The Wild World of Wild Birds

 If you are old enough to remember ABC’s Wide World of Sports, you distinctly recall Jim McKay uttering the words “the thrill of victory and agony of defeat”. While a tough day in the field doesn't rival an epic crash on the Giant Slalom, it does occasionally make us question our choice of hobbies or sanity. When entered into my hunting journals, this season had no shortage of peaks and valleys when compared to previous years.

  

Singing The Blues

The opening day of the season on September 1st, found us in blue grouse country. Dad was only three months into his warranty period on his new knee, so we planned to take things easy. Five miles and 2,000’ feet of elevation later, I reminded him not to overdo it on the first day. Too late. He wasn’t able to walk the next day, let alone hunt.  It was a strange day as we moved about a dozen blues, but many of them blew out of trees, not offering much dog work.  We each shot a bird, so we were not skunked. I returned to the woods and Dad’s RV two days later and had a great hunt in the hills. I found plenty of birds and had fairly open shooting over points.  If you haven’t hunted blues, it is great sport, in majestic country for a bird that is wonderful on the table.

 

No snakes and usually 10 degrees cooler than the prairie

Hunting For Cover, Not Birds

As I moved north on the Montana prairie, it was good to see that the birds bounced back nicely since the dreadful summer of 2017. The drought that season virtually wiped out all reproduction for Hungarian Partridge and sharptail. (Pheasants fared slightly better) This fall, sharptail were abundant and seeing three or four coveys of Huns a day was the norm. Shooting a limit of Huns isn’t always the goal, but when it occurred over the 6-month old pup, I made no apologies. The light really came on, as they say.  Unfortunately, the continued drought reduced the habitat for the birds on the landscape. The lack of grass resulted in more haying and more grazing. A definite double-whammy which may carry over into spring 2022 nesting.

 

Its Ruff Without Woodcock

The trip to the grouse and woodcock cabin in MN also produce mixed results.  The woodcock had already come and gone, but the hunting for ruffs was decent.  I hunted some untouched ground via my fat-tire bike where I only saw the tracks of wolves and some old whitewash from timberdoodles.  The final day I shot a true double on ruffs, which I don’t recall happening in 40 years of hunting in the north woods.  I won’t bore you with the details, but that mental image will stick with me for a while.

 

Everyone Wants a Rooster

Montana pheasant opener: Plenty of birds, good dog work, but too many people. I have hunted the same spots in NE MT for years, but this was the first opener in which vehicles and RVs were strategically parked to reserve spots. People were trespassing with reckless abandon. To the guys from Idaho said they new it was private land and didn't care, we need the opposite of an R3 program for folks like you.  I keep saying I am going to avoid pheasant opener, but 30 years later….   

Burned In Hells

Idaho chukars. The first day was a disappointing bust as our destination was a black moonscape from the wildfires this summer. We saw a few birds, but their remaining cover were rock piles. On day two, I fell on frost-covered rocks and put an ugly ding in my 28 gauge. Good thing I packed an extra 20 gauge and shells.  Finally, on the third day, our luck changed and we found a supercovey of birds in some rugged country, miles from the nearest road. 

I think about chukar country 12 months a year. 

Trapped

Kansas quail. In southern Kansas, we had a great start on bobs, on a bitterly cold, snowy day. I was able to hunt both dogs, who worked as a team. I moved five coveys and shot a limit and I am glad I did.  The next morning, when we had bluebird weather and high expectations, I never saw a covey. To make matters worse, Lena the pup, found a trapper’s leg-hold unit and howled until I ran over and set her free. An event like that really puts a damper on your enthusiasm. After seeing a snare in the same area, I was more than content to call it a trip and make the 15-hour drive back to Montana.

Legal on public lands, but not a lot of fun for bird dogs. 

Late-Season

We had just the right enough snow for a Montana Hi-Line pheasant and Hun hunt so I took a break from chukars and went north. Overnight temps were around zero, so I rented a dog-friendly motel instead of hauling the RV. While I was mostly after Huns with a side of pheasants, I could not get close to the Huns. They flushed wild repeatedly from the hard-packed snow and eventually I gave up. The Huns were acting more like pheasants.  I moved to slightly heavier cover and focused on ringnecks. The tight-sitting roosters and hens were great practice for a young dog. The hunting was good, the driving on icy roads was not. 

Cowpoke Partridge

Wyoming chukars and Hungarians. When a rancher tells you he has never seen a bird hunter before, you chalk it up as a plus. Due to a dry spring and summer, amidst an already arid climate, the bird numbers were down from previous years. But, the weather in South Montana was balmy until the very end of the season, while snow was piling up in my Idaho haunts.  

My final bird was a Hun, over a point by both dogs at sunset on January 30^th, along the snowcapped Rocky Mountain Front. I ended that day and my season with one chukar and one Hun which doesn’t sound like much of a day. But, when you look at the big picture of finding wild birds in wild country with your own bird dogs, there are always more good days than bad.  

Final bird of the season. Now we wait. 

Swiss Army Dogs

 The past decade or so, I have left the pheasant belt of eastern Montana immediately after the opening weekend each year. The hunt is mostly a tradition amongst friends with good dog work on young birds, often ending our hunts by mid-morning each day. After the two or three days of hunting wild roosters in CRP and brushy draws, I repack my gear and head to Minnesota for ruffed grouse and woodcock. The mid-October window is a good balance that is late enough in the season to offer some leaves on the ground, but not far enough into fall to miss all of the resident woodcock.

Maggie and Katy. All they knew were grouse and woodcock and it showed.

Growing up in the north woods, our dogs were specialists. It wasn’t an attempt at elitism, but strictly a pragmatic decision.  We never considered traveling, leaving birds to find birds. Blaze, Maggie, Katy, and Lucy hunted ruffs and timberdoodles exclusively, with maybe one or two outings for sharptail that were just outside of the big woods.  When you combine that narrow focus with great hunting in your backyard, a young setter learned the game very quickly.  Woodcock were a great training tool, the wary grouse a slightly more advanced course. I took our good hunting and stellar dog work for granted.

Now, with just a handful of days in the MN woods each year, I won’t pretend that my current pair of bird dogs have that duo mastered.  Sure, they do well-enough, but I can notice they handle ruffs better on day three or four, then on day one. I am not sure they even remember the smell of woodcock until they bump one and grouse, well, they might get a bit too close for comfort when the tailgate first drops. Switching from running roosters to wobbly woodcock in 24 hours, is a significant change. 

Huns. Great dog work + sporty shooting. 

A feathered stew of chukars, blue grouse, sharptail and Huns, an occasional sage grouse and a few valley quail each year, only adds to the diversity that my dogs see. September sharptail usually play fair, but the weather can be hot and dry.  Are mountain blue grouse an adequate fill-in for ruffs?  Do Hun coveys act and smell like a bunch of chukars?   Does the variety of birds make them mediocre at each species or are bird contacts all part of the bigger picture?  I am not sure what the answer is, but I know in my six-month sojourn chasing birds each year, it is sure fun to see a variety of country, with a lot of unique birds alongside my “good-enough” dogs. 

Chukar country.  Birds that run like pheasants, flush like Huns. 

The Season That Wouldn't End

Growing up in the icebox of northern Minnesota, I didn’t fathom hunting upland birds after Thanksgiving, let alone January 1^st or into February. We got our licks in though, hunting steadily from September 1^st (woodcock only) until deer season in early November shut down the setters and hunters.  There were a few years where the snow didn’t accumulate to levels that impeded our search for December ruffs, but usually Thanksgiving was the tail end of our season.

 

When I finally ended up in Montana, the climate allowed for ample pheasant hunting until January 1^st, many years without any snow on the ground. The birds were as crafty as heck in the late season, but it didn’t matter. Hunting pressure was nil and the dogs were in prime shape.  The four-month season offered a lot of variety from blue grouse at 8,000’ in September to Huns and sharptail in October. Pheasants were the primary quarry the final half of the year, which often varied from the easy birds of the opener to tougher days of busting cattails and deep snow. Four months of bird hunting seemed adequate.

 

When chukars, and to a lesser extent quail, entered the picture, instantly an additional month of hunting and road trips were attained.  Idaho chukar and valley quail and Wyoming chukars and Huns, had become my addictions. While I have traveled to Kansas and Arizona as well, they weren’t getaways that could be done on a long weekend.  I could be in Wyoming chukar country in four hours, so why wouldn’t I sneak to the Cowboy State as often as I could?

 

And, sneak I did this season (often alone and wearing a mask). For all of us in the North who value a good ice-auger more than golf clubs, winter weather can shut down the hunting season or make the travel back and forth miserable. We tell our spouses, “one more hunting trip is needed before the snow flies”, a line I used repeatedly this fall. Four trips in a five-week span were made to Wyoming, with varying results each sojourn south.  My goal was to find birds in a new location each trip, so I did cross off some areas about as often as I successfully scribbled Chuk on my maps. 

 

I also made two trips to Idaho, both of which were enjoyable as I took two different hunting partners to see the majestic Hells Canyon. Hunting in that scenic terrain, with all public-land, is hard to top.  No fences, no permission needed, the only requirements consisted of being in good physical shape and remembering which ridge the truck was parked.

 

When January 31^st came and went, I had partially cleaned up my bird hunting Ready Piles in my den - collections of things I used so often that I really never unpacked from each getaway. Dog collars, my 28 gauge shell bag, dog food and boots I rotated based on the upcoming terrain, were always at the ready.  But, when I realized Nevada’s chukar season remained opened until February 7^th, I quickly restocked. While a winter storm was going to impact the home front in central Montana, northern Nevada was downright balmy, with temps in the 50s.  I would worry about returning home later.

 

It was my first trip to Nevada, outside of many work trips to Las Vegas, which really do not count.  Like many expeditions to a new area, one wastes a lot of time scouting and finding the birdy ground.  Letti did her part and found plenty of Huns the first day and finally struck gold with chukars on the second.  It was an enjoyable, albeit short trip, but I hunted into February for the first time in my life, so what’s not to like?  The season ended abruptly, as I drove the final 300 miles on ice, all the way to my doorstep.  But, I had to make the final trip, before the snow came.

2020 Hits and Misses

 September 1- October 10

How will we remember the 2020-2021 hunting season?

One expects the first two weeks of the Montana season to be hot and dry. Often smoky. But, this fall, conditions of Hades lingered all the way to pheasant opener. The days trekking up high for blues were productive, but by noon, water bottles were empty and the dogs were looking for shade. Salt was rubbed in the wound even more when an October fire struck said blue grouse coverts. Time will tell if that high-elevation habitat is altered forever.

Based on my days afield, sharptail seemed to be nearly recovered from the drought of 2017, while Huns aren't quite there yet. On second thought, sharptail were more abundant than any season since 2007.  (I would still like to see a 3 birds/day limit and 9 in possession) I never did hunt sage grouse this September, with most of my excuses revolving around snakes, warm temperatures and more snakes.

The smoky, dry September conditions hindered dog work to some extent.

October 10 - October 23

Pheasant opener was played according to Hoyle.  The birds had a good hatch and we had our bag limits early each day. Dog work was good, allowing us to pick out mature birds and avoid any heckling over juveniles that were lacking color. Only the pheasant opener can become amateur hour when other hunters drive past your vehicle and deliberately cut you off on a coulee. Cooler heads prevailed when the final showdown occurred, but man.......

Other than that, the opening weekend was full of good laughs, good food and good weather. The dogs were machines, doing what they were bred to do.  And, Brian ended his shooting slump too, which had been on the books for a decade. Give or take. 

Can you come home Sunday after hunting pheasants?  I have had contact with some Covid-positive people.....And just like that my trip to the grouse shack in MN was cancelled with one simple text from my wife.  Dad claims the birds were already on the downhill slide, but I think he was just trying to talk me off the ledge.  Next year. 

Now, as of October 23rd, we have a foot of snow on the ground in the middle of Montana, two feet in the mountains.  It could be a year to hunt more chukars in Idaho and Nevada or look for elk in the hills. Time to put away the flatlander boots and dig out the stiff-soled ones. 2020 isn't going away easy, so why should I?

Pheasant opener is always a social event, as much as a hunting trip. Covid didn't change that.

A Season Needed More Than Ever

My mind is already wandering to cool mornings in camp, as we prep to head uphill to search for blues. Admittedly, it is a bit premature, as the birds have just hatched and we had mountain snow in the past ten days.  Ripe berries and hoppers of the dog days of summer are weeks away. Regardless, there will always be a few blues in their reliable high-elevation haunts on September 1^st.

With upland bird season just two months away, I am formulating a more deliberate list of hunting trips for the upcoming season than normal. I started a list on my iPhone of places I want to not forget about in the next 4-6 months, as I think of them. In other words, ideas gleaned while at work or during “conversation” with the wife. Some brainstorms involve new areas I have never traveled to, some out of state, a few here in Montana.  Old coverts that I have neglected the past few seasons for whatever reason are also on the list.

Nevada- is in the former category. Every year I attempt to make a late season chukar trip and every year a winter storm pops up as I pack up. I guess that shouldn’t surprise when trying to travel 12 hours, across three mountain passes in January, but this is the year. I swear.  The vast amount of public land is intriguing, as is the topography that appears much more hospitable than the Hells Canyon vert.

The Charlie M. Russell Wildlife Refuge – While I live only an hour from the western-most edge of the 1.1 million acres of public land, I haven’t hunted it much the past four or five years. While bird densities can be fairly low per mile on the CMR, it is truly endless walking for those that seek sharptail and sage grouse in their native range.   I don’t own a horse, but if I did, saddle up. I will also probably invite along a sage grouse rookie, so they can have a chance at checking off the big bombers from their life-list.

Wyoming Blue Grouse- Sure, leaving blues in my backyard to search for blues in another state seems foolish.  But, the satisfaction of finding birds in new country is always enjoyable.  Early September is the window for this hunt, as snow comes early in the high-country.  There was plenty of white stuff on the ground last September 15^th when I promised the family a “camping trip” in the Cowboy State.

 

Blues are a great early-season opportunity - in any state

Minnesota Sharptail- Same. Montana has ample sharptail. Minnesota’s numbers are a fraction of Big Sky Country’s.  No matter, this is mostly nostalgia, to check on some of the grouse habitat that I first hunted in as a youngster.  I don’t think the peat bogs and birds have gone anywhere. It will be interesting to see if the countryside appears the same way that my memory paints it. I will already be back in the North Woods hunting ruffs and woodcock, so this can be a side trip.

Minnesota "chickens" circa 1985 

The usual favorites.  I have already made one trip to Idaho scouting for chukars and saw plenty of breeding pairs in new areas. This research combined with an off-season knee adjustment, makes chukar hunting a priority.  Wyoming chukar hunting is also decent and offers another late-season option when Montana is shut down. It appears Montana Huns and pheasants populations will be on the rise, so a few prairie road trips are also in the cards. Specifically, I noted a large, remote parcel that I discovered while hunting mule deer last November.  Flushing sharptail, Huns and a few pheasants while sneaking on deer may be annoying to some, but I was laughing the entire time. September can’t get here quickly enough.  

Chukar habitat, settter on point, public land. That's all. 

Walking Your Way Into Birds......

is the only practice I vouch for and is really the only part of the hunt we control.   The adage isn't complex, but to what degree we take it, varies from hunter to hunter. It simply means the more you walk, the more birds you find.  As Yogi might have said, the mantra is 90% accurate, half the time.

But, the theorem was tested and failed a few times this fall, regardless how many times the boots hit the ground.

When asked by first-timers and bucket-listers hunting sage grouse, my reply has been consistent: find good sage in the eastern 1/2 of Montana and Wyoming, walk in a straight line until the dogs find a flock.  You will eventually encounter a group of bombers.

Well, that routine let me down one day this fall near Winnett, MT, an area that is the epicenter for endless sage range.  I left the truck one cool September morning,with less water than normal, assuming that the young setter Letti and I would find a reservoir holding some adequate liquid and/or we would quickly shoot our token sage hen for the fall.   I was wrong on both accounts. By 2PM, we had walked 6 hours straight, ran the well dry and only saw some grouse droppings.  The sage itself was healthy, very little sign of cattle traffic, but the birds were simply not in our swath. Could they have been 50 yards to either side of us? Yes. This day, eight miles was not enough and I had to get back to town for some less important task.

Kansas was also a bit of a puzzler this year.  Ryan and I were after bobwhite, something that is a novelty for us Montana types.  We hadn't been down to the sunflower state for a couple of years, but based on the bounty we had discovered two years prior, we were optimistic. Just walk the known coverts until we find a covey or two.  And we did. (The walking part, not the finding)  We literally walked from breakfast until darkness each day.  Our frustration (more for the dogs than us) did a nice job of masking the fatigue and sore feet.  Two coveys and two birds the first two days. One of us, never fired a shot the entire trip.  The other gent, fired four shots to kill the two bobs and one rooster.  The third day, we changed our focus to prairie chickens, but it was also a dud.  Walking definitely didn't reward us in southwest Kansas.

Kansas bird numbers were in the tank for us this fall. 

But, there were days where a long walk led me to the promised land.  I left the truck a couple of days in Wyoming this fall hunting new territory, not knowing if I was 100 yards or 100 miles from wild chukars.  When Letti eventually locked up, I knew I had found undiscovered chukar country and a covey that would not need to be shared with anyone, maybe ever.  The danger that day was when one covey lead me to another and I didn't know when to quit.  The harsh reality was I had a two-hour return hike ahead of me with about one hour of daylight.  But, at least I had walked myself into a few birds.

Chukar coveys in Wyoming can be miles apart.  

Lewistown to Lewiston

Getting to the point is sometimes the hardest part

500 miles one-way.  Two mountain passes to cross. Two round trips in two weeks.  One with human co-pilot, one with only dog as co-pilot. Mix in some dreadful night-driving dodging deer and elk. Borderline crazy. Chukar crazy.

My L-town in central Montana is regarded and regurgitated by outdoor media as an upland bird hunting mecca. With sage grouse, sharptail, Huns, pheasants, blue grouse and ruffs all within an hour of town, there is a lot to like. However, the amount of access may not justify the hunting pressure or the notoriety. To prove my point, I have only hunted two half-days locally, spread out amongst 25+ days afield.  And the biggest drawback to Fergus County, Montana? There aren’t any chukars. 

I first shot wild chukars south of Billings, MT in marginal habitat about 15 years and three setters ago, on my third attempt.  I opened my over-under after four birds bagged as I didn’t even know the limit.  I assumed it was the same as Hungarians (eight), but wasn’t 100% sure.  No regrets as I look back, knowing that a four-bird day is respectable anywhere.  I mounted one of those first chukars, the catalyst for my current addiction.

This bird was close to dropping off the edge of the world

Fast-forward to 2019 and the challenge and pure sport of chasing these imported birds have not waned. So much of one’s success is determined by 1) your ambition level 2) quality of the dog work.  99.9% of the hunting occurs on public land so the barriers to access have been removed.  For those hunters that are looking for adventure, great exercise, tremendous scenery, majestic dog work and tricky shotgunning, chukar hunting offers all of it. 

Imagine your heart-pounding as you shift down into uphill gear, alternating your view from the ground to the dog to the ground and back to the dog.  She looks birdy, hunting deliberately toward a rock outcropping near the top of the ridge. You question if you can pause a second to catch your breath, but you think better of it, wanting to stay with the dog as she approaches the crest.  She does her part, locking up on strong scent, giving you time to try and find solid footing.  Just as your eyesight clears the horizon, the covey rise explodes, giving you milliseconds to pick out a single target, two if you are fortunate.   In good chukar country, this excitement is repeated throughout the day. Over the course of several hours, you will have taken a number of shots that didn’t connect, a few that do.  You will have fallen a few times, hopefully with only minor damage to both your gun and you.  Your evening is spent reliving the dog’s greatest hits, eating as many calories as you care to enjoy, hoping you can muster the energy to climb the hills again tomorrow.  Somehow you always find that reserve tank to return. Even when those hills are 500 miles from home.

Backpacking into birds. Where do you put your vest?

Halloween Is A Little Spooky

Growing up a stone’s throw from the border – Canada, not Mexico, Halloween was always the sad finish line to our upland season.  The weather always seemed to turn about that time, bringing snow and cold, sending the woodcock south if they hadn’t departed for unfrozen dirt already.  Deer hunting also took over then, so just like that, we switched from The World Series and Reeboks to things like Hockey Night in Canada and Sorel boots.

Living in Montana and having the means to travel, Halloween is now about midway in my bird hunting adventures. When you consider possible winter storms and white-knuckle travel, it might be a glass half empty though.  There is a trip to Kansas for quail in my future and hopefully a number of chukar trips west, as well.  I haven’t given up on Montana, either.  Late-season pheasant and Hun hunting can be solid, right until the closing bell on January 1. However, if we receive white stuff that can be measured in feet instead of inches, then checkmate, birds.

So far, the 2019 season has been fair to good.

Dad at 73 still getting after blues in the high country. 

The blue grouse numbers in September were about average, but slightly better than last season. The birds were really scattered, some dining on berries, others on hoppers.  Good for them to have options. Unfortunately, the season was over before it started, due to early snow (do I say that every year?).  Found some beautiful, new blue grouse ridges in Wyoming this fall.   Some of which you can drive to. Note to older self, when my knees are out of grease.

Montana pheasants had a great hatch it seems.  I have found birds in the usual pockets from central Montana to North Dakota. If only CRP came back…….

Huns are still fairly scarce throughout Montana.  Maybe a covey a day. Sharptail are doing just fine, they have been here since the buffalo. I wish the limit was three a day, nine in possession. Not the current four and sixteen. I never looked for a sage grouse this September. I do love their country.

Pheasant opener. Plenty of birds, despite the lack of CRP. 

A trip to the grouse shack in Minnesota was enjoyable, despite record rainfall there this summer/fall.  The forest floor was literally one third under water. The poor woodcock were limited in options too. Alders? Underwater.  River banks?  Heavy flow.  We did move a few in young popple and fern/jackpine habitat, but very few.  Letti the pup, did terribly on Timberdoodles for whatever reason. If she was only focusing on ruffs, well, she was successful.  Grouse numbers were surprisingly solid and almost out of whack with the 10-year cycle.  Oh, the Runners. I think ruffs have been in cahoots with pheasants, and are adding that skill to their bag of tricks. I watched a bird run, Letti relocating, numerous times until it finally flushed at 75 yards. What? I have hunted ruffed grouse in Minnesota for 36 years of my 48 and haven’t seen SOBs run like that. 

MN was wet. Woodcock didn't stick around. 

The Grouse Shack. Years of memories.

 If you haven’t already, hit the road and find the dog some birds.  November is here.

Treat Autumn As If It Were Your Last

  On a recent work trip, I ran into a gentleman at the Billings airport whom I recognized, but couldn’t quite name or recall how I should know him. Finally, upon our decent into a larger and less-friendly city, it jumped out at me. He was a bird hunter and sporting clays shooter from Billings that I had met about 15 years prior.  Al looked healthy, but so much older.  He had gone from vibrant and athletic to hunched-over and slow-moving. Ever misjudge how long ago certain events really were like I often do? It may seem like six years since I shot my first Mearns quail, but was actually closer to ten. I am planning for a 30-year-class reunion next summer when I could swear I was just wearing Zubaz and making a Duran-Duran mix-tape.

 One of my favorite saws is “Father Time is Undefeated”.  So, as we near the upcoming season, my mind is racing; how can I make the make the best use of my precious fall months? What trips should I put on the precious autumnal calendar? 

All Chukars All The Time. 

This is very applicable when one ponders the issue of aging.  Like elk hunting in the West, it is a young man’s game.  I know I can’t run uphill chasing a birdy setter forever, so I should be focusing on chukars even more than I do.  While I have shot the sporty buggers in Montana, Wyoming, and Idaho, I would really like to check off Oregon and Nevada this fall.  Or, do I make it an epic quest and try and hunt chukars in all states this fall?

More Time At Bird Camp.  

In my twenties and thirties, I had taken for granted Dad’s humble grouse and woodcock getaway in northern Minnesota. Today, its perks cannot go unnoticed: no hotels or restaurants to roll the dice on, endless public land and always enough birds to make things interesting.  If he was a millennial, Dad would also call it “his happy place”, which is worth cherishing too. 

Grouse Camp. Where the living is easy. 

Blue Grouse Early and Often

While I typically start hunting blues (yes, I know about the dusky-sooty discovery) September 1^st because of the heat down low on the flat ground, it is time I respect the hunt for what it is:  ample bird numbers with decent dog work on thousands of acres of public land.  I plan to hunt Montana early in our usual coverts and then move on to Wyoming where a trail run last summer led me to believe that the Cowboy State has blue grouse dying of old age in some very wild places.

 

Blue grouse hunting. Big country, big views. 

Mixology. 

Of course there will be the usual trips to the quiet parts of Montana, looking for Huns, sharptail and roosters.  Hopefully, Montana Huns bounce back significantly, as last season they were few and far between. A day trip to sage grouse country for a bird or two may transpire some cool morning in September. Crossing over the eastern border into North Dakota will probably occur in mid-October, since I was “in the neighborhood”. A trip to Nebraska or Kansas is projected for that period when winter is taking hold in Montana and heading south makes good sense.  Speaking of south, Arizona or New Mexico is always on my radar, but never works out in January due to work obligations. Maybe this year.

Regardless, life is short, dogs’ lives are shorter and each autumn seems to be over in the blink of an eye.  Get out there and enjoy every opportunity you get.    

Hunt Huns when they abound. Weather dictates their numbers more than anything. 

Be a Good Guest

Armed with the information-superhighway, more dependable vehicles and hopefully, more disposable income than our grandparents had, traveling to hunt birds continues to grow in popularity. Whether it is to check off a certain bird from our life-list or just get away from the boss at work or the real boss at home, many of us like to venture into different states.  Beyond buying a license and following the host states' respective rules, there are some other things to keep in mind as well. Some of these suggestions are obvious, some not.

The obvious you have heard before: don’t litter, don’t shoot from the road or from your vehicle, close any gate that you open. Hunters are often blamed for a lot of actions that we don’t commit, so if we can prevent that Taco Bell bag from blowing out of our truck let’s prevent it.  Many landowners ASSUME all hunters are road-hunters, so don’t perpetuate that stereotype by shooting a rooster along their driveway, regardless if you had a rough day.

Ranchers and farmers have also shared with me a few things over the years that bother them, some of which surprised me, some that make perfect sense.

While some ranchers love dogs and have a bunch of their own, it doesn’t mean they want to take care of yours.  Keep your dogs under control when you are around their farmstead, especially when their cow dogs are loose or if they have chickens or pets in a vulnerable area.  One rancher I talked with only allows one dog per hunter, two or three dogs total, on his ground at a time.  Sure, Ben Williams of Hungarian fame has made it vogue to put six or more dogs out, but some folks see that un-sporting.  “What chance does a bird have?” the rancher remarked. I was surprised that it was something that he even noticed. 

Don’t just close those gates, don’t block them either.  You never know what day the rancher will move cows or need to get at his bales.  Speaking of parking, don’t park in tall grass.  Things are often tinder-dry in late fall and if you knew how fast grass fires can grow, it would give you nightmares.  I have also heard a story about a hunter that lost his vehicle to a grass fire, along with his dog that was getting the afternoon off.  Dreadful.

If in doubt, don’t shoot anywhere close to buildings.  State laws vary on how close you can LEGALLY shoot in regard to occupied buildings or homes, but keep in mind, a farmer in his shop or his spouse working in her flower garden, especially downwind, will not know.  If the report is loud, he or she may think you are shooting the house-covey of Huns and meet you at your truck for a discussion.

Rain, snow = mud.  This is a tricky one, something I have been guilty of a few times as well.  Folks that live in the country have to use those roads on a daily basis.  They would rather we not rut them up, if we can avoid it. There are times when we get caught in something that we didn’t expect and if you travel across three states to hunt, we would rather not sit in the motel room all day watching college football. But, some days we would be better off staying on the pavement.

Lastly, a rancher told me while he butchers his own chickens and shoots a few pheasants every year, he doesn't like seeing bird carcasses or feathers blowing in the wind.  In other words, don't clean birds near roads, Walk-In sign-up boxes or some place where a farm dog could feast on a bunch of sharptail guts.    

As access to private lands continues to be important, is it imperative that we do our best to not give landowners any reason to close the gates for good.  The Dakotas, Montana, Kansas and other states have great Walk-In access programs.  But, each year a few of those are lost due to poor behavior. That is a terrible reason to lose a potential new favorite pheasant or sharptail covert.

Can We Just Hunt Already?

Better than the forbidden tailgate photo? Perhaps. But, someone still chirped about it when it was posted.

When did the study and discussion of bird hunting become bigger than the hunt itself? Waxing poetic is fine and it sells magazine articles. However, there should be some muddy boots, snoring dogs and some bird guts in a bucket after a long day too. Embrace the legacy of the hunt for what it is or else take up tennis and fly fishing. Here are some current trends that will probably come and go with a little luck.

Field-to-Fork. Prairie-to-Plate, etc.  Why is this a thing? Is it novel to shoot a bird, clean it and cook it?  We all have favorite recipes and we often experiment with new ones.  Hunters have been cooking their own game for years.  I guess it is a good thing that urban folks are embracing the hunt from a food perspective. But, I am not sure it needs a catchy name or corporate mission statement.

Pluck it schmuck.   Speaking of cleaning your own birds, I have seen some social media posts this past autumn calling out others who skin birds versus plucking them. “You are doing the bird and yourself and your family a disservice!” “Skinning birds is breaking game waste laws!”  Stop.  You just killed the bird, plucking it isn’t akin to catch-and-release fishing. We also know the difference in the final product and appreciate the advantage of leaving the skin on.  But, it also depends on the end game.  For roasting, yes, skin is in.  If you are making chicken nuggets out of your birds or a sweet-and-sour stir fry, it doesn’t matter.  If you want to pluck eight Huns, three pheasants and four sharptail after that long drive home from a banner day in North Dakota, knock yourself out.  I am skinning and grinning in that instance.

Fit-to-Hunt, Chukar Cardio Club, Feel The Rut Supplements……... I relate to this Olivia Newton-John “Let’s Get Physical” mission at some level. I am probably more skewed this direction than the guy that roads his dogs with an ATV and is carrying an extra 50 around his mid-section. But, if you are the same guy posting photos of yourself at the gym, this goes hand-in-hand with your narcissistic side.  Do you even lift bro?  I do work out nearly every day, some of which is at high-elevation, but no one else cares. Maybe the dogs do.  If you are in shape, they get to hunt longer. Staying in shape for hunting should be as routine as eating the birds you bag and doesn’t require a Facebook Group.

Instragram Judge and Jury.  Similarly to the plucking folks, there are a few strong opinions on the Internet, always quick to point out the injustices of the world, one being the dreaded tailgate photo. “Shameful”. “Barbaric”. “Unoriginal”.  I understand that stacks of birds can appear to some folks as wasteful and disrespectful. The truth of the matter is that tailgates are easy.  Often, birds on the ground or ones held up by hunters don’t show up well in photos.  For those of us that use photos as part of our hunting journals, there is some record-keeping advantage to those lined-up roosters and Huns. Looking back at my old photos of ruffed grouse hunts, I can quickly verify the peak years of the grouse cycle versus the bottom.  As far as being original, I am not sure there is anything original anymore.  The grouse/woodcock with a leather bird strap or pheasants hanging on barbed-wire, yup, been done. Often. While a tailgate photo may never make the cover of an upland magazine, it isn’t destroying bird hunting as we know it. Trust me, I love and respect those birds as much as you do. 

I am looking forward to the day where we can once again simply hunt for the love of the birds and dogs, not question someone else’s style or motives.   Unethical and illegal actions need to be addressed. There is no tolerance there. But, let’s not make our passion as hateful as politics and as complicated as an Ikea dresser.  Load up the dog, grab the gun and just go hunting.   

Next episode: The invention of the term Prey Drive and dog breeders’ love of it. Also, we search out the three upland bird hunters that do not have a podcast.

Dad and some ruffs circa 1966. Field to kitchen, if you will. 

End-of-Season House Cleaning

Letti's first Hun that she pointed and retrieved in September.  I am glad I didn't miss. 

My unfinished basement, where my unfinished den is adjacent to the incomplete home-gym, shows a season of neglect.  September 1st through January 31st to be exact.  After each upland adventure, I would quickly unload the truck, clean and package birds (if I was so fortunate) and hurriedly stash my hunting gear and road trip-leftovers downstairs. After five months of this run-and-gun behavior, the basement looks like a combination of a college frat house and a rummage sale.

So, a very small part of me- very small- is almost glad the 2018-2019 bird season is over.  Time away from family, a console full of gas receipts and hours of driving lonely roads in the dark does takes its toll.  After a quick analysis of my hunting journal, a few aspects stand out.


Misses

Montana Huns.  The report of their demise was not greatly exaggerated.  Poorest Hungarian year in twenty years according to my records.  A terrible drought with very low brood numbers in the summer of 2017, followed by a long winter, played a role in poor numbers this season.  Pheasants were OK in Montana, sharptail were also down, but not as severely as Huns. Surprisingly, the blue grouse were off by about 50% as well. Very few juvenile blue grouse were bagged compared to adult birds.

Eastern Idaho Chukar.  I had thought chukars in the eastern side of the state would have rebounded from their wipeout after the wicked winter of 2016-2017. When biologists tell you that 90% of the birds were lost to winter mortality, pay attention. I like to think I can always walk my way into birds and a good hunt, but not this time.

Minnesota woodcock and weather.  I was about a week or two late for the peak of the woodcock flight at at the grouse camp.  Fortunately, the ruffed grouse had rebounded from the dip the previous season. Unfortunately, an early October snowstorm locked things up for most of my hunt.

The pup's retrieving.  Needs work, as her mouth was a bit rough on birds. But, I hadn't worked a lick on retrieving, so more my fault than hers.

Grouse were up in Minnesota. Unfortunately, we had a foot of snow during my trip.

Hits

Wyoming Chukar.  Could be a sleeper state.  To be continued.

Kansas Walk-In lands.  Program continues to grow and supports a lot opportunity for both pheasants and bobwhite.

Idaho California quail.  Chukar get my attention, but lower on the mountain, the valley quail are a lot of fun. And they never weight down your vest, even with a limit.

The new truck camper.  Waking up in bird camp, not having to check out of a hotel room or pay pet fees was pretty slick.  While I had to be careful to not get the rig stuck or in an area with low-clearance, it was a treat to come back to the truck at noon, heat up some coffee and fix a hot lunch out of the wind. Napping wasn't allowed. OK, just once.

The 28 gauge.  I continue to shoot the smaller-gauge gun more, my 20 less and less.  I seem to shoot the gun better;  probably as simple as it being lighter and faster.  There are some fringe benefits as well: shells weigh less in the vest and I am a digging fewer pellets out of each bird.

The pup's natural ability.  I bought the Ryman setter mostly for her engine.  I wanted a work horse, not a race horse.  Her nose is good, her temperament is gentle.  I look forward to the next chapter with her in just seven months. 

Counting up the shots taken for the season. The numbers aren't as important as the memories.

Flyover States Road Tripping

Our  secondary goal was to only spend money in towns with less than 5,000 people.  In Montana, Wyoming, Nebraska and Kansas, it is fairly easy to do.  The primary goal was to hunt wild bobwhites on public lands or state-sponsored Walk-In parcels of private land. The latter goal of putting young dogs on birds was much more important than the former, but both are closely linked to making a road trip enjoyable.

While gas is typically more expensive in a one-pump town, we found gas to be more economical in Broadus, Montana than in the energy hub of Gillette, Wyoming.  Go figure.  Sure, taxes are a big part of petrol, but it really doesn’t make sense. Gas prices ranged from $2.79 to $2.05.   $2 a gallon is almost bearable, even in the GMC truck that guzzles gas like college guys drink free keg beer. Not spending any money on motels offset the higher fuel expense.  The nightly pet fees were one of the final straws when deciding to camp instead of looking for the nearest Motel 6. Leaving dogs in a truck in a strange parking lot was never an option in my book. 

I justify food costs by stating that you have to eat wherever you are.  With the new pickup camper, I always have the fridge and stove within walking distance, so I seem to be eating more home-cooked eggs for breakfast, followed by gourmet hot dogs at lunch. One thing I really look forward to on out-of-state adventures is dining out with the locals in these small burgs.  The folks are closer in dress and beliefs than what I would encounter in Omaha, Denver or Kansas City.  They know we are visiting from “down the road a spell”, so they inquire, wanting to know our story.  When the answer to the question is Montana, they aren’t often offended, usually surprised we left good hunting to find good hunting. If they still don’t believe our rationale, then we just explain that we are trying to avoid our wives and then they give us that smirk of acceptance. A couple of things I have learned about these cafés over the years are: 1) don’t order seafood no matter what the special is 2) the farther south you go, the better the Mexican food is (thanks Captain Obvious) 3) don’t assume they take debit cards. Cash is still king in small towns. 

The hunting wasn’t bad on this December journey.  However, Day One was a complete loss, as winds gusted from 35 – 55 mph all day.  Typically on a road trip, 20-30MPH is manageable, as you are fairly pressured to get out in the field. Not ideal, but a little windburn never hurt.  55mph is impossible, no matter how tough you think you are.  Even scouting Nebraska and Kansas Walk-In areas by vehicle was tough. Dust was blowing, birds weren’t showing. Good thing for XM radio and good coffee. 

We did get into bobs right off the bat on Day Two. They were dug into heavy cover early in the morning, clearly haven taken refuge from the previous day’s hurricane-force blasts. The coveys we saw were all large and healthy and sat tight for the young setters.  By avoiding the same dreaded population centers, we seldom saw another hunter.  We never did see another blaze-clad person afield, only a few driving the highways, pulling their Jones Trailers from their motel to a nearby field.

The dog work was good, shooting was mediocre, the small town living in the flyover states couldn’t be better. 

Bird Hunting In A Digital World

A great day of Hun hunting with Dad and dogs. No questions please. 

It was before my time, but I am guessing old-school scribes like Ted Trueblood didn't receive snotty emails or scolding messages through social media.  If he wrote an article for Outdoor Life, it was probably months, maybe years before it was published and someone took the time to mail him a letter to a NY office building. Those days are dramatically different from today's instant gratification, immediate reporting, Instagram-Tweeting culture.

 I have often chided those folks that have to share a photo of every meal they eat outside of their home or the dudes from the gym announcing to the cyber world that they are at the gym. No days off bruh!  Well, many of us bird hunters are just as guilty. If you spend a little bit of time on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter or Snapchat, (Snap the kids like to say) you will see plenty of autobiographical updates from the field.  

First double on Huns!  Limited out in two hours!  Best dog work South Dakota has seen!  You get the idea.  I am guilty of certain facets of the above, hopefully not quite as vain. With more exposure and more followers/friends/fans, comes more compliments and more criticism.  If you continue to post tailgates full of chukars or sharptail, people want to know more.  And you can't blame them. 

Last season, I provided information to a "father-son, bucket-list, dream trip" request on where to find their first sharptail grouse in the Treasure State. When they (it ended up being father/son and two buddies of the father) struck out, they also lashed out.  At me. Turns out, they couldn't read maps and I didn't warn them that rain makes muddy roads.  Sorry, I guess.  More recently, I was asked about Montana prairie bird numbers and based on 20 years of records, I responded that this year's bird crop  was below average.  After I had posted a photo of a very modest day with the pup's bag of two sharptail and three Huns, the same individual felt I was being dishonest.  I was about to explain myself, describing the number of miles walked to see one flock of sharptail and two coveys of Huns, but then I said the heck with it.  I had grass to mow and a few birds to clean.  Very few. 

A recent post by a fellow blogger, remarked about the sudden increase in traffic in his blue grouse coverts.  But, as an advocate for his passion in print and photos, is he making his neck of the grouse woods more crowded? Don't we need to keep hunter numbers strong for the continued health of our sport? If social media promotes hunting in a favorable light to the next generation, then our intent is just. However, Not In My Back Yard is real and we are all guilty of wanting to share our passion, just not share our opening day pheasant slough or ruffed grouse grove.