At first, as you gather your gear to ready for the endurance performance lying in wait, you might think it is about hunting down the elusive chukar. But, in reality it is far more than that. It is ironically more about the hunter than the bird. Sure, we dress our delusions in all kinds of appropriate garb, from blistering “see me from a thousand miles off” blaze orange, to thick-skinned gators for counteracting ominous rattlesnake fangs, and go about the business of putting one foot in front of the other. Then we leap forward into challenging terrain meant more to accommodate an assorted disarrayment of miscellaneous personality disorders, than common sense.
Like the Tuhumarra runners, who run for the sheer joy of running, chukar hunters hunt for the joy of the hunt. Getting birds is only a mild side attraction that happens during a grueling confrontation with the self, as that is always the result when the extremes of mother nature rears its head. You don’t have to be crazy to hunt chukars, but it helps.
It is not often easy to start oneself at the foot of any kind of precipitous slope. But the real trick is how to get the momentum to move in the beginning. Yet even when you find the right pull-cord to ignite that internal switch, there is still that need to find enough courage to yank on the line. Sometimes, shutting your eyes is all it takes, other times all kinds of procrastinating mechanisms keep running in the background of our cerebral computer, so finding the right key to unlock access to them is ultimately required. Whatever method finally works, then it pretty much is about putting in the time, and repetition of increasing the amount of time one puts in. The more you add, the better you get at adjusting to the physical demands, and quelling those demons of the mind that always surface to tell you to go back home to a warm fire and comfortable recliner. Getting those wanton images of comfort repressed, is no easy task as they keep permeating the mind like those nuisance computer pop-up ads that invites an angry smack-a-mole response.
This might be more of a common problem to those of us who hunt a lot; more than just a weekend warrior battleground; or are at least old enough to have already bagged a vast number of heavenly treks to the skyward lairs of the ninja chukars. So we, or I, in my case, sometimes find it hard to get all charged up with the enthusiasm like we did in our youth or when we were novice hunters. When every thing is fresh and new, there is always more energy associated with the magic of anticipation. Not knowing all the harsh realities that come with naïve exuberance helps motivate the uninitiated. While it takes a bit more to so thoroughly excite those juices of electricity for the more experienced veterans.
More often that not my biggest help in getting motivated are my two weims. If I just mention the word “chukar” their ears perk up, tails go full throttle, and they stare me down with that can-we-go-now look, that just can’t be ignored. Like kids excited for a trip to the carnival, I can’t say no. So before I know what happened, they are kenneled-up and on our way to chukar-land. Be it by rig or boat, lookout chukars, here we come. As if those rascally birds need any kind of warning once our presence is on their turf, they practically know when we are there before we do. But, all the same, we play on their board, their game and forget about the small print that spelled out the real rules we soon learn first-hand on the slopes. For such a small bird there sure is a lot of ruthless ninja-ness to them.
Soon my attention is all on the dogs. As their noses do their business they eventually find the money. And nothing is so beautiful as seeing them on point and testing birds, or more accurately being tested by the birds. The next test is for me to get in front of them to flush birds and get something on the ground for their next phase of the hunt.
However, admittedly my first objective is to get the “if-I’m-only-quick-enough” photograph, and this often means sacrificing good shots or an opportunity to down a bird. Sometimes I even hesitate to tell friends about my skirmishes with these devil birds, as they already think it crazy to hike to such extremes and then return home without a bird or any trace of the feathers. What to show for? But I am not married to having preconceived numbers to satisfy, or some sort of symbol to represent my hunting prowess or lack thereof. It isn’t about the chukar, it is all about the hunt, the dogs, the views, the falls, the challenges, the feelings of being alive that always comes with the evoked inspiration of special places.
So, that’s ok, the old proverb about great rewards come with great difficulty is also true. And, once I find myself out on the hill again, soloing silently in solitude and never knowing what new drama nature has in store still makes me thankful every time I go. And in reality, those are all the things, rather than the actually killing of a chukar that stir my juices and get me going. A sip of that lingering thought is the catalyst required for me to lower that first foot down, so the other can be lifted up to seek the lofty stratosphere enriched with that rarified air so invigorating to the soul.
Gary Lane
Wapiti River Guides
www.doryfun.com
Chukar Vortex 