay out of the way and be ready to film at all times. When something would happen which I wasn’t anticipating because I didn’t understand what was going on, Bob would signal me that Angus was onto birds or he was on point so I could start filming. With so much going on in my mind that day, operating the camera and pushing the correct button was the opposite of what Bob told me and that the green light meant go. Unbeknownst to me, I spent most of that day recording the ground thinking the camera was turned off.

    Angus pointing chukar
    Angus strikes a familiar pose. This was the first time I saw Angus point.

    The descent on this first chukar hunt was equally challenging and it was easier on my legs to go up than down. Chukar country is steep. We stopped on the way down and I took off my backpack to get something out of it and sat my pack on the ground. Before I knew it my pack was somersaulting down the hill. I stood there and watched in disbelief not being able to do anything about it and thanked my lucky stars that it was still zipped up and that we were heading downhill in that direction anyway.

    When we got home Bob sorted through at least an hour of footage of nothing but the moving ground and dizzying images of boots. I was embarrassed by my lack of getting something on film but he found at least a couple of minutes of hunting action and he made a short video and uploaded it to YouTube. The name of the movie was “Another Chukar Hunting Adventure with Angus.” Back in 2010, YouTube was still fairly new and there weren’t a whole lot of chukar hunting videos out there. Anything was better than nothing, we thought, and we even got some positive feedback on the video and not too many thumbs down. I agreed to carry the camera the next time we went out, and the next and the next and that continued for another seven years until I finally got tired of following Bob around the mountain with the camera and got a shotgun and started hunting myself.

    I call our YouTube contributions “home movies” because they’re not professional quality by any means. Over the course of those seven years of filming, my fitness improved and usually I was able to stay with Bob plus anticipate when something might happen, and I learned to try and hold the camera still and slow my breathing down or hold my breath while filming so we wouldn’t have so much heavy breathing but that wasn’t always easy.

    During this down time we’ve all been having the past month, I’ve been going back and rewatching some of the videos we made over the years. A virtual rabbit hole of good times spent on the mountain. This first video, Another Chukar Hunting Adventure with Angus is the movie made with the footage from my maiden day on the mountain. I’d never seen chukar hunting in person or a pointing dog working until that day and immediately knew that it was something special.

    This next one, How Not to Handle a Hun was made in 2013. We took “The Kid” Jarret hunting and he learned that not all birds are retrieved dead. It was a good learning experience for him and me. It’s something that carried over when I started hunting. My first Hungarian partridge that Angus retrieved for me during my first season wasn’t dead. I had to deal with it and it’s not pleasant but it’s part of upland hunting.

    Chukar Hunting Retriever Man was filmed on the 2016 season opener with our friend Cameron. We lost one of the birds on a rocky cliff down by the water and Angus couldn’t get to it. We decided to go back and get the boat and motor back upriver to find it. While Cam was retrieving it up in the rocks, Angus ate Cam’s roast beef sandwich. We still laugh about it.

    Shit Chukar Hunters Say was my idea back in 2013. I’d seen something called “Shit Cyclists Say” and wanted to make a chukar hunter version of it. We made it with our friend Greg on the hill behind our house. We didn’t really have much of a script and Bob and Greg did a wonderful job ad libbing.

    Public Land Chukar Hunting in Idaho. We went hunting in a place we’d never been before back in 2016 and at a place we really didn’t expect to find chukar but did. I really like this video because it was the first time Bob did a voice over and I love that about it. (He made this video as an example for a video project he had his students do.)

    A Walk for Chukar is one that I made myself last year when learning how to use iMovie. It celebrates the landscapes where these birds live. I love this video and can watch it over and over.

    This last video, Another Chukar Hunting Adventure with Angus, 2020, is footage from this past season 2019/2020. I just made it this week. We used the same music from that first one made in 2009, and the only thing that is different is location and all three of us are much older.

    Looking back at these and watching them, there is one thing that resonates with us, inspires us, and makes us look forward to next season are these beautiful places in the chukar hills.

  • Decade

    Decade

    Celebrating and reminiscing about great days on the chukar hills from past seasons. These beautiful moments, funny ones, exhausting ones, and even frustrating ones always remind us of the beauty of the sport and what the culture of chukar hunting means to all of us.

    The following is a collection of some photos we’ve never shared and a few of my favorites that you might have seen before. Remembering those wonderful times spent with friends, family, some moments alone, and of course with good dogs will help all of us get through these uncertain times and give us something to look forward to this coming autumn. We again thank you for following us along on this journey over the years. It’s because of you we hope to keep this up another decade.

    Winter hunting can be a little slippery.
    This was a beautiful place to hunt but we found it over grown with cactus, poison Ivy, and rattlesnakes that day. We’ve never been back.
    Big country, God’s country.
    Peat honoring 6-month old Susie. The funny thing was that out of camera view, Susie was pointing some cattle on the other side of a fence.
    I was freezing cold and miserable in this photo but we kept climbing and following the dogs. Sometimes you misjudge what the weather might do and just deal with it.
    Heading down after I got us lost. We were only temporarily lost but it’s always a little disconcerting when you get turned around and disoriented in the backcountry.
    Cold cowboy coffee. We thought it would be fun to sleep on the boat on season opener. We brought everything but the kitchen sink and still managed to forget the camp stove. We also had a rude awaking in the middle of the night when we woke up with our boat laying on its side on rocks. We now know that Idaho Power lowers the water level in the reservoir at night.
    Snowy point.
    Hauling in a stranded boat of fisherman after we got done hunting. They were lucky this cold day since we were the only other people on the water. Oh, and Bob discovered that in the process of towing this boat we’d shredded our boat’s prop.
    Angus pointing. I thought he was just resting in the shade but a couple of chukar busted right in front of him. I kicked myself for not being ready with my shotgun.
    Good day Bob spent spent with his brother Geoff and his Brittany Donner.
    Dog trio on the rim. Bob can hunt for hours without pulling out his camera so these moments are rare.
    Opening day, 2018
    Sam spoon feeding Hannah and Angus. Sam started us on the post-hunt Vienna Sausage tradition.
    We’ve tried hunting with snowshoes a couple of times over the years. Too much snow was hard on the dogs.
    A rare two balloon day.
    Prepping for the perfect after hunt photo.
    Tough climb but the views were spectacular.
    The early season is always hot and dry.
    Vienna sausage post-hunt treat tradition continues.
    Early season after-hunt cool-down.
    Trying to get the dogs to look at me for group shot.
    Huns. I love the expression on Angus.
    Standing there watching 6-month-old Peat on season opener eating his first chukar and we couldn’t do anything about it. He did the same thing 5 more consecutive times. He hasn’t done it since.
    It always seems like we spend more time going up than going down. That’s probably because we do.
    Proud parents of a baby boy Peat. Angus looks dejected. Peat looks like he’s planning the years of shenanigans he’s in the process of executing.
    Friends forever after a rough start.
    The Sunburst Brittany Clan. All three kids hiked all day with us in tough terrain.
    The kid followed us up every mountain. The kid “Jarret” is now a high school junior.
    Snowballs on Angus and inside my boots. This is the one the day I wished I’d worn gaiters.
    We went hunting with my brother-in-law only once but it was memorable.
    Opening day of chukar 2019. We thought we’d only have Angus for a few hunts but he lasted the entire season and is still going strong.
    My first ever chukar on my first season. Angus pointed and retrieved it, which made it even more special.
    Heading back to the pickup. Late afternoon hunts are always nice, and I love the light in this photo.
    Hunting stories in Hells Canyon Beer pub with Sam.
    Man and dog looking for chukar
    Where’d they go? Snow chukar at all.
    This was when I only carried a camera. At the time I didn’t know what I was missing.
    Brittany and Hungarian partridges
    Young Angus and Huns. We used a vest for a few hunts but stopped using it. I’m not sure why.
    Man and dog chukar hunting
    Boots with good ankle support is definitely required for chukar hunting.
    I’m never sure how to hold my bird for photos. I always feel awkward.
    My Benelli. I use an auto loader but rarely shoot more than once on a covey.
    It’s always hard to show steepness in photos, this one sums it up.
    Failed negotiation with Jarret over sharing his Peanut Butter and Cheeto sandwich.
    Jan 2020 highlight was meeting Custer. He’s on my left and also the nephew of Angus.
    Not a bad view. Taking a break after the long hike up from the reservoir.
    Peat on point.
    Birthday seat covers for my hunting rig.
    Bob looking for deer while taking the kid bird hunting.
    Four Sunburst Brittanys
    Thanksgiving Day hunt back in 2016. We made a video of the day and so far it has had 1.6 million views on Youtube. There’s some sort of weird chukar hunting cult out there. 😉
    Sam and Hannah. Sadly, Hannah passed away this past winter.
    I take a lot of photos of dogs drinking water, this one is my favorite.
    Covey Rise. It’s always hard to capture birds in flight.
    Angus in pursuit of a downed bird that Bob shot when this single busted behind him.
    Angus and Leslie
    Behind the scenes in the early years before Angus turned gray.
    The year of mega snow fall. We couldn’t hunt but it didn’t stop this Red tailed Hawk.
    Steep country. I love it.
    Angus retrieving my chukar this season.
    We couldn’t go up or down, the only way was across and it was like walking on tiny marbles. I ended up crawling on my hands and knees.
    Last photo of the 2019/2020 season.