Chukars Last Laugh

Inevitably it always does arrive, that fatal last day. The last day of any season, but in this case chukar season.  It is almost a love/hate affair. That is, I love to hunt chukars. But, towards the end of the season, after grueling climbs up the extreme slopes of the Salmon River canyon, it gets very difficult to push myself for yet another uphill battle.  A battle my heart and lungs take on with the landscape.

So with mixed emotions my last day with both dogs on the hill was more of the same. Good and bad. Hard, yet rewarding. Dogs not minding as well as think they should, yet making wonderful tandem points, and stupendously long retrieves when birds sail way too far down the slopes. You know, those slopes I keep complaining about. Ones that seem like 45 degrees, and at times really are. And those are the easier ones. Did I mention bony ridgelines, vertical cliffs, and a variety of ugliness that us chukar hunters often find ourselves engaged with?

No wonder people who know nothing about chukar hunting think chukar hunters are so crazy. Heck, even chukar hunters wonder that sometimes.  But once fessing-up to knowing you are crazy means you don’t have to worry about it any more. Just keep pushing those birds, don’t look back, or more precisely down, in most cases. Focus. That is the name of the game.

My last day was a typical one, but favored the chukar, and they indeed seemed to get the last laugh. Like when a group came flying straight off the slopes high above, helter-skelter, and my swing, which was more of an  over-the-head-and-turn gymnastics  maneuver, was the perfect recipe for poor shooting success.  After the boom of gun and frustrations of watching birds untouched, I’m sure I could hear some chuckles of happy-to-be-alive birds entertained by my contorted antics on the hill.

But, their entertainment is also mine.  Just seeing the type of flying they can do, like some kind of animated jet plane in a dog fight, is reward enough.  Although, I do sometimes luck out and manage to down one of those feathered Mig like fighters. Yet, a big part of chukar hunting is all of those ancillary shows that  always accompany the chase:  from large bucks, elk herds, fox trots,  coyote yipping, wolf tracks, bobcat scat, otter antics, and soaring eagles, to just mention a few.  And most remarkable is that all this theater takes place in a theater itself that is a good part of the outstanding entertainment.

(Whoa – Holy “chukar feathers” – how did we get so far up?)

Viewscapes afforded by one of the deepest gorges in North America are utterly breath-taking, yet considerably confounding.  So expansive and  rugged is the terrain, that its bigness makes one feel ever more so small.  A dwarf in the cosmos. It is a vastness of unfathomable comprehension that words never adequately can explain. So, rather, I just simply enjoy it and appreciate it for what it is. Though we humans like to share our pleasures with others, often it has to suffice just to appreciate those things that are truly unexplainable. To just “know” is enough.  Thank you chukars.  You are safe from my gun and nuisance of dogs for another year now. But, be forewarned: we will be back.

What Do Chukars Think?

Well, it is awfully tempting to dive into some imagined chukar   humor and wonder what kind of diatribe  they might use to poke fun at us hunter’s with.  As if they communicate like us humans do, which they don’t, but we like to anthropomorphize about, that is. Such are some of my thoughts  as I hunt along various terrains with not only my dogs, but my brain as well.  My mind contours the landscape with similar speed as my legs do. Sometimes I even get lost in this parallel world and forget that I am even hunting to begin with. At least until something triggers me back into reality, like  tripping on a loose rock, dog on point, or sudden burst of wings taking to the sky.

Also, in my self-talk,  I sometimes try to think like  a chukar in order to find them. But how can I do that, I’m a human, so I can only use human ideas.  It is difficult even trying to understand women sometimes, how would I ever begin to understand a chukar?  Telepathy is out. So is any chance at really communicating with any kind of animals, when us humans can barely communicate with each other.  Our astronomers think about what messages aliens might be sending out through space, yet learning what our own earth creatures have to tell us might be much more valuable.

But, Earth to Gary, back to birds.  If chukars think, they must not think in words, but what kind of language to they use, if any?  I always wonder how their brains work.  For example: when serious snow hits the high country in an over night storm, but leaves the ground bare on the lower foothill sections, use patterns of chukars can change and adapt to the new situation.

So, from a chukars view-point, I wonder if they can see their landscape and differentiate which areas to change to for food and shelter.  Can they see bare ground amidst the snow, like wind-blown open ridges and draws, and make an effort to seek it out.  That is,  as opposed to just stumbling upon it, or never finding it to begin with.  For another example, if a major mountain side contains some snow free zones that can be seen from a far off distance, can chukars see this and fly over to it?  Do they think, hey there is a good place to find food and shelter? Or is that more like an instinct, or some kind of built in survival detector they just know to do?

I think about the same sorts of things about big game when I am hunting them. In what kind of ways to they use thought, if at all, about how they negotiate their terrain and survive the elements, including predation?  The natural  law of conservation of energy affects the survival abilities of all critters, but they don’t think about it, any more than us humans think about how gravity affects our movements all the time.

Thinking about predation could jeopardize survival, as opposed to acting without thinking about it first.  So immediate dangers that require fast reaction times are better left to the innate “fight or flight” responses for better success potential.

What about other abstract things, like a bird  learning about what happens when they fly  off a high  mountain to go all the way to the very bottom. Do they know how much more work will be required to climb back up to the top again?  Could this be any part of reasoning when a bird flies around the mountain so as not to lose too much in elevation, rather than sailing all the way to the bottom? Knowing it will be less energy draining and arduous, than leaving it up to chance alone.

What about late in the season when birds get up quicker and farther away from you when they see you coming, than they did earlier in the season? It would seem they have learned that distance is important for survival. It is almost is if they know the range of a shotgun. Or that humans require different strategies than other predators. They hunker down when golden eagles soar overhead, hold tight when dogs are on point, and jump into the air as soon as the two-legged hunters show up. How do they know? How abstract, if any at all, is some of their thought?

As you can see, I may have been out on the chukar slopes a little too long. My thoughts, like my dog sometimes does when in hot pursuit, seems to be getting a little too close to  the edge. Those darned chukars. They can make some of us humans go crazy.  It’s probably just another chukar survival strategy.

Chukar Voodoo

(Nope – no chukars in this picture)

Have you ever had one of those days, or dry spells, where chukars have seemed to evaporate from the landscape, never be to found within the time frame of your hunt?

These birds seem to  have some sort of secret power to put a hex on dogs and hunters.  Chukar Voodoo, I call it.  It helps describe all those days where everything works against you, but favors the chukars.  I can picture them dancing around in little bird rituals to help conjure up their secret spells. It includes special sacred adornments, like invisible shot proof plumage vests to ward off all pellets.  Not to mention, special invisible chukar paint that makes their bright colors disappear into surroundings that otherwise should reveal their stark contrast against it.  How can red hide against a yellowish  back ground, otherwise?

(Secret chukar spell cast over unsuspecting dogs)

It’s chukar voodoo, I tell you. They have access to powers unseen that help them play tricks on hunters and dogs. It  is a knowledge only birds possess, filled with ancient wisdom of the chukars from long ago.  These tricks of the trade and know-how for being a successful chukar enable them to pass on their  DNA to tomorrows progeny. It  is natures mechanism of control in the dynamic of all predator prey relationships. Ups and downs, help keep tedium and the boredom of sameness at bay.  The middle ground is safest, but all the excitement in the crucible of life takes place at the edges.

Voodoo Hoodoo, who likes it, I do.  It is all   part of the magic of dancing with the landscape, reading the language of nature, and enjoyment of the hunt and spirit of adventure. Amps, juice, spice, whatever you call it…all words to help describe our feelings of being surely alive. I love the chukars captivating magic.

Chukar Comedy Club

(see the chukar in this picture?)

There seems to be  an awful lot of things that can go wrong when hunting chukars which  can affect ones success rate. At least, mine, anyway.  Not to mention, much funnier to chukars and other hunters around a later campfire, than to me.   However, in self-defense, I spend as much time trying to get photos of dogs-on-point than focus on killing birds. So this often leads to a lot of missed opportunities to shoot, or less than ideal shots when taken anyway.  With camera in one hand and gun in other, then trying to put one down and the other up, before birds are too far out,  often turns into a huge comedy of errors.

(see it now?)

One day I managed to climb over a rise and was treated to seeing my dog on point with birds in sight just a few yards ahead of her. About 8 birds were grouped together within inches of each other, looking like prairie dogs curious about an intruder. Normally, I would go for my camera first, but this time they looked like they were about to burst into the air at any moment.  My second thought was about how hard I had been hunting for the last 5 days in a row, and not a lot of birds to show for. With a chance to get a few birds with one shot, ground sluicing entered my mind. I knew that it is always risky and not usually very productive, but this looked just too good to miss.  But miss I did. When the dust settled after my one ground shot, not a feather was ruffled.  It was if my shell had no pellets in it at all. Greed has grave consequences.

I vowed then and there, never to ground sluice a chukar ever again.  Next time, I would wait until they jumped into the air before shooting. My chance came the very next day. Sure enough, I saw the birds in front of my dog on point. (which is not always easy to see). This time I pressed closer to get them to flush. Click. I expected to hear BANG.  Nope.  In my haste at grabbing gear from my driftboat before heading up the slopes,  I had forgotten to load my gun.

Then another time, I was high on the hill (ok, second deepest chasm in North America) at hard-earned elevations to reach to begin with, and what do I hear when I raise my gun and fire? Click.  That sickening sound again, or lack there-of, indicating yet another brain synapse mis-fire.  My excuse? Well, after I shoot at birds, I normally look for spent shells right away. Spent shell case liter on the  hillside is not a history I wish to leave behind. But,  sometimes that means picking them up before loading my gun again. Then I forget to load it, thinking I already did.   I hate it when my brain works (or doesn’t) like that.

Or how about poor footage on steep ground, unable to get off shots because in your shock and engagement with tricky terrain turns into a balance act of trying to save yourself from face-plants on the hillside. Though sometimes face-plants result anyway. Has your shotgun ever went flying through the air in an effort to save yourself from starting a self-imposed human  avalanche down the steep slopes? This is why I don’t use a fancy shotgun.  Simple, ugly, fine with me. No worries when I do dumbly and stumbley on the mountain.

(  “I think their up their in the snow zone”  )

Real chukar hunters know how many things can go wrong during the pursuit. Birds jump up when you think the dog is only on past scent, after you have done everything to flush birds and are convinced none are there. Then there are those  other areas on open ground, where it should be easy to see birds, but none are seen, until poof; they suddenly appear in mid-air as if jumping out of a magician’s hat. It’s hard to shoot when your pants are down around your ankles, sort of speaking.

( Now that we are up here, I think they are down there.” )

How many times have you finished a hard hunt, after failing to find birds in birdy looking area,  to have them call (really, it sounds more like laughing) loudly to you from where you had just been? Chukars usually do get the last laugh.

Chukar Hunting In The Twilight Zone

My dog is on point. Hurry, hurry, gotta get closer. The pointing pose is too much. I gotta get a picture, chance missing birds.  Sugar is out in front of me, good photo angle, birds still holding.  Soon I am  along side of her, with yet another good angle for pictures.  Now I am approaching the chukar twilight zone. That is the area in front of my dog, where I have now found myself, and my job  to flush birds, yet seeing another spectacular picture from a front angle, not often achieved.  I can now hear the music playing of that long ago tv show..do-do, do-do…do-do, do-do – it plays over and over in my head as I try to get photo while anticipating that telling sound of bursting birds trying to escape dire circumstances.

Now, I’m not really a numbers kind of guy or a fan of trophy hunting, but I am an opportunist. You know, like when you have hiked your buns off and worked hard to gain elevation, and suddenly see a bunch of birds grouped close together and chance to get more bang for your buck. Like was the case for me a few hunts ago, when 8 birds were spotted in front of my dog, only yards away, all standing high,  like prairie dogs trying to see what danger lurked near by.  Then came that same music again..do-d0, do-do…as I had suddenly stepped into the Twilight Zone again.

What to do? The birds were poised to do something (like exiting from a four-legged threat) and I thought my chances for a photo were nil. All this despite the fact that it was one of those rarest of opportunities to get  such a grand photo  (more Twilight Zone music please). But, thinking those birds would flush before I could raise my camera, I felt greed creeping in, too. (hate to admit)  With one ground sluicing shot, I might get several birds and make all my effort pay off at the end of the day. All this of course, knowing full well that killing birds on the ground never works very good to begin with. Sure enough, when the dust settled, only dirt remained. Not even a feather was ruffled, and I was only 25-30 yds distant from them. Surely, it was that damn Twilight Zone effect, again. Buyers remorse set in, as I felt terribly guilty about taking such an irresponsible shot, vowing to myself never to do that again.

The very next day, I was back for more,  far up in chukar land after a grueling climb.  Dog went on point.   Out came my camera and clicking finger, ever the sucker for another potential picture (also knowing good shots only come from taking zillions).  Then I suddenly saw birds and that Twilight Zone music started flaring up again. This time, I put camera away and got ready for birds to bust into flight before I shot. (holding true to yesterdays vow).  They jumped up and I shot. Click went my gun. It was empty.  In all my haste to get up the hill after gathering  up gear from my driftboat, I had forgotten to load my gun. Do-do..do-do; do-do..do-do

(What? No shells?)

It’s hard to find a good hunter to point for these days.