That’s the expression that was passed on to James and subsequently passed on to me before my first chukar hunt, a bird that has an almost cult like following amongst men and women across the country. For upland bird hunters it’s one of the big names. Put plainly, they provide a challenge not only for hunters and their dogs but, more accurately, for their overall psyche. For most, the likelihood of a fun outing quickly turning into a day of anger management is all too real.
From the beginning, chukar make life hard on hunters simply
due to their preferred place on the landscape. High elevations, rocky cliffs,
loose gravel, and steep slopes, are all fairly representative of the bird’s
habitat here in Oregon. More often than not this means you are immediately
disadvantaged with the knowledge that the only way to get to them is to begin
covering vertical feet, and for us, in our chosen location, this means “stair
stepping”. So you climb, slipping on the gravel, trying to hold your gun up,
and every so often deflated when your turn to see your dog run over to you,
bump your leg, and look up, as if to imply, “what’s the hold up?”. Demoralizing
really. But you take it one step at a time, you know what lies at the top, you
know what’s waiting for you. Finally, you arrive at the lower shelf and have
your first opportunity to listen.
If you’ve never been out on a chukar hunt the experience is
worth it simply for the call. After some inevitable reminiscing about the first
part of the climb you sit down, wait, and listen. For some birds, quiet is king.
It acts as safety blanket for them and they constantly live with the knowledge
that making any sudden movement or noise can cost them dearly, but for chukar
it’s different. They almost have an arrogance to them, the way they call
without regard to who’s around, as if to say, “yeah, I’m right up here, come
and get me”. For them, the rugged terrain is their best protection, but for
those willing, it can be overcome.
As you sit on the shelf with your eyes closed it doesn’t take
long before you begin to hear the first of them,
“chuk……chuk…..chuk….chuk…chuk..chuk, chuk, chuk, chuk”, in rapid succession
from across the ridge. A response comes from the opposite direction, then another,
and another, and at this point you fully realize the scale of what is in front
of you. You’re both excited with the knowledge that the birds are here but
simultaneously reluctant to commit to any one spot. It’s all part of the game.
Inherent in this landscape is not necessarily the horizontal
distance you must travel but rather, how to cover that distance. The vertical feet are
tough, there’s no denying that, but once you’re up high it’s just a matter of
managing what is in front of and around you. If there is one thing you can plan
on going into one of these days it’s that your chances will be fleeting and
there are very few birds, with the exception of blue grouse, that bust up with
as much force, speed, and downhill trajectory as chukar. They’re like a bullet.
When, “they burst downhill like a rocket,” is the expression used to describe
their behavior, you start to question, with accumulative knowledge that you
have, if this was a good idea.
As for James and I, it was simply about the challenge, and a
challenge it was. One thing I personally hadn’t taken into consideration was
what happens to these birds after you shoot them. With James above me, the call
came; birds were flushing down my way. I spun around to meet the oncoming
covey, brought my gun up and caught a bird about 20 yards out. I watched the
bird jerk and waiver, I knew I hit it, and then, its downward descent…farther
down, and farther down, and down, and down. For some, their dogs may go all the
way down and bring the bird back up, but for Farley, who is very good at finding
birds, his retrieving skills are still a little rough, and thus meant I had to
head downhill to recover a bird that I would never recover in the end. Defeat,
my confidence was shaken. But we pushed on, covering ground and trying to
figure out where these birds preferred to hang out.
The day went on, we worked the hillsides, and James was able
to take two birds off the mountain. Farley, pushed to his limits and in need of
a cool down was dunked in a nearby water trough, and towards the end of the
day, with my energy levels near empty, a bird fell for me as well. The day was
hard, challenging, and frustrating all at the same time. You climb around,
picking your way across the landscape, to get to a spot where you think the
birds landed and then, in a flash, their up and weaving their way across the
hillside. You get a few shots off, nothing drops, and you see them land in the
exact spot you just came from. You think
to yourself, this can’t be happening. But ultimately, what this does mean is
that when you finally do take a bird, the satisfaction is inevitably greater.
For James to take two and me to snag one was not only a hunting victory, but a
moral one as well.
The first time’s for fun, the second time’s for revenge.
Worn out and running out of shells you begin to take the expression much more
seriously. These birds with their home of rocks, unrivaled speed, and bold
calls, are most definitely a worthy adversary.
Before you can blink the evening light wanes and the day
approaches its final hours. The hunt was successful, as good a day as any, and after
a long drive you are home. With a turn of the key you enter your trailer, crawl
into your bed, and right as you close your eyes for the evening you hear,
“chuk…chuk”. The love, hate relationship emerges. You minds races, when will I
go back? When will I have another chance? It’s only then that you realize, the fever
has you.
Chukar country down the Burnt River Canyon, just outside Durkee, Oregon:
In the end, success:
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