It seems my complaints did the trick. We found chukar everywhere and anywhere last weekend. I have never seen so much chukar poo, and rarely if ever have I encountered so many chukar in two straight days. We worked for them, sure (about 5,000 vertical feet in two days), but they were high, low, and middle. Angus even pointed two in a tree near the water. I’ve never seen chukar in a tree. I shot like poo, but ended up with a good amount of birds. The best thing, though, was seeing so many birds; after hearing them all spring and summer and having a tough time finding them this fall, it’s nice to know they’re out there in big numbers. One covey consisted of at least 75 birds.
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 (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?)
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.
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.”
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.
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.
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
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.
A soothing bath for Angus after a great day’s work
Opening weekend came and went, and we’re still vibrating from it. We camped in Oxbow the night before opening day, greeted by a big sow bear as soon as we beached the boat. We waited a while, not sure if we should look for another cove, and then two cinnamon cubs appeared, and the train left the station. So we tied up, and enjoyed the stars, all night long, courtesy of Angus’s nearly constant woofing at things going bump in the night. We also learned that Oxbow (and probably most reservoirs) reduce the water level at night, because we awoke about 1:30 a.m. to our boat listing about 45-degrees. When it finally got light, Leslie and I eagerly prepared coffee fixings, only to realize we forgot a crucial part of the stove. As hardcore addicts, we fiddled about to create some heinous caffeinated beverage to dispel the certain migraine-like headaches that would have set in without our morning fix. Note to self. Remember stuff like that next time.
It’s the water, and a lot more.
But what about the hunting? Opening day was tough, but we saw three coveys. The first numbered at least 40 birds. I knocked one down and Angus got it. We saw two more large coveys (20+ birds) in the next two hours, but they busted early, probably because we were pursuing them across huge scree fields and must have appeared like Brahmas in the China shop. It was awesome, though, to explore new, heavily birded terrain and see lots of birds. Especially after last year. I think I hunted four times before bagging a chukar last year.
The next day we took the boat onto Brownlee and found a nice cove with decent access to a dirt road. Angus pointed just above the water level after being out only a few minutes. We followed the birds across a few little finger ridges near the water (cow trails on precipitous slopes), and Angus pointed again. I managed a double, but was only able to recover one bird, which is always incredibly aggravating. (Later, we returned to the area and found what I believe was that bird, which must have only been lightly wounded because it blasted up a draw right where I thought it should be; y’all know that when a chukar busts uphill the chances of finding it are slim to none and slim left town).
Good morning, opening day.
We hiked a lot and saw amazing new terrain. Since it was really warm it made sense that the first birds we saw were so close to the water, especially since there’s no greenup yet: no food higher up, and scarce water. But we came to a watering trough near a spring, and – sure enough – there was a large covey just next to it, and I managed one of this year’s small birds, which was so small that at first I thought it was a Hungarian partridge when Angus retrieved it.
We heard lots of calling, saw healthy-sized coveys, and are excited to head back out next weekend. I’m grateful to have a few days of rest (if you can call teaching 7th through 12th graders English “rest”) before next time.
Getting close. We’ve taken to sitting in the boat in the evenings now, imagining, strategizing, speculating, expectorating, and imbibing IPA.
Chukar have serenaded us during every fishing trip this summer. Angus has filed away their crowing coordinates.
We took a hike last weekend through a favorite late-season spot (which is the same place we took photos for an earlier post), which is bone dry now – I just wanted to walk and get Angus some hill work, and didn’t expect to see any birds or sign. I didn’t. There’s nothing for partridges to eat there yet. I did notice a plant (see photo below) that looks like cocklebur spread everywhere the cattle have been, but as far as I can tell it’s not cocklebur.
What’s this plant?
Anyone have any ideas on what it is? I’d never noticed this plant here before; if it is a cocklebur, we’ll avoid that area in the fall because Angus has a real talent for collecting them, which adds an unpleasant hour or two to every post-hunt ritual.
Finally, I bought a new domain for this blog (decaled on the boat: chukarhunting.net). It shouldn’t affect how you get here, or anything else. Just shorter.
Hang in there, I tell Angus and Leslie. It’s almost time. But I’m really talking to myself. It happens a lot this time of year.
