Not just for the birds

Tag: chukar hunting

  • Pointing Peat

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    Chukar hunting four years ago, at 49, I jumped off a rock because for a moment I thought I was 18. It didn’t end up well. Sometimes it seems age is the only thing. Yesterday, age took center stage on a series of steep, rocky, muddy, bunch-grass-covered, sunlit desert hills. My aging butt trudged slowly up and down them trying to follow my puppy and my old-man Brittanys.

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    While climbing, I was able to keep the dogs on the north-facing, frozen slopes so that when we reached the top we could reverse direction into the prevailing wind and work down the open, sun-drenched south-facing terrain. On the way up, Peat, the puppy, found and pointed two small “bonus” coveys. Angus was elsewhere. Near the top, Peat ascended with considerable interest in a straight-ish line while Angus progressed in his typical quartering fashion, and on a more northerly vector than Peat. When Peat stopped, rigid, stretched motionless I boogied up to him, then crept ahead. After a few yards  a super-covey of at least 50 chukar burst right in front of us.

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    On the way down, Peat found and pointed two more groups that Angus did not, one of which Angus ran across without busting. I winged one bird, which sailed nearly half a mile, landing in a bitterbrush. I hustled both dogs down there, and Peat tracked the running partridge (and brought it straight back to me, thank you very much!).

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    In people years, Angus is nearly 63, (the “new 53”?, my current  actual age, which feels like the new 73). He’s had a rough go this year with the new, young, annoying blood, and he’s still kind of grumpy about it. In the middle of the season I realized he’d lost quite a bit of weight, so we increased his food. Finally, thanks to post-hunt Vienna Sausages and elevated kibble levels, he’s not quite so bony in the hips.

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    After today, I can’t help wondering how well the best nose I’ve had the pleasure of hunting with these past six seasons (I didn’t hunt with him until he was three) is working. Peat clearly outdid him on the olfactory score. While I’m thrilled with Peat’s progress, I can’t help resenting at least a little bit the “out with the old, in with the new” feeling it gives me. I’m sure that everyone who works with more than one dog at a time experiences this. It’s my first go-round with it, and makes me see from yet another angle my brother’s advice long ago to avoid having two bird dogs simultaneously. Not trying to start something here, mind you, just Vienna Sausages for thought. Aged ones.

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    And what might Angus be thinking? The reality of it is that he’s probably looking for birds, as always, and really excited about it. He still looks enlivened by the activity, and never looks happier than when doing this. Peat sometimes focuses too much on Angus and that has got to bug him, having to shuck and jive to escape Peat. But I wonder if he noticed Peat outperformed him today, and I wonder what he thought about it. I hope he’s just lying at my feet now resting up for the next hunt. I’m sure that’s it.

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    Peat’s got a long way to go, but I actually hunted with him today for the first time. Here’s a bit of footage from the past several weeks of the dogs working; the first section is on a trail during a walk, hunting prohibited, with lots of grateful quail. Enjoy.

  • Birds or Bird Dogs?

    Two dogs?
    Two dogs?

    Sometimes potential ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. Right? Isn’t that the Billy Beane story line? Peat’s got tremendous potential, but can we survive him? That’s the latest question around here. Angus is sick of him. He’s wearing us out. But in the morning he’s the sweetest thing since evaporated milk, and he just wants to play (usually much too roughly) at all other times. Peat humps and batters Angus, and Angus has begun shaking in terror when Peat barks, which is often, and at ear-splitting volume. Lately, Angus retreats to the bedroom when Peat’s running around during playtime, and I shut the door. Last night was the first night in Angus’s life that he didn’t come sleep on the bed. I assume it’s because of Peat. I feel for the old dog (even though he’s only 8). Often I feel like an old dog. I am an old dog (although I’m younger than Angus in dog years).

    I wrote two emails this evening offering Peat to some people. I didn’t send them, but they’re ready to go. We work with Peat every day on basic obedience and retrieving, but it’s painful and painfully slow progress. Often I feel like Sisyphus. Our dogs are family members, pets, they sleep with us, they ride inside wherever we go, which is not how all hunting dog owners relate to their canine partners. But that’s how we roll, and Peat’s lopsiding our wheels more than we’re used to. More than we enjoy. This whole saga makes me feel like an idiot. I am an idiot. I wrote a post about that not too long ago.

    Still, we’ve had some great experiences with Peat, and we’ll still go no matter what happens with him. But in a way, he’s made me wonder which is bigger for me, chukar hunting or my bond with my dogs; they’re intimately connected, but it’s a question I’d never pondered until now. I’m not sure what I think about that. Anyway, here’s a little of what we’ve seen the past couple of weeks in our confusingly beautiful pastime.

  • Eating Crow, Delivering Game Birds

    A work in progress
    A work in progress

    Well, I’ve been working with Peat on retrieving nearly each day for the past couple of weeks. I got him to the point where he’d retrieve the bumper (with chukar wings duct taped to it) without any assistance from the check cord. Then I got him to do it without the rope. All of this was in my yard, mind you, and most of the retrieves were bribed with treats. But he made fast progress.

    In the meantime Leslie has been working with Peat every day on basic obedience, and we just started doing e-collar conditioning with him. He’s responding well.

    Heading up
    Heading up

    Then my brother and his youngest son, a senior in high school, visited over the weekend for some chukar hunting. On Saturday, true to my word and a small shred of common sense, we did not take Peat. We did a big hike and saw plenty of birds, but shot miserably (especially me). Still, it was a gorgeous day in a spectacular spot. I wished we could have taken Peat, but it was good to have Angus by himself. Near the end of the hunt, my nephew and I found ourselves on a ridge looking across at another ridge full of so many chukar calling that I thought I was dreaming. I was fried, but he said, “We have to go after them!” I told him to go for it, take Angus, and I’d watch. My brother was hunting down a different ridge.

    Saturday rest
    Saturday rest
    Two fit dudes
    Two fit dudes
    Emerald Hill - Angus and my nephew are somewhere
    Emerald Hill – Angus and my nephew are somewhere

    My nephew is a standout middle-distance runner, and he took off to the bottom of the draw, into the shadows, and then up the brilliant, emerald green, sunlit face opposite me. He climbed it like it was flat, and Angus zigzagged his way up in front. They got to some rocks and I could see Angus stop, and he’d scurry over, and then shoot. Angus bolted to a spot, grabbed a bird and brought it back to him. They did it again, and then continued up. This is a movie I’ll watch over and over until I lose my memory. It’s already a classic.

    The next day we hunted in a different area before they had to head back home. We took Peat, as well as Angus. I was worried, but we all knew the risks. We climbed up a long ridge and got to some rocks at the top on a slope facing the sun. Angus got birdy and headed down into the rocks, and pointed. Peat crept just behind Angus, and when the chute they crept down narrowed Peat and Angus were side by side and then stopped. A single chukar went up and my brother and nephew knocked it down. I’d moved below them, and came around a rock to see Angus and Peat playing a gentle tug of war with the chukar. “Oh no, here we go again,” I thought. Angus looked more determined not to let Peat have it than he’d been on previous occasions. The odd thing is that both dogs appeared to be concerned not to damage the bird. Finally, Angus let go of the chukar and I expected to see Peat dash off down the hill with it. Instead, he turned toward me, ran right up to me and dropped it at my feet! His eyes and face almost looked as if he were apologizing for taking so long to do this. Needless to say, I was ecstatic, and praised him prolifically.

    Alone with Peat - he did great!
    Alone with Peat – he did great!

    After that, we split up; Leslie and I went with Peat and my brother and nephew went down different ridges with Angus. At the bottom we all joined up again and found a covey of quail in the shady, snowy, brushy draw. We knocked down a couple, and Peat retrieved one of them to my brother (I was down at the bottom of the draw).

    Maybe it was a fluke. Maybe not. I’m still working with him. He didn’t do so well in the yard today (I didn’t include treats, and it was a different dummy). We still have a ton of work to do, but I’m happy with the luck, or progress, or whatever it was, on Sunday.

    It meant a lot to me to have those two days with my brother and nephew because they got to see one of the most miraculous things about my world – the tremendous scenery of Hell’s Canyon on a bluebird day in November after a little snow, lots of birds, good dog work, and all on public land where we basically had the place to ourselves. Sharing that with people I care about, and whom I know appreciate it in similar ways, makes life rich.

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  • Peat’s Last Hunt

    Peat in jail
    Peat in jail

    Knowing I shouldn’t be taking Peat hunting until he’s “ready,” I took him anyway. He’d demonstrated some troubling tendencies that needed to be dealt with: obviously, running off with stolen birds, but also busting and chasing birds, and appearing on the cusp of learning the joys of hunting for himself. My first Brittany, Glenna, was a masterful hunter for herself, which caused me to quit hunting until she died.

    Still, I took Peat out yesterday, with Angus and Leslie. Leslie had the leash, and I thought she’d be able to control him if Angus got birdy. The problem with this idea was that as soon as we set out, Peat sprinted an arrow straight course for 200 yards across a boulder-strewn field and stopped on a dime. He was pointing. I mean, he literally jumped out of the pickup and sprinted straight to a covey of Huns. It took him fifteen seconds. Angus was birdy, but doing his normal quartering. Peat had him beat by several minutes. I hustled toward Peat. As I neared, he actually turned his head toward us, almost as if to say, “What took you so long, and exactly what am I supposed to do now?” Just before I was within range, the birds busted, and Peat followed them and would not come back.

    Praying for Peat to come back
    Praying for Peat to come back

    So Leslie leashed Peat and wrangled him back to the truck. I’ve been working with him, trying to do a force-retrieve, which has revealed to me the extent of his stubbornness (see the video below). We’re starting to collar-condition him, too, so we can gain control over this diamond in the rough. I mean, his nose is staggeringly good, his athleticism and prey drive are phenomenal, and he is figuring out what the game is. But this was his last hunt, probably for the season. It breaks my heart to leave him at home (which I did today), but I’m trying to think of the investment.

    The old duo
    The old duo

    So I got to hunt with Angus alone today. Leslie’s staying home and exercising Peat, so I apologize for the dearth of winning photos and video. I miss her company on our hikes, too. But Angus found seven coveys today, Huns and chukars, and did some good retrieving work on crippled birds. It was windier than Trump at a Knucklehead Convention, but my old boy crept his way in on everything. He’s limping a bit after our journey today. It’s sad to think of him being past the halfway point. It seems like just a year or so ago we discovered this pastime together. Time flies when you’re chukar hunting.

    So, I hope I can stick to the plan of working with Peat every day and keep him from the field. So far he’s making quite unremarkable progress. I won’t hold my breath.

  • A Very Good Day

    Habitat
    Habitat

    After last week’s lament on discovering I was shooting cross-dominant, I went out and shot three doubles on beautiful points by both Angus and Peat. On each one I got the end of the barrel on the bird and a little voice said, “It will fall.” And it did. The only misses I made were on the last covey, which Peat had found on his own and must have been locked on them for at least 5 minutes. He was up the hill from me, and I was trying to keep an eye on Angus who was roaming around well upwind. But since Peat was solid I started moving up the hill toward him. When I got within about 15 yards of Peat I started to doubt him, but I kept moving. At ten yards, the birds launched, Huns, and that little voice was doing something else, probably writing a press release about Peat’s impressive point.

    Reward
    Reward

    I’m getting used to the Garmin Alpha with Angus. Yes, I have gone to the dark side, as Chris pointed out. It has reduced the stress of wondering where Angus is, and has already produced a few points I wouldn’t have seen without it. It might also be making me younger, because for some reason I seem to be hiking more miles and elevation gain than I ever have. Ponce de Leon should have checked into one of these numbers.

    Sparrows or something
    Sparrows or something

    I went out again on Sunday with The Kid. We hiked our butts off on the same ridge I hunted the day before, but lower down. Excellent habitat, tons of cover, greenup, and rarely hunted. At the top Angus and Peat pointed one covey, and it held long enough for The Kid and me to get in good position. The birds went up and we each shot, but neither connected. We hiked another three hours without seeing any birds except for a few way down low.

    Summiting
    Summiting

    My reputation as the world’s worst chukar guide, when it comes to The Kid, is pretty safe. He’s got a great new gun of his own (which he bought with some of the cash he won for winning Grand Champion Steer at the fair; not bad for an 11-year-old against all comers!), and I’m feeling the pressure. The line, “We’ll get ’em next time,” is getting old. I’m just grateful he wants to keep trying. We will get them next time.

    On the cusp
    On the cusp
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