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
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.
It 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.
As we turn off of the highway and onto the dusty dirt road heading towards the chukar hills, our bird dog stands up in the back seat of the pickup and sticks his nose out of the crack in the window, snorts, and wags his stubby tail in excitement. The last time we turned up this road we were heading out for a bitter cold January hunt. Dogs have a keen sense of memory. Does he remember the turn, the smell, or something else?
The chukar hills are always turning with the seasons. Bright red Indian paintbrush, brilliant yellow arrowleaf balsamroot, deep pink sweet pea, purple Rocky Mountain penstemon, multi-colored wild lupine, verdigris sagebrush, and spring green grasses are now flourishing after a long winter. The reward from the snow melt is habitat and food for wildlife and a new batch of chukar that soon will be hatching in these hills.
We all wandered in different directions across the hillside covered in wildflowers blanketing the ground in a blaze of yellow and red. It was a short walk to admire the views and to collect some arrowleaf balsamroot seeds for our own wildflower garden. We eventually met up and sat down on some flat rocks in the warmth of the setting sun to quietly take a moment to reflect on the last time we hunted on these chukar hills.
Two of my favorite creatures in one of my favorite places
Thanksgiving is coming, and since I’ve been complaining about the scarcity of birds I thought I might refocus a little here.
I think one of the reasons I love chukar hunting so much is that the landscapes I get to inhabit are particularly compelling to me. I remember driving through dense alpine forests on some forlorn road trip, anxious to get to my destination, and wishing I could stop the car and crawl into the deep, dark woods. That was before I got a dog and discovered the arid high desert habitat laced and punctuated with bromus tectorum, bunch grass, and bitterbrush. Basalt steeps. Lichen walls. Vistas unlike any I’d seen except in eastern Turkey long ago. It’s almost as if the birds don’t even matter (while they’re precisely why I’m there).
Anyway, I have lots to be thankful for, including my wife Leslie for being so good with the cameras and such a wonderful companion. And my new friends, young and old, who’ve decided I might be worth putting up with out there. And, of course, Angus (who redeemed himself in tremendous fashion last night, just as it was getting dark, by retrieving a sure-to-be-lost winged quail from the densest of slough-thickets).
Enjoy a few of the sights I’ve been blessed to experience this season:
It’s six weeks into the season now and the sinking feeling is growing. Each time I’ve gone out I’ve thought, “Next week I’ll find them.” Then I wouldn’t.
This weekend I made it out twice and both times were dismal in terms of birds. We busted one covey of Huns yesterday, and today I saw two chukars – isolated incidents. I knocked both down. We only recovered one, which doesn’t happen often, but is really hard to take when it does, especially when birds are at such a premium.
Angus worked heroically and stoically and I’m starting to worry he’s wondering what the heck is going on. He’s never seen pickings this slim (nor have I). But the terrain and habitat are as good as I’ve seen them, and I’m not giving up even though it’s looking more and more as though the bird numbers are truly way down here.
Well, after my recent post, “Getting High on Chukar,” in which I revealed that up north I have seen more birds lower on the slopes than I do down south, I went low over the Thanksgiving break in my spot down south. In other words, I decided to try the northern tactic in the south. It wasn’t the best day, but I have to remind myself that the worst day chukar hunting is better than the best day at work.
I went with a friend. Conditions were pretty wet to start, which wasn’t bad and made the ground nice and pliable. After about a half hour of steep side-hilling not far above the creek we came to a sharp ridge and draw, and I expected to see some birds there because of all the cover and the ridge protecting them from the wind. Sure enough, as we came over the spine of the ridge we saw Angus pointing downhill about ten yards below the ridgetop. Unfortunately, though, the birds busted before we could get in range. No shots, and about ten birds in the covey. It looked like they hugged the hillside and flared about two ridges away, so we skidaddled after them, paralleling each other on the hill about 75 yards apart, with Angus bouncing between us.
After a couple ridges and some unpleasant brush-busting and minor falls, we’d bumped up two or three singles, and missed each of them. I felt we should get to a higher vantage point and work down, but the terrain was pretty imposing for such a feat so we continued at the lower trajectory. After a covey busted well above us, probably in response to our talking about what the hell we should do in the hardening rain, I decided to head straight uphill and head back to the truck.
My wife, who photographs some of these “walks,” always says, “Photos don’t really show how steep it actually is!”
On the grueling way up I realized why I prefer getting high to start and working down. When you work low at first, there’s nowhere but up, and – Murphy’s Law or whatever – it’s usually the worst kind of “up” – rocky, loose, brush-encrusted, pitches requiring hands-and-knees ascending. Yuck. The fact that we didn’t see many birds throughout this ordeal was like a birthday boy watching his mom scrape all the frosting off his cake and run it down the disposal. Well, maybe not exactly like that, but sort of. Anyway, once we got up to the top ridge, the sun came out and the walking got easier. Still, we couldn’t find many birds up there, but at least I knew where I was. And, maybe best, the truck was below us.
So, I’m not sure if I learned much on this day that I didn’t already know. I actually think the birds’ elevation is far more mysterious than “high” or “low” and depends on way more factors than I understand. Therefore, since I still know next to nothing about chukar behavior, I’ll continue “learning” by starting high and working down, especially if I can figure out which way the wind is blowing.
It 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.
