This is an original hunting story written by James Mauney. It is reposted here as a tribute to Honeybear's Yukon Simba MH***. Not to mention the fact that it is a great story!

CHUKAR THE HARD WAY

A raucous, angry, squawking and the roar of wings threshing air destroy the quiet. A large covey of chukar explodes from the cliff into the air. They are just out of shooting range. Most chukar in remote Snake River country probably die of old age never having seen a hunter. Today I am hunting public land not many miles from town. This country has been hunted. Foolish birds are no longer among the survivors. The spooked birds sail off the cliff and out of sight around the slope. Time for hunting is rapidly running out. I will pursue these birds a little further.

Today is the last day of chukar season in Idaho and eastern Washington. Since the dove opener in September, I have been fortunate to spend many days afield pursuing birds with my canine and a few select human companions. We had hunted the states of Idaho, Washington and South Dakota. Numbers of quail, pheasant and waterfowl taken during the season had been very satisfactory. Dog work, such an important a part of the wildfowl hunting experience to me, had been good, often memorable. Mr. Chukar, the masked bandit of the upland bird world, however, had largely my thwarted my best efforts. I came to realize long ago that the quality of a day afield is not best judged by the number of birds brought to bag, but of course some harvest is intrinsic to the hunting experience and satisfies table needs.

Local populations of this species are down drastically from highs in the early 90’s. Catching the chukar in his favored habitat above the Snake and Salmon Rivers is never easy, but in the high population years a hunter with a good dog could find and flush 300 to 400 birds during a day’s hunt. Bagging the birds once found was another problem. It is difficult to shoot well when one is worried about or in the process of falling off a cliff. In most wildfowl shooting the hunter is firing at birds flushing upward or passing overhead. Chukars frequently flush downhill and the hunter finds himself shooting at a sharp downward angle.

Hunting acquaintances that would not consider shooting most game birds species unless they are in flight, admit that they would readily ground sluice chukar. I admit that at times I have been tempted.

My current canine companions are Master Hunter Honeybear’s Yukon Simba and his son Simba’s Wiley Cub. Wiley is the fifth generation of dogs in this line that have hunted with me. Their ancestors include the legendary Field and Amateur Field Champion Rock Honeybear of the Yukon and National Master Hunter Honeybear’s Yukon Jay who now hunt with me only in memories.

Of recent, our outings had been limited by weather largely to the pursuit of waterfowl over decoys. Old Simba’s last retrieve on one of these hunts was a memorable 200 plus yard retrieve of a winged, diving, greenhead. Such feats, at the limit of canine ability, have over the years become almost commonplace for Simba but then his unusual abilities have been evident since early in life. We took time off from hunting and fishing for him to run AKC Derby stakes. He went on to become the high point Derby dog of his breed for the 1990,s.

Today with rain and snow threatening seemed to be best suited for another waterfowl hunt, but there is still a week left in that season. After today, my next chance for upland game hunting, barring another long trip to a southern local such as Arizona, would be some eight months away.

During the last several days, temperatures had climbed well above freezing by midday. Rains were frequent. Snow, once extending to valley level, receded up the canyon walls. There is danger enough from falls when pursuing chukar under the best of conditions. Two years ago while chukar hunting I took a bad spill and broke some ribs. The terrain was dry. A loose, round rock got me. Snow on cliffs and unstable slopes preferred by the masked bandit upgrades the sport from hazardous to very hazardous.

Hunting cliff dwelling birds I consider a good sport for dogs under three and men under thirty ages Simba and I had long since attained. However, the excitement, exercise, scenic habitat and physical challenge of hunting birds in such country are addictive. It also does not diminish motivation that this is a superior table bird. Of the few hunters I have encountered in chukar country a surprisingly high percentage have been old-timers. The hunter who was once addicted to hunting mountain sheep and goats is in particular at risk to chukar hunting addiction.

The physical risk to the hunter from most North American upland bird hunting is due largely to carelessness with firearms. In chukar hunting the main risks are heat stroke in the early season and falls throughout the season. The risk of injury by falls is also inherent to spring hunting for the male blue grouse, "hooter", on southeastern Alaska’s forested, cliff studded, mountain slopes. "Hooter" hunting became my spring passion for the several years when as a young man I lived in Sitka, Alaska.

My strategy for today was to hunt eastern Washington. I would hunt terrain along the Snake River. I was likely to find California quail and Hungarian partridge. Today was also the last day for hunting these species during the Millenium season. There was the off chance that I would find some foolish chukar had wondered down to lower elevations.

Last night, a mixture of snow and rain hitting the roof awakened me. Remembering the E-mail a hunting buddy sent me about the recent falling death of a chukar hunter increases my skepticism about chukar hunting today. If I do the smart thing I will sit this one out at home.

I roll out about 5 AM to check conditions. A skiff of snow covered the ground. Though threatening it was no longer snowing. Hunting the local Idaho terrain was out of the question. Washington was still a possibility. I awaited further weather developments. By mid-morning the sky was brightening. Just maybe I could take the boat and check out some hunting areas along the River.

The boat was still hitched to the truck from a recent duck hunt. I busy myself cleaning snow out of the boat and off the truck. By 9 AM the gear was loaded. Wiley was in the back of the truck; Simba was on the front seat with his big old head resting sleepily in my lap. Getting a late start, we head out.

Arriving at the Reservoir and driving downstream, I am very encouraged to observe that the snow line had receded to 400 or 500 feet. There would be plenty of snow free country to hunt. While loading the boat , I debated about packing the 870 12 gauge for a chance meeting with geese. I decided against this precaution loading only my Ithica side by side. Weighing only six pounds and extremely quick handling this is my quail specialty shotgun. I have found a semi automatic or pump gun to give little advantage by increasing firepower as the hunter is generally lucky to get two shots at flushing birds. The over and unders I usually pack for chukar are equipped with slings. This feature makes it possible to have both hands free when needed for holding onto a cliff face or slippery slope. The side by side was not so equipped, but then I do not plan to get into the steep country.

Running down the river I arrive at the first flat in my hunting schedule. As I motored into the cove for anchorage some big gray shapes along the beach catch my eye. Geese, and I am close! I hastily shut off the motor and scramble for the cased shotgun and some large steel shot. Too late. These geese had played this game before. They are airborne and over me. I stand there frustrated with my still cased shotgun in my hands. Not a good start. I run to the beach and anchor. I plan to hunt up the draw to the West along a gurgling little creek. After a few hundred yards, we will cross the creek and hunt a steep, brushy slope just above the River. I had found coveys of quail in both areas previously.

Within a couple of hundred yards the dogs become birdy. I hear quail talking in the nearby brush and tree cover. I decide to go into the cover with the dogs. A mistake! I should have stayed on cover fringe for shooting and sent the dogs in for the flush. As I enter the canopy, birds from a small covey begins to flush. Overhanging limbs obscures the flushing birds. I take no shots. Oh well, on to the next opportunity.

We hunt around the edge of the lake gaining elevation. The lakeshore is studded in places with boulders tumbled in profusion and rises directly from deep water as cliffs. The shore is impassable in these places. I chose to hunt a strip of brush immediately above the shore. There is a 30 to 60 foot drop-off to the lakeshore. Once again we hear quail talking. They are running ahead in heavy brush. I choose to stick to the open, grass covered slopes where I will be in the clear for shooting. They will not willingly leave heavy cover. There is no choice but to send the dogs in for the flush. Birds from a sizable covey beginning to flushing. The window of opportunity for shooting through the brush is extremely limited. I get off two quick shots. I see no birds drop.

We hunt on around the drop-off in the direction most of the birds headed. As we hunt, additional birds flush from the brush. I take one hasty shot. Again, no bird falls. My shooting opportunities continue to be blocked by brush. Finally we arrive at a deep draw where serious cliffs start. This is a must turn around point. Wiley is into heavy bird scent in the bottom of the draw. I anticipate and am ready for a flush. To my surprise he retrieves a bird . I admire the hand delivered bird; a very handsome bull quail which succumbed to my last shot.

We hunt back towards the boat. There are more flushes in heavy cover or in the open when I am in cover. I take no more shots. We cover a few hundred yards and Wiley does it again. He delivers to me another handsome bull quail. This bird unbeknownst to me was downed by one of my two first shots. Thanks to Wiley we will not go home skunked on the season’s last day!

We arrive back to the boat and pause for lunch. There is a sandwich and jug of water for me and a dog biscuit for each of the dogs. The afternoon is nice now with sun breaks. Temperatures have risen above freezing. There is little wind. The water surface is flat calm. A nice flock of mallards enters the cove flying our way. From about 60 yards out they spot us. I had no designs on them, but we are not to their liking and they head back the way they came.

There is time to try to another area. A short, brisk ride in the open boat brings us to an extensive flat. This will be the last area we have time to hunt on the last day of the season. I had a good shoot over large covey of quail here earlier this fall. They dogs found them in light cover. I acquitted myself well with the Beretta superimposed I was packing. During past hunts of this area, I heard chukar talking from the steep slopes and cliffs above this flat.

We hunt for a distance across the flats. Is that chukar talk I hear? It is coming from steep country above. We hunt farther but locate no quail. By now I know that the noise coming from above is definitely chukar talk and not too high up the mountain. The temptation is too great to resist. We head up. I will not go above snow line I promised myself. The time is now 2:30. The sun is already behind the bluffs in the west and light is flat. There will be very little time for hunting. A hunter would not wish to be caught in the cliffs after nightfall. It would be dark by 5.

We continue uphill. Chukars talk keeps drawing us on. We need to get above them or at least to their level to have a chance. The slopes we are traversing are increasingly steep in places exceeding 45%. Now we are getting into serious rocks and cliffs. Going is very slow and laborious. I follow game trails whenever possible. Trails make footing across the steep slopes and above cliffs somewhat less hazardous. In really bad spots I was using the three point contact method holding on for support with a hand and placing both feet carefully. In spots there is no bare ground or grass. Here, snow turned to slush, overlying frozen ground makes footing about as bad as it gets. I discover again a great advantage of hunting with big Chesapeakes as hunting companions. I bring one dog or the other to heel at my side and lean on his shoulders. Their four point stability on those overlarge, claw studded paws is much greater than mine is. We are now about 400 vertically feet above the River. The dogs are wind-scenting birds. Droppings litter the slope. We are very close. I head across a draw towards a sharp rimrock outcropping.

Wiley, an extremely eager, birdy hunter is working the cliff edge. He is hunting terrain, which would put a mountain sheep or cougar at risk. He is not yet three years of age, but if there are birds around with his exceptional nose he will find them. This is his game. He has learned well the ins and outs of birding from his father Simba. He is an extremely strong 100 pounds animal toughened by a fall of hard hunting. He has learned caution when in the cliffs but maybe not enough. His actions show birds to be along this cliff face or maybe at its base. The drop-off is 80 to 100 feet. He seeks a way down. The physical risk is too great. I call Wiley back. We will hunt on around the rimrock. I urge the dogs, "easy, hunt close".

More elevation is gained. We are 500 feet above River level now. Bird spore is increasingly apparent. The birds are feeding on their winter dietary staple, newly sprouted cheat grass. I will learn later that they were also consuming large quantities of a very minute burr.

Cresting the next ridge I admire and am made uneasy by reflected colors of the rapidly setting sun in the western sky. We will hunt around this ridge and turn back. The terrain is largely rock shelves and drop-offs with some grass slopes interspersed. Wiley dog is eagerly following a hot trail. Just above us the snow cover is solid. Simba makes a sudden lunge up onto a rock ledge on my right. A single huge chukar explodes, flushing uphill. The escaping bird is plenty close but terrain permits only a fleeting shot. The little side by side is very responsive and the bird is down. Simba now has the chukar and is returning to me. I pat his big head. I am pleased he was able to "wipe the pup’s eye" so to speak and make the last retrieve of the upland season. Today was another very good day afield and a fitting season closure. Now for the long tedious trip back down the mountainside and then across the flats to the boat.

During our decent, chukars are talking, hurling taunts at us from the cliffs and rockslides above. Wiley wants to go up but I call him to heel. As my old hunting partner Ed used to say, "every chukar taken by fair chase from the cliffs is a trophy bird". Today we have our trophy.

The chukar are now safe from human hunters for another nine months. I hope that this spring is kind to them and they have fun and success making many little ones. Tonight, looking back on a good season afield and its successful conclusion there will be a cold one or two for me. For two tired dogs there will be extra helpings of chow. Tomorrow I will decide which recipe to use for baking a chukar.

James Mauney, Idaho

Man, that makes want to go hunting! Thanks for posting that.

G'Mac

Love hunting stories. Thanks. The only emory it brings to me is how fast chukars are?

quote:

Originally posted by Moscowitz:
Love hunting stories. Thanks. The only emory it brings to me is how fast chukars are?

Fast as the dickens, eh? I could deal with it better if they at least got up into the air a bit but, they stay so low to the ground.