Not just for the birds

Tag: pointing dogs

  • The Beautiful Familiar

    The Beautiful Familiar

    “Come on dogs, let’s go hunting.”

    Not just one dog but two. Not much more work having two. They get fed at the same time, go to bed at the same time, and adapt to each other’s miscellaneous routines at home, like, for example, keying off of each other when it comes to hearing something outside, both of them to end up running full speed through the kitchen and out the dog door barking their heads off. We’d gotten use to having two dogs around all the time at home and on the mountain. The one thing that I loved most about having two dogs was watching them hunt together.

    Last June when Angus passed away from cancer it was an adjustment, and a void for everyone, including Peat who now has to do all the work by himself finding the birds. It wasn’t that he was lazy, but he was smart. He was like one of those co-workers that we’ve all had at one point in our lives, the ones that sit back and watch everyone work and then when the donuts arrive from the boss on Friday rush to thank everyone for a good job, and he’d be first in the break room to get the only maple bar. Peat would be the first on the bird for the retrieve, a covey of birds that he didn’t find in the first place but he’d bring the chukar to hand and get all the immediate praise that followed while Angus continued to hunt.

    Peat this season was definitely forced to step up his game by being the lone dog. His average mileage used to be three times ours, now it’s four times. He can find birds and he’s the relocation specialist but his nose is either super sensitive or not fully refined because he’s really cautious on pinpointing the covey’s location and getting close enough. The birds are either just very jumpy and busting wild for other reasons. I don’t know if it’s because he spent so much time as the co-pilot.

    The main thing I’ve missed this season is watching him honor another dog. Peat in action is a beautiful, mesmerizing and sometimes funny sight to behold. It’s by far my favorite part of seeing a pointing dog work. Looking back, I think he purposely let Angus find all the birds just so he could honor him. They had a beautiful relationship.

    Before the season started, we stopped by to visit Angus and Peat’s breeder, Katie and Gabe of Sunburst Brittany’s and I casually suggested that maybe they could loan us one of their dogs. I wasn’t entirely serious and thought that it was stupid to even suggest in the first place, but in November they lent us and entrusted us to keep Custer, their young liver and white American Brittany for a few days. I was excited to have another dog to hunt with again, and I was equally excited just to have the presence of another dog in the house.

    One-and-a-half-year-old Custer arrived, and from the get-go it was evident that he hadn’t been around cats before. He went on point when he saw Seamus for the first time. Peat soon took notice of what was happening and acted like he’d never seen a cat before, either (despite getting his ass kicked by Seamus on his first day with us almost 6 years ago!), and both dogs chased Seamus and both got a full set of claws in their furry snouts. From that point when Custer wasn’t tethered to me, he was in his crate on the floor. My 15-year-old cat continued to taunt him by sauntering past his metal crate door within an inch. Cats are masters of intimidation. Trying to train Custer, a kennel dog, to be a house dog that lives with cats in one day so he could be loose in the house was very optimistic.

    The following day, to give the cat a break from all of us, we took Custer out hunting with Peat to a place on some BLM land not far from where we live. We started out initially wanting to have Custer only hunt with me but realized that he hadn’t bonded with us yet and he wanted to hunt with Peat. About 20 minutes into the hunt, my Garmin beeped that Peat was on point. I headed his direction and could see Peat pointing and Custer honoring him through the tall bitterbrush. It almost brought tears to my eyes seeing two dogs working together again. Instead of getting into position to shoot, I pulled out my phone to photograph and capture the moment.

    Custer honoring Peat for the first time.

    The next covey of chukar we found, Custer was the first one to point. I slowly got into position and out of the left corner of my eye, I could see Peat running full speed right past him! Instead of honoring Custer, Peat ran right through the covey and busted them. Freaking Peat! I don’t know what he was thinking. I’m no dog psychologist, but on the next covey Custer found later in the hunt, Peat honored him. They took turns on a couple more coveys and we hunted with both dogs together at least six more times before returning Custer back to Sunburst. We would have preferred to have kept him longer if it wasn’t for the cat. I love my cat. That darn cat.

    It was a beautiful thing to see Custer, Angus’s nephew, move with the same show-dog gait as Angus. He’s got the same sweet personality, and whisky colored eyes, and is a natural on the chukar hills. Custer is a miracle and a bright hope for the future where next spring a new puppy will be in our lives or maybe one of them will be in yours.

    Merry Christmas and Peace on Earth. Enjoy the video!

    Custer backing Peat again.
    Sunburst’s Custer and Peat, November 2020.
    Peat honoring Custer on some chukar. December 2020
    Custer post retrieve
    Angus and Custer, January 2020
  • Love and Grief

    Love and Grief

    “Her name is Rosie”, the old man that was camped near us with Florida license plates told me as his dog walked over to me. Rosie was an overweight black lab with gray on her face and eyes clouded over with glaucoma. “Come on Rosie, don’t bother her,” he yelled in her direction.

    I yelled back. “She’s okay, I like dogs.” He still walked over in my direction to fetch her.

    “I’ve been coming to the Madison every year with her for the past 7 years,” he told me. “This year she’s had a hard time jumping up into the camper. She just turned 12.” I bent down to pet her. “I don’t know what I’ll do when she dies, I love this dog and I’m already dreading the day I have to put her down,” he sighed.

    “My husband and I just had to put our 13-year-old Brittany down last month; he had cancer.” I tried not to let him see that my eyes were starting to tear up as I told him about Angus. “He didn’t suffer; he went downhill pretty fast.”

    “I camped here with my son years ago, we used to ride motorcycles together, but I don’t ride anymore,” he said. “I like going back to the places that we used to go together.” He paused for a moment, “He died a few years ago.”

    I hesitated responding, remembering how my own dad used to ride motorcycles and go on trips with my older brother. On a gorgeous fall day in September, 16 years ago, my brother took his own life only a couple of days after he’d spent the weekend going on a motorcycle road trip with my dad. “I’m sorry to hear about your son, that’s tough,” I told him. I don’t know why, but I didn’t ask him how his son died. I just remember telling him, “Yeah, it’s nice to go back to those places that you shared with someone you loved, it makes you feel closer to them.”

    As he walked away with Rosie, he said “I’m sorry for your loss.” I appreciated the words of condolence from this total stranger who reminded me of my own dad.

    To get to this place on the Madison River was a long drive in stormy weather on hundreds of miles of winding roads. Bob and I drove in separate vehicles bringing the extra one to use for longer shuttles on the days we fished out of our drift boat. I’d been listening to music along the way, but somewhere between Grangeville and Lolo Pass, a song called “Mercy Street” by Peter Gabriel started playing on my Bluetooth shuffle and it touched a nerve. It caused me an overwhelming sense of emptiness and panic, and I felt like we’d left Angus behind. Teardrops followed like the rain falling heavily on the windshield. Peat was in the cab of the pickup with me; he’d been sleeping soundly but was awakened by my loud wailing over the music. Not wanting to upset him, I made myself stop crying and focused on the curves in the road. I’d been forcing myself to forget about it but I vividly remembered that dreadful day, that day we drove Angus to our vet in Council in the back of our old Jeep that we parked out front next to the curb and we ended this life. I remember trying to be strong and comforting for him and not let his last moments of life be watching me crying and being so upset. He knew what was happening, he was ready, he was the strong one, the stoic one. When I think back and remember life with Angus it isn’t just those memories on the chukar hills but those days in-between because he had a calm presence that just made everything seem right in the world.

    I called my father immediately after Angus died to let him know Angus had just died. Angus had been my loyal companion from the time when he was small enough to fit in my hands. I thought my dad should know, but he didn’t answer the phone and never called me back. It’s complicated, thorny, and complex, but I’ve got a non-existent relationship with my dad and it’s been that way for years and I’ve learned to accept it.

    After talking to the old man from Florida, I sat in my camp chair and stared at Peat and wondered if he remembers being on the Madison with Angus and running in the golden fields near our campground and if he’s sad because he’s gone. I wanted to come back to this campground on the Madison to remind me of happier times from the previous summer when life wasn’t so strange, surreal, uncertain. The time before lost lives, broken friendships and when people used to be kind to each other, the days before we knew Angus had cancer even though it was already growing inside him.

    Innocent times

    As we drove away from the campground to head home, the old man from Florida was still there alone in his camper with Rosie. We headed west and through the rolling hills, mountains, and ranches near Dillon and Wisdom that reminded me of home but on a much larger scale. On our last night on the road we camped in a National Forest campground high up on the Idaho/Montana border that we’d visited two years before with Peat and Angus. After setting up camp, Bob, Peat, and I walked along a beautiful little creek where we went the last time we were there. I watched this funny dog that makes me laugh constantly, this little dog that loves life and play and that I adore and that I’ve raised since he was 7-weeks old explore the world without Angus. I remember Bob saying, “I think he’ll be okay.”

    I love Peat but we have a complex relationship. At home Peat has replaced Angus as my constant shadow but sadly the last three years he didn’t want to hunt with me in the field when Bob and I were hunting together. Peat prefers Bob, and it is as if I don’t exist. It’s weird but I’m okay that Bob is the alpha. When it’s just Peat and me out together, he’s fine and he hunts hard for me but just like humans relating to one another, relationships with our dogs can sometimes be complicated, intricate, and painful. Angus is missed terribly and I’ll miss having him be my hunting partner on chukar opening day but I’m looking forward to having some quality days with Peat this coming season.

    Grief is loud but love is even louder.

  • Decade

    Decade

    Celebrating and reminiscing about great days on the chukar hills from past seasons. These beautiful moments, funny ones, exhausting ones, and even frustrating ones always remind us of the beauty of the sport and what the culture of chukar hunting means to all of us.

    The following is a collection of some photos we’ve never shared and a few of my favorites that you might have seen before. Remembering those wonderful times spent with friends, family, some moments alone, and of course with good dogs will help all of us get through these uncertain times and give us something to look forward to this coming autumn. We again thank you for following us along on this journey over the years. It’s because of you we hope to keep this up another decade.

    Winter hunting can be a little slippery.
    This was a beautiful place to hunt but we found it over grown with cactus, poison Ivy, and rattlesnakes that day. We’ve never been back.
    Big country, God’s country.
    Peat honoring 6-month old Susie. The funny thing was that out of camera view, Susie was pointing some cattle on the other side of a fence.
    I was freezing cold and miserable in this photo but we kept climbing and following the dogs. Sometimes you misjudge what the weather might do and just deal with it.
    Heading down after I got us lost. We were only temporarily lost but it’s always a little disconcerting when you get turned around and disoriented in the backcountry.
    Cold cowboy coffee. We thought it would be fun to sleep on the boat on season opener. We brought everything but the kitchen sink and still managed to forget the camp stove. We also had a rude awaking in the middle of the night when we woke up with our boat laying on its side on rocks. We now know that Idaho Power lowers the water level in the reservoir at night.
    Snowy point.
    Hauling in a stranded boat of fisherman after we got done hunting. They were lucky this cold day since we were the only other people on the water. Oh, and Bob discovered that in the process of towing this boat we’d shredded our boat’s prop.
    Angus pointing. I thought he was just resting in the shade but a couple of chukar busted right in front of him. I kicked myself for not being ready with my shotgun.
    Good day Bob spent spent with his brother Geoff and his Brittany Donner.
    Dog trio on the rim. Bob can hunt for hours without pulling out his camera so these moments are rare.
    Opening day, 2018
    Sam spoon feeding Hannah and Angus. Sam started us on the post-hunt Vienna Sausage tradition.
    We’ve tried hunting with snowshoes a couple of times over the years. Too much snow was hard on the dogs.
    A rare two balloon day.
    Prepping for the perfect after hunt photo.
    Tough climb but the views were spectacular.
    The early season is always hot and dry.
    Vienna sausage post-hunt treat tradition continues.
    Early season after-hunt cool-down.
    Trying to get the dogs to look at me for group shot.
    Huns. I love the expression on Angus.
    Standing there watching 6-month-old Peat on season opener eating his first chukar and we couldn’t do anything about it. He did the same thing 5 more consecutive times. He hasn’t done it since.
    It always seems like we spend more time going up than going down. That’s probably because we do.
    Proud parents of a baby boy Peat. Angus looks dejected. Peat looks like he’s planning the years of shenanigans he’s in the process of executing.
    Friends forever after a rough start.
    The Sunburst Brittany Clan. All three kids hiked all day with us in tough terrain.
    The kid followed us up every mountain. The kid “Jarret” is now a high school junior.
    Snowballs on Angus and inside my boots. This is the one the day I wished I’d worn gaiters.
    We went hunting with my brother-in-law only once but it was memorable.
    Opening day of chukar 2019. We thought we’d only have Angus for a few hunts but he lasted the entire season and is still going strong.
    My first ever chukar on my first season. Angus pointed and retrieved it, which made it even more special.
    Heading back to the pickup. Late afternoon hunts are always nice, and I love the light in this photo.
    Hunting stories in Hells Canyon Beer pub with Sam.
    Man and dog looking for chukar
    Where’d they go? Snow chukar at all.
    This was when I only carried a camera. At the time I didn’t know what I was missing.
    Brittany and Hungarian partridges
    Young Angus and Huns. We used a vest for a few hunts but stopped using it. I’m not sure why.
    Man and dog chukar hunting
    Boots with good ankle support is definitely required for chukar hunting.
    I’m never sure how to hold my bird for photos. I always feel awkward.
    My Benelli. I use an auto loader but rarely shoot more than once on a covey.
    It’s always hard to show steepness in photos, this one sums it up.
    Failed negotiation with Jarret over sharing his Peanut Butter and Cheeto sandwich.
    Jan 2020 highlight was meeting Custer. He’s on my left and also the nephew of Angus.
    Not a bad view. Taking a break after the long hike up from the reservoir.
    Peat on point.
    Birthday seat covers for my hunting rig.
    Bob looking for deer while taking the kid bird hunting.
    Four Sunburst Brittanys
    Thanksgiving Day hunt back in 2016. We made a video of the day and so far it has had 1.6 million views on Youtube. There’s some sort of weird chukar hunting cult out there. 😉
    Sam and Hannah. Sadly, Hannah passed away this past winter.
    I take a lot of photos of dogs drinking water, this one is my favorite.
    Covey Rise. It’s always hard to capture birds in flight.
    Angus in pursuit of a downed bird that Bob shot when this single busted behind him.
    Angus and Leslie
    Behind the scenes in the early years before Angus turned gray.
    The year of mega snow fall. We couldn’t hunt but it didn’t stop this Red tailed Hawk.
    Steep country. I love it.
    Angus retrieving my chukar this season.
    We couldn’t go up or down, the only way was across and it was like walking on tiny marbles. I ended up crawling on my hands and knees.
    Last photo of the 2019/2020 season.
  • Rituals

    Rituals

    Some things are rituals. It was never discussed on Saturday but over the course of the last four months it was customary or tradition that we’d bird hunt on every Sunday.

    Last Sunday morning while sitting in front of the wood stove drinking coffee and looking out the living room window toward the mountains, Bob said, “Let’s go for a hike after I get done grading papers. Just because the season is over doesn’t mean we can’t go for a hike. Besides, we all need some exercise.” I agreed wholeheartedly.

    I grabbed my upland bird pack from the garage and transferred things from it to my day hiking backpack. It was always a practice during hunting season that I’d have a mental check list of things to add to my pack so not to forget something important. It was routine to fill my hydration pack with water, look to make sure my gloves were still in there, to add some dog treats and snacks. Of course this time I didn’t need to worry about packing enough shotgun shells or to remember to put my shotgun in the back of the pickup. One ritual we didn’t break this time was to bring GPS collars for the dogs. Bob accidentally forgot the collars once so as we would drive away from our house, I would always ask him if we have the dog collars. We don’t really need GPS collars if we’re not hunting but Angus is deaf and senile sometimes and it’s comforting knowing we could track him if he wanders off, which he did a couple of times this season.

    We drove through town and past a couple of churches with parking lots packed full of big pickups and cars. We’d always joke on our way down to the canyon on a late Sunday morning that we were going to the 24-Hour Church of HELLS Canyon.

    It was a beautiful February afternoon. We started up a steep ridge, and the ascent felt easy. We continued our climb for another hour through the sage and bitterbrush, and the dogs went on point down below me near Bob. The sound of a covey busting filled the air. Out of habit, I was expecting to hear the sound of Bob shooting, but it was strangely quiet and I wondered if the dogs were confused why we didn’t shoot. Did they know we weren’t carrying a gun and it’s the off season? Traversing up the ridge we found a few more coveys of Huns but no chukar. We’d hunted here once before earlier in the season but the dogs had found only chukar and no Huns. Weird.

    We hadn’t spent a lot of time in the canyon this season, but spiritually I feel like the hills are sacred. The hills are my church. We eventually turned around and headed back down, and I stopped to admire the view of the distant snow-covered mountains and to watch Peat and Angus running through the golden bunchgrass and I knew at that exact moment that this spot I was standing on was where I want to scatter some of Angus’s ashes.

    Heading up.
    Angus with his subtle point. It’s the way he’s always done it.
    Peat backing Angus who’s way below him.
    Catching the wind.
    Strange not carrying a shotgun in my hand or on my shoulder.
    A couple of Huns
    Peat watching them fly.
    A single that busted after the main covey
    Funny Peat laying down while honoring
    Peat honoring Angus again.
    Sacred hills.
    Angus of the chukar hills.
    So long, farewell, and just like a habit we’ll be back next season.
  • The Sequence

    The Sequence

    I live for this moment. This sequence.

    My dogs look like they’re onto birds. I sense it from subtle nuances and have learned from training and experience how to read their body language. If I’m hunting with just one dog all my focus is on that one dog. If both of my dogs are in the picture, I have to decide which one to trust more and which one to follow more closely.

    I remove my shotgun from my shoulder and hold it in ready position and carefully pick my way through the loose rocks without trying to look down. I see Angus through the thick sagebrush. He has stopped and is motionless. He’s on point. Out of the corner of my left eye, I see Peat rushing up and stopping just behind Angus.

    Angus with his beautiful show dog gait starts creeping forward. Peat stays put. Scanning the tops of the sagebrush, I’ve consciously made myself focus softly, not knowing which direction the birds might bust. I slowly start moving into position in front of Angus.

    Like a flash of lightning, more to my left than I’d anticipated, a small covey of chukar busts flying at top speed away from me. I quickly mount my gun while taking the safety off, then point the end of the barrel with the fleeing partridge’s arc, my index finger goes onto the trigger, and I squeeze. Everything happens so fast I don’t have time to think, relying on muscle memory from past experiences.

    The dogs hear the noise of wing-whirr made by the covey of chukar taking off, and the sound of the single shot, and they get excited and run in the direction of where the birds flew hoping to pick up some scent on the ground of a downed chukar. They run back to me and give me that look: why did you miss? The sequence of usual events gets messed up this time and we don’t have a retrieve to make it complete.

    I berate myself, making up all kinds of excuses and asking questions. Was it my stance and posture, my gun mount, or that I didn’t focus on the bird and follow through? Some or all are true. It messes with my head.

    The three of us move on and we’ll try this spot again next year.

    The initial point and honor, with Angus about to creep
    The approach
    Peat’s backing the invisible Angus
    Bust and shot: birds just above the sage
    Why’d you miss? Do you know what I went through to find those birds? Can you not hold up your end of this bargain? Would it kill you to practice once in a while? Do you think I’m doing this for my health? Do you think I’m getting fat? Why do you give me so many treats?