Early season hunts flash in my mind as I sat in the truck; earlier this year, I dropped off my son at a water hole, so he could use his .22LR and maybe catch a frog. I topped a few ridges to the north east of him, two small coveys on the way, my limit was in sight. Darby, not a pup any longer, is dead still and 50 yards to my right. Running to Darby’s side, “Heel, hold, hold” I said to her as she crept. Letting the safety off and preparing to aim, we move forward. Yard after yard, I start to wonder if she was faking for the first time this trip. The wind is in my face and she is holding to it, with pure instinct. I move 25 yards and 25 more, pick up a large shed antler and continued. A few more yards, I stretch and think, “Come on, really”. She inches forward, as I lag behind, examining the distant hills and the shed I found. I look up to see her dead still again, dropping the shed and rushing in her direction, Chucker’s start to fly. Taking aim, I finish off my limit. With an impressive stock, Darby finished with pointing and retrieving all 8 birds. Talk about “stowked”, I was excited about this year’s hunt.
Turning my mind to how I ended up here; I remember an earlier visit from friends, Russell and ToniMarie Scott. They were in the area dropping off pheasants, stopped to visit and dinner. Russ and I had a super tender Colby beef steak. I had a simple, yet inquisitive question asked of me. Russ, turning as he enters his truck and as I walk toward mine says, “Hey you ready to go get some Chukars?” Stopping and turning my head, I reply, “What do you think - always.” With a chuckle and some see ya later’s, the visit is over.
This couldn’t be farther from the truth. I don’t think anybody is really ready for the type of hunting that was in our near future. I was in the best shape I had been in for about 5 years. Weighting in at 186 lbs., I had packed out 3 elk and 2 deer, went on several 4-8 mile hikes during scouting and hunting season. I had thought that, I at lease would be able to do better than in the past couple of years. The last two years my legs had cramped up knots from the torment of three days of engaging birds. Normally the day after I return, is a day of tending a sore body, with the hopes of walking again. We do our best to take care of the dogs while we are there, but they seem to take about a week off afterwards and don’t like being touched or moved much during this time. Russ normally needs them to guide clients on Pheasant hunts just after the trip and tries to switch up the dogs so they don’t get over worked.
Late, while lying in bed, I jerked with surprise while falling asleep watching Netflix. Picking up the phone, I found Russ on the line. Probably, because he was just finishing after leaving his “Lake in the Dunes” Clients’ for the night, and gaining consciousness of his own life’s ambitions. Answering I said “What up Chalen” and the conversation started with a tired “Scott’s cast n blast”er. I found that for the first time we would have a few fresh legs on our side. Russ was bringing his Brother in Law, Geno, and would be dropping of TM for a visit with my wife. Also, Ryan was brining an old friend of ours, Matt and his buddy Jim. A turn in events compared to the three lone birders from the past. The weekend of December 16th we gather. Like with any adventure, our attitude is filled with the excitement of the weekend to come. I tend to do more planning than the others, but with my memory, I will forget the eggs and ketchup. It’s not a matter of if but what we will forget and have to do without. This year was a bit different, Ryan had a test, and he was not going to miss his Aviation exam. Which is totally backwards for the Ryan we know in years past; he could be found just about anywhere but in high school those days. We have got big ideas for Ryan as a pilot, and he is stoked to be in the trade. Moving on, Ryan would be meeting with us on Friday. Russ would be up on Thursday.
After delivering a bottle of whisky for his dad’s friend in Harper, Oregon and pulling his truck from a slightly full septic pot, via the local farm tractor; Russ showed up at the house. Throwing some of ToniMarie’s items out and packing the cracks with all of my stuff, we said “see ya soon” to the family and our wife’s. It was a little late for one truck to be making the trip in. Wake up early, or stay up all night, was the question we posed to each other. Earlier in life, the later would have been our first instinct. Not said, but I think the combined thought was, “sleep is good”. We decided to drive in, get what rest could be had, in the cabin, and get a jump on the morning.
The road to the cabin is just out of Vale, Oregon. It might have something to do with Russell’s lineage. If I boat in, it takes us 45 minutes to get from the house to the ramp and 13 minutes to the cabins neighboring dock (also time for unloading the boat). Driving in takes me 2.5 hours, but that is nothing compared to Russ, who normally drives over 8hrs. The road is not bad for most of the way unless nature decides to change the road some. Wind and snow can make for quite a challenging drive, and a little water on an old dry road turns it into a mudding frenzy. You are crazy if you go in with out some means to pull out a stuck or broken down rig. I lost 3 tires in a Jeep Cherokee once, again a story for another time. Last year a group got stuck when the water level rose in a dry creek. They flagged down a boat and got out, but the trucks stayed. The road gets worse the closer you get to the cabin and the trade off from a ¾ ton and ½ ton truck start to become questioned. The occasional rabbit determines the use of breaks as each sportsman decides whether it is worth his time to get out and teach a rabbit a lesson. Yes, a rabbit or two have made even the best shooter question the accuracy of their rifle, but the trusty 12 gage, normally make him forget. Yep, just sweep those road runners out of your mind and pull out the spot light. Maybe a wilily coyote will make a scene. It’s not quite this bad -
Upon arrival the cabin key is found to be missing and a window is used for passage to our fort. Built in the 60’s it seem like looking into your imagination of Louis L’amour writings of a nice spike camp, built for ranging ranch hands while retrieving wild cattle. Outside are a few small trees that would wither in the heat without human help. Yearly improvements, made by the rail runner in white, Owner Steve( Russ’s Dad) and whom ever he can round up and is willing to help. Decked on two sides and railed for occasional lean and relieve… An old snake skin is mounted on the weathered timbers, other miscellaneous necessary tools, and a wash pan with shaving area. A lacking pile of fire wood is stacked for use along with a tank of propane. Which turns your eye to a water silo on the hill, obviously modernizing the use and comfort of the sanctuary? Too dark to see but the vista from the cabin is remembered and anticipated. After the squirm and roll to get in, the front door is released and gear / supplies are unloaded. Lanterns and lights lit, and a check of the solar panels. All is good, and after enlightened discussions, and morning plans. Russ is in the bag, Geno follows and I find myself with the last one to bed duties. Sleep is Good, and quiet is easy to find, in the Owyhee’s. – Okay with that kind of sleep, yes, dogs and men find ways to break the silence.I seem to be one of the first ones up in the morning. This is not like me, I am not a morning person and tend to try to keep sleeping once I am asleep, and stay awake when I am awake. Try it and you will know what I mean. I like to live life to its fullest, and seem to try to use every hour I can awake and doing something constructive. Can’t say it always works out that way, but especially when I am out and about, every hour is precious.
Breakfast was a warmed over the heater, crisp, soft, and gooey, cinnamon roll. They were made fresh (the day before) by my wife Danielle, just for the guys. Not for me, I’m not big on cinnamon, unless it is chewy and shaped like a bear. I did try them, very good, just not big on them. Geno, said they were the best he had ever had, better than Costco. Others in camp in later days said the same type of thing, they were great. I’ll tell you what is great; burritos’ they are the best thing in the world after a walk in the Bad Lands with your friends, and obviously extremely appreciated. Typically, food is just better when you’ve been camping, or rather when you are away from home and have to make it yourself otherwise. The saying, “Are these beans burnt … Just the way I like them” comes to mind.
Eventually we are all out of the sack and shot gun shells are being dumped into the upland game vests. A spot that we had on our minds to try for years is now on the list as 1st hunt. We normally just stare over at it as the birds glide in its direction, full or boulders, steep long ridges and rim rock, it is just waiting for us. And wait it will; we can see it from the cabin, but it’s a 45 minute drive to the drop off. You could walk, if the creek would allow it, but would still have to climb some elevation. One conversation I remember during the drive was about taking it easy today and just using this hunt as a warm up, don’t kill ourselves right off. Good thought?
Direction to destination: Drive down the road until you come to a water hole (Yah I think I remember a water hole) and turn on the road just before or after it. I don’t remember which. Take the road to the end (If it is not actually a road does it have an end?) and hike to Chuckar country, about 400 yards (actually about 1/4 mile).
I was not sure what Geno was thinking when we got started. I was ready first and said “Hey, I’m headed that way.” Russ replied “Good, I was planning to go that way”, different routs, to similar destinations’. Russ and I have hung around with each other enough to know about what the other will do. Geno, hung with Russ. I figured that we would sweep around and push birds to each other. That is exactly as it worked out, except the birds didn’t follow the plan. I purposely added three cheep shells to my Stowger 2000, knowing I might waste a few before I got back in the groove. Geno, I found out later didn’t need to find the groove. Hiking around the rim with my short hair Darby, we found a group of birds just out of a saddle, off the side of a rim. Didn’t get a shot off, the determined that I had got close enough, at 100 to 150 yards away. Darby decided that they needed to be followed and took off. Seconds later, she determined that no stragglers where available for us. 1st rule of Chuckar hunting: Go where the birds are. This is not always so easy. This time we went to where we saw them fly to, just the next tributary ridge over, and behind the knob. Surprise, surprise, not birds. Coming back around and through the next draw, I was headed for a rocky, jagged, rim rocked slope on the south face. The sun was just burning off the dew, as I heard the echo of the first shots. Normally my first thought is a suspension as to who was shooting and if it turned out well. This time, no, just a thought. “Right on” too many quick, shots close together to count. It was far enough away that I had no way of caching a glimpse of where the covey had gone. Turning back south, south east, I noticed Darby standing over a rim, looking down thinking. “Okay, let’s get into that, just below the rim and side hill south.” Noticing, Chuckars over her head I looked back. Overly excited, I pick a bird and shot knowingly missing. Turning as the flock gains distance, a second covey is headed my way and I can see more in the distance. Reloading leaves my mind. Taking aim, the birds notice me and veer to my right. Missing again, I take aim, at the group heading my way. I connect, diving it hits and rolls within feet of me. Next trigger pull doesn’t work out. The birds still coming, fade in the distance, as I reload. It’s on now.
I continued with my plans, and end up spotting the boys coming down a split in the rim. Yelling over to them, I don’t remember what, a covey decides to bump up next to me. Perfect, they hover as they climb over me and two shots later; I realize again that they got the best of me. Next a long hopeful shot, to regain some self worth, works out best for the Chuckars. Meeting up with Geno and Russ, I find out that Geno had shot three times at the first covey, and harvested three birds. The first shot knocked two out of the air. Russ had a few also. Russ is normally a consistent shooter. This hunt he was about 80% accurate and retrieved 100% of the birds he downed. A little help from two excellent dogs, Lexie and Luke, was beneficial. The only exception to his success is finding and getting into the birds. We talked for a few minuets, and the birds had no reason not to laugh back at us while we determined what was next. Geno says, “they are right down their”. I say “yah, I saw some hold up on the edge of the flat.” Curving Russ’s urge not to go down, he agrees. Yep, we bit off more then we needed to, ended almost at the water, and circling back. We were adding up some birds, now. Tired but not too tired, we push the birds back to the north and west. They continually pull us down. Russ and Geno, decide to stay as high as they can. We all end up in the Chuckars fortress, I decide to head in. Full of rock ledges, loose sand stone, and steep bolder filled ridges. Plenty of birds, a dog that had decided that she and Russ’s dog, Hagen, were in love, I ended up with a single, and a heck of hike out.
Legs doing well and a bird on the way up the first hill, feeling tired. One hill later the legs are tired and giving up. One more ridge and no birds, it is taking a lot more rests between hikes now. I sit on a rock, watch the dogs, use up some of the water, use the rest of the water on the dogs. They are enjoying themselves, but look a little tired. After watching them scourer the area, I stand. Spinning around a group of Chuckars freak me out as they get up, just 10 or 15 feet behind me, a few misses and a neck rub later, I look at Darby and ask, “What happed there, babe”. No reply. I am going to blame her behavior on being in heat, and mine on not getting out in the field enough. Some stretched cramps, and a rest every hundred feet, I make it over the ridge. The view ahead is, Russ and Geno, and in the distance the truck. Geno, also with a limp; I learned later that he had hit his knee on a rock.
Burritos, water, half a Snickers, and a scratched rock are in memory now, as we adventured around on our way back to the cabin. We figured on a small evening hunt on our way back. However, all that became of it was a thought that had no action as we passed each possibility.
Dusk was on us when we hit the cabin, stoking up some heat and dinner was on our minds. Caned Elk, mixed like tuna, add a slice of cheese, some bread and a quick tasty sandwich is dinner. This is what was picked over Spaghetti, with salad, and French bread. Probably for several reasons, but indecisive answers about dinner, to the person asking and making dinner, turned into what was easiest, is what you get.
Ryan and his buds turned up some time after dinner and a sleepy, relaxed cabin, turned into a loud, excited cabin. Ryan is always entertaining, and Matt turned out to quite entertaining also. Jim, was older, and seemed to be spending most of his time in thought. Though, a few drinks and it really didn’t mater what was said. The cabin was a blaze, and after convincing Ryan that the bird population was extremely low, and the hope of a limit even lower. We confessed the day’s events and the truth was, if you could shoot, a limit was easily found. Ryan can lay out some lead. He normally out shoots Russ and me, not collectively. Yep, his coat full of birds and an occasional borrowed shell or shells is highly likely. The plan for the next day, and me skipping out on being last for bed, finished the night.
We had purposely saved Chuckar hill, some of our biggest days came out of there, and we had high hopes. As far as favorite spots go, this is it. Problem being that too many people had been told the secret, and so it could be spotty. After the ride and a few pain relievers, we decided to let the new legs take the more extreme hikes. Russ and Geno took the West side, bottom. Ryan, Matt, and Jim took the top, middle. I was dropped off on the way, on the East side. The strategy was to keep the birds from flying off the hill. If we could push them over the top and headed Russ’s direction then we could keep more of them on the hill. The first 15 minuets or so into the hunt, no shots fired. However, I did break a covey up in front of me. Problem was that it was not on top, but on the side of the hill. They didn’t go back over to the rest of the team but, flew straight down the hill. “Crap”, was the thought as I continued. The birds continued to get up under me or in front of me. If I could get them to hold long enough for Darby to point them, maybe I would have done better at harvesting. Too many shots and a few birds later, I reach the end. If you noticed the first, rocky picture above, you can spot most of us at this point. It’s a great picture, capturing the ruggedness of the terrain. I had noticed the last covey had help up on the south east side, so I switched to the west side top. This way I wouldn’t push them off the end, allowing us to hook around and hunt them back to the truck. Ryan and I met up and went around the East side. It worked out well for both of us. One covey decided to do the staggered take off; where Ryan was on the top cliff pushing them out and I was under him. So perfect, however the error was ours, we shot up the first three shells quickly, and the birds seemed to wait until our hand was reaching for a shell before they jumped, we both went through 6 or 7 rounds. After some ups and downs, we took a rest in some rocks. Reminisced about years past and moved on. Ryan has got to be one of the quickest shooters I know, not only that, he is accurate and likes to scatter some lead. Looking up quickly, as birds fly, I see two drop. Just in front of Ryan. When Hagen retrieved only half a bird we realized what had happened. He took the bird so quickly, his pattern had not opened up and split this one in half. Not fun, but part of the battle. Chuckars still laughing at us, we continue towards the truck.
The hunt turned out similar to before, but with less birds. And we found some pretty harry terrain that needed crossed. Russ, Geno, and I found ourself’s crossing the middle of a steep sand stone layer, above the fortress. Lucky, Russ and I had a little bit of a game trail that came and went. We spotted for each other as we crossed. Geno wasn’t as lucky, he had nobody to help, it was all him. He was higher than us, and as he grabbed the cliff face for support, it fell to dust in his hands. He eventually, made it across, with some support from Russ. Mean while Ryan’s group dropped off the top into the flats, like we had the day prior. Our group, knowing the top was left unexplored, headed up, a bit of needed flat land was also nice. The flat turned out to be much larger then expected. Flat land Chuckar hunting is awesome, as long at the birds have to go up. In this area, they just continue to fall, as they glide for miles. Which I luckily benefited form on Friday. However, the dogs got birdy and made some nice points, leading to success. Darby had her first and only good point of the trip, however it was huge. Luke, Russ’s experience extremely focused hunting companion, set up behind her and honored her point. Wish I had a video of it. We added again many miles of unnecessary hiking and a dead end turn around and start over cliff, before we got back. Oh yah, I realized half way into the hike that I was still carrying birds from the morning hunt, stupid, stupid. The hunt was ended by a, volley of clay pidgins, flung form the bumper of Jim’s truck, and any shells that where left over, got spent. Jumping in the trucks, the road back, and a night of Chess and Poker, ahead.
Returning to the cabin, Matt and Jim, turned the kitchen gourmet with a three course salmon meal. Cooked with Soy sauce, and a few other simple ingredients, it turned out great. These meals are awesome, with great friends, and a few laughs. Especially, as it takes up most of the night. Untold is the pains of the day, as each member is nursing an injury of some type. Jim, most of all, he took a fall and found not one but both ankles in pain. He said, “I took a step down a rock and need to catch my balance”, a normal maneuver while Chuckar hunting. However, missing the footing and leaving a foot stuck in some rocks, while you fall over yourself, could be the outcome. It was not until the morning that Jim felt the total effects of the fall. But, the cold drink helped, after dinner.
The morning came with slow body movements, and some .220 swift shots. We gathered our things, said goodbye to the cabin and the view form the porch. A couple of hours later, one missed coyote, a few old memories, and a few new ones, we found civilization.
When / Where is the next adventure? … Your thoughts?
Nice Job! We'll continue making great stories!
ReplyDeleteRuss
Thanks man, these trips are too memorable not to document.
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