Justin: “Dude, Chukar hunting is a man’s sport. The habitat is brutal and the shooting worse. Even if you do get in range, when the birds get up you’ll be out of breath, standing on uneven ground and trying to hit a missile covered in feathers.”
Adam: “C’mon man – how bad could it possibly be? I shoot like 95% on pheasants and there’s all kind of posts on Upland Journal from guys way older than me that go chukar hunting. I’m 23 and, while not in good shape, I gotta be in better shape than some of those guys. Besides… I’m a firm believer that I can gut-check my way though just about anything.”
Justin: “You just wait. Some day you’ll have to come out and give it a shot. My buddies have some pretty good spots.”
Adam: “If that’s an invite, it’s game on Woman. I’m gonna show you west-coast hippies how us Midwesterners roll.”
Justin: “Dude – stop calling me a hippie. I’m from EASTERN Oregon. I’m more Hillbilly than most of you flatlanders could ever dream of being.”
Adam: “Whatever, Hippy. You’re in Law School – that’s all I need to say.”
Fast-forward to Christmas break 2009. A full year after the previous conversation it was finally time for my maiden Chukar voyage. Justin drove home to Hermiston, Oregon at the end of the semester and got in touch with a bunch of his tree-hugging hippy friends to line up a few hunts. The plan was for me to rent a car out of Rapid City and meet up with him in Boise late that night. Unfortunately, the week trip didn’t get off to the start I had hoped for.
My wife and I rolled in to her parents’ place in Spearfish, SD on the Sunday before Christmas. A day later we were cooped up in a Spearfish hotel room after a house fire left us temporarily homeless. If a hotel room wasn’t bad enough for the holidays, a Christmas blizzard blew in and quickly eliminated any options for outside entertainment. For 5 days we kept a close eye on the weather details, hoping like heck that it wouldn’t delay my departure for the trip I’d been eagerly anticipating for over a year. When the interstates closed and remained closed through the 26th, I found myself slipping into the world’s darkest depression. I did my best to pass the time between 511 calls by taking the dogs out for the occasional run through the snow. Turns out, locking a shorthair and Westie in a hotel room for close to a week results in a bit of an energy build up:
By the time Sunday morning rolled around, I honestly thought I was going to go insane. By the grace of the hunting god’s, the DOT managed to finally clear enough snow to open the intestate and I WAS OFF!!! I’ve never been so happy to drive 15 straight hours in my life:
It took about two hours before my joy of being on the road transformed to the realization that I was still 900 miles away. And for the record… Wyoming is a big #$%^ing state.
Alas, I finally made it into the Boise Airport at around 3 a.m. and was cuddling into the couch by 4:30 a.m. 7:30 came WAY too early, but I wasn’t about to let a little sleep deprivation keep me from showing those west coast sallies how it was done. Especially after Justin showed me the work they’d done on the previous day’s hunt (a hunt I was supposed to be there for – D&** you old man winter!)
Justin was already getting stuff ready to go in the truck when I rolled out of bed:
After a short stop at Wal-Mart for a license and some shells (apparently Justin and his buddy Chad shot all their shells up on the way to killing a 3 man limit of chukar the day before) we were on our way to my first chukar hunt. Driving into the canyon, I got my first taste of what was ahead of me:
A short bit later we were finally at our destination and ready to go:
“You head up that slope there” Justin said. “Stay up near the top and push along the slope.” How hard could it be, right?
And so began the longest, most grueling walk of my life. I admit it – Chukar hunting is hands-down, bar-none the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. Don’t get me wrong, I had a blast, but I tip my cap to the guys man enough to do this on a regular basis. The combination of melting snow/mud and rocky slopes had me calculating the odds of someone finding Cash should I just lay down and die. A taste of the scenery:
We worked hard for our birds and were rewarded. Cash pointed his first chukar in the very bottom of the canyon. Walking down I remember thinking to myself that if I go all the way down there for a false point, I’ll kill him. When I got close enough, I snapped a pic of his first point on Chukar – then promptly fell flat on my back and whiffed twice from the seat of my pants while the bird flew away laughing at me:
When we reached the top of the canyon, we paused for a quick picture together:
Shortly thereafter, Cash and I put our first chukar in the bag. Here’s Cash on the retrieve:
After the first bird, the remainder of the hunting spread out over the next couple days was a blur of aching legs, burning lungs and freezing toes. We got into the birds right from the get-go and never had problems finding them. The problems came in getting close and then hitting them, but all in all, we had a fair bit of success and a lot of fun:
This elk calf was all alone and I fear an orphan of the ongoing elk season:
Justin and I with our limit on day 2:
We even managed a mixed bag on day 1 that included Cash’s and my first valley quail:
If they weren’t the Devil’s spawn – I might consider the chukar the best looking and funnest game bird I’ve ever chased:
All told – our three day hunted netted 78 chukar spread out across a group of four hunters (8 bird limits are a blessing and a curse). Looking back on the pictures, I realize I did a poor job of capturing some of the best parts of the hunt and the majority of the birds, but to be honest, I spent more time doubled over than I did trying to take pictures.
We took a well-deserved break (our legs did anyway, I wish I could say the same for our livers) for the Humanatarian Bowl. If you saw the highlites – you know how good the game was. Justin was good enough to spot me some Vandals gear and I’m a proud new fan after storming the field:
We closed out our trip and 2009 with a quick quail hunt:
I failed to adjust the settings on the camera for this picture and curse myself every time I see it. Cash nailed a covey and gave a perfect picture opportunity that I fumbled:
After a productive quail hunt we returned home to Hermiston to unwind before driving 24 hours straight to get back in time for Justin to start classes. Lilly took some time to relax on the couch before we left:
While we didn’t mess around on the drive home, we did break for a 3 a.m. visit to the site of Custer’s last stand. A little eerie in the moonlight:
Looking back on the trip – I learned several things:
1.) NEVER EVER EVER hunt Chukar with someone in better shape than you.
2.) Chukar are fast – and have forcefields
3.) Eastern Oregon is actually relatively devoid of “hippies”
4.) 3500 miles in a Silverado is a lot of gas money
5.) I CAN'T WAIT TO GO BACK!!!!
I gotta agree w/ gotblika though; Every pic I've ever seen of Cash sitting in the snow like that looks about the same in his demeanor and he never appears to be enjoying the frosty ****! 
So when are you going to come hunt the wily and scarce Appalachian Grouse 
