Not just for the birds

Tag: Hells Canyon chukar

  • Going up?

    chukar hunting Hells Canyon
    Hiking up out of Hells Canyon

    Had a couple good hikes on Wednesday and Thursday (Thanksgiving). I ponied up for the 3-day Oregon non-resident bird hunting license, a transgression caused by the “grass-is-greener” syndrome. In any case, we had a good time. Our vertical accomplishments vastly exceeded my shooting prowess and the coveys-per-hour encountered.

    Brownlee from the top
    Brownlee from the top

    The video below is our little story of getting ready, going, and returning. It features almost no bird action or chest thumping (but plenty of foot-stomping music by Yusef Lateef, one of my favorite tenor players).

     

    chukar hunting habitat
    So much chukar habitat, so little time

    Angus and I went again on Thanksgiving. Ironically, we hiked straight to the top since we only found birds there the day before. Nothing (except a bedded elk Angus ran straight into in the tall grass!). Lots of guano up high, but no birds until we got nearly back to the boat. By that time we were beat and had only enough time and energy to chase them four or five ridges, and couldn’t get close enough for a shot because of the lack of cover – they saw us coming and busted 100+ yards away. Chukar hunting.

  • Insanity

    Riffing on "Mouthful of Feathers" post...
    Riffing on “Mouthful of Feathers” post…

    Was it Einstein who defined insanity as doing the same thing over and over and over, always expecting different results? Chukar hunting might expose some holes in ol’ Einstein’s inference.

    Angus huffing chukar snow scent
    Angus huffing chukar snow scent

    Last weekend I busted major hump looking for chukar in some spectacular habitat which, in seasons past, has held good numbers of coveys. Angus found one covey and I blew the one shot I got. A little pissed, driving home, we rounded a corner near another place I’ve hiked with decent luck and noticed this: a fat guy not more than 50 yards from his pickup shooting straight up the basalt cliffs. Chukar tumbled down the rocky cliffs like rain, much to the chagrin of his giant white poodle who’d run up and sniff the dead birds and whirl away in disgust like Oscar Wilde power-scorning an undercooked scone.

    Insanity in the bag.
    Insanity in the bag.

    Today we bee-lined it for the fat guy spot but another couple had gotten there first and appeared to be returning from their hunt. So we drove a drainage over and headed uphill. When I crested the first ridge and realized the habitat we’d committed ourselves to was vastly inferior to Fat Guy Gulch, I got pissed, yelled at Angus, kicked a rock, and incensed Leslie with my childish behavior. “Total waste of time, not gonna be a single f-ing bird here,” I blurted. Two minutes later, and only twenty minutes into our hike, heading back to the pickup, Angus pointed. A large covey exploded, and I nailed one bird, which Angus brought back. We pursued the busted birds and Angus relocated them within ten minutes. I got another. Ten minutes later we were in the pickup heading back to the fat guy’s spot since the early bird couple were long gone. Angus and I hiked hard for 2-1/2 hours in awesome habitat and saw one piece of semi-fresh chukar poo. Not a bird was seen nor heard.

    Fat Guy Basalt Cliff
    Fat Guy Basalt Cliff

    It doesn’t matter, and you truly never know. Just go. Be insane. Do the same thing over and over and over and the results will always differ, despite the best of your intentions.

  • 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.
    P1090365
    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

  • The time is nigh

    chukarhunting-net
    The Chukarhunting.net Sea Runner is ready

    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?
    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.