Not just for the birds

Tag: Hungarian partridge

  • Huntastically mallardiffic

    Angus consecrates the new turf
    Angus consecrates the new turf

    Well, after this morning’s post, I wasn’t sure what today would bring. I went to an Access Yes parcel I hadn’t hunted. I’d heard from one of my students that there were lots of chukar out there, which I doubted. I was right; not being a chukar hunter he no doubt confused Huns with chukar. And there were lots of Huns out there. Angus pointed one covey, I flushed them and fired once. Angus located and retrieved the one bird I saw fall, but I noticed what looked like another bird squirming on the ground where the first one fell. I hustled up there to find three more. My first four-for-one.

    Not far from the rig
    Not far from the rig

    Early in the hunt I approached a little pond with a row of cottonwoods between us and the water. Thinking there might be some ducks there, I slipped some steel in my Benelli. As I neared the water, no ducks in sight. One more step revealed a handful of mallards still in the water ten yards away. They took off and I shot twice and hit both. Angus, who disdains or even fears water, beelined it for the mallard in the middle, swimming, grabbed it, and brought it straight back to me. It was a bird and it was flapping, evaporating his fear. We couldn’t find the second duck. I thought it had sank. On the way back (after a stellar pointing sequence on several Hun coveys), we visited the pond again and Angus found the wounded mallard in the reeds at the far end of the pond and brought it back to me.

    Typical uplandfowl day (not)
    Typical uplandfowl day (not)

    So I bagged 8 birds today, the most killing I’ve done in a long time. I had to look the wounded birds in their eyes as I suffocated them. There’s no pretending. It’s a blessing to get a bird stone cold limp with its eyes glazed over. That hardly every happens (just once today). I’m not used to numbers like this, so it’s weighing on me a bit. But I’ll get over it. Or not.

  • Chukarubbish

    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
    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?)
    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.

  • Spectral Sunday

    The sound of chukar hills clapping
    The sound of chukar hills clapping

    Graded student papers all day, and by 2 p.m. Angus and I were looking at each other. “Is this the best we can do?” It’s one of the things I like most about having a canine best friend. You support each other’s habit. Not much paw- and arm-twisting necessary here. The fog had started to lift and the chukar hills morphed into recognition to the west.

    Image
    Sunday afternoon looking west to the Wallowas

    Ten minutes later we were on the road. After a 30-minute drive down into the icy canyon I pulled off at a place I’d never tried, and hiked straight uphill from the shadows to the light. It was cold and windy, and the snow had burned off, leaving the ground peanut-buttery. Lots of greenup, even more wind. The birds would be catching the fading rays in hollows out of the steady, icy wind coming from the southeast.

    I got to the top of the first plateau, and was surprised that Angus hadn’t gotten birdy in the spots that looked good. They must be higher. Up we went.

    In the first hollow at the next level up Angus got really birdy, and a small covey of Hungarian partridges rose downwind of him. I shot once and watched three birds tumble to the ground. Bizarre. Angus got one, I snagged the other, and the third, which I think had only gone down because it got tangled with the other two, escaped (hopefully unharmed). Still, that’s a first for me.

    As if I were tempted to feel too proud of myself for the “augmented double,” catching the second bird cautioned me against it. As I reached down to grab the wounded Hun, writhing on its back, it shrieked, with its mouth wide open, like I’ve seen baby birds do waiting for regurgitated worms from a caring parent. But instead of giving it nourishment for a lovely life ahead I was ending it. I grabbed the frightened Hun, and she scratched me with her feet while I suffocated her and watched her eyes go opaque.

    I spent the rest of my time that spectral afternoon following Angus around as usual, hunting. I killed one more bird and saw lots more than I’ve seen in a single outing this season. And I’ll go out again as soon as I can. But I wonder how long I’ll want to keep it up. It’s weird to say that about your favorite pastime.

  • Hun Ting

    A Hun in the hand, finally!
    A Hun in the hand, finally!

    Amazing weather for late October, and we’re back on the hills with our new hunting buddy, searching for the elusive birds. After a short but extremely steep and rocky hike, Angus found us one small covey of Hungarian partridge. I managed a couple shots, but that was it.

    One bird winged, Angus ran it down, brought it back, released it too soon and it flew, he chased it down again, brought it back again and released it too soon. Angus chased it down once more, and – apparently thinking if he let it go farther from me it would stay put – he dropped it closer to Leslie this third time. The poor bird, still alive, probably realized by now his efforts were more or less pointless.

    So, we had a chance to teach J how to most humanely dispatch a game bird. His small hands weren’t quite large enough to do the job, but he got the idea after watching me. (This is my least favorite part of bird hunting, but a necessary evil for the activity.)

    So, still no shooting from the kid, but he’s got impressive strength, endurance, and character, not to mention good company. We’ll get ’em soon. The weather turned today.

  • 2011-2012 Chukar Highlights

    Angus pointing chukar
    Angus strikes a familiar pose

    Been meaning to put together a highlight reel of our season last year. Took me a while. There’s something about the turn in the weather that makes me begin to feel like it won’t be too long before we can start another cycle. The one major distraction from thinking about next bird season is the current, horrendous tick season (see my post from last year about ticks); after a run last weekend I pulled 32 ticks off of poor Angus.

    But I digress. We got out a lot last season and, thanks to my wife whose video skills have gotten quite good and who has no interest in shooting birds with a gun (lucky me!), we got some good pictures. Although I have a favorite spot I go to whenever I have the time, we made it to a bunch of different places and saw some incredible country. Angus, with very little training, is more than I could ask for in a hunting partner. I’m lazy on the work and don’t have the patience to make him steady to wing. We see plenty of birds and my shooting – which I hope to improve this summer – yields us more than we like to eat (although with the risotto recipe I came up with might make me want to increase the take).

    Anyway, enjoy the highlight reel.