Howdy folks, Brian Husky here, and thank you for tuning in to my Skylines podcast. This is episode number 31, my journey in Chukar hunting, called I'm the Bird Dog. Enjoy. I've spent years, decades actually, chasing pointing dogs over endless high desert horizons.
99% of that time, I've been carrying a video camera, and not a shotgun. This is due mostly to the fact that many of my buddies are Chukar hunting nuts with bird dogs. And in some cases, like bird hunting, I sincerely enjoy shooting video as much, if not more, than led. In the longest time in the early 2000s, there just wasn't much content out there featuring real life public land, wild upland bird hunting.
In the clips I was gathering and pulling together were unique for the time. They represented a DIY bygone culture of hunting my friends and I strongly related to. To top everything off, I simply love being in the desert. And these rendezvous and the thick of winter provided quality time to catch up in BS with the friends that I may not otherwise see.
Looking back to my own childhood and memories, Allah, Rafi and his red rider BB Gun, birds were indeed my first hunting pursuit. I can recall jumping out of bed extra early before school with excitement to bundle up and stalk the frost-covered neighborhood in the gray light of pre-daunt. Quail were glorious in my mind. Countless days were spent admiring the plump, cooing birds from inside the porch windows of a few senior citizen neighbors who might be friended.
We did mire and speak fondly of quail, and the neighbors would put out seed to attract the birds, which thrived in the large and often undeveloped lots of our neighborhood. I'd keep one eye out the window, noting where the birds emerged from, while kindly listening to golden era stories and taking in home-baked cookies and treats. I knew better than to so much as mention ever taking aim at these treasured lawnpads, while inside I'd be plotting wind and where I could orchestrate my own special ops missions. I could picture myself sneaking into BB Gun range of a nervous cubby and taking aim at the typical large female, fluffed up and plump as a melon, perched atop some decorative statue or backyard fountain.
There was always a big male that stood guard, manning an outlook as a century. I'd have to be keen and crafty to break inside his watchful perimeter, but I knew I could do it. I'd be keen to close range of critters was a favorite pastime for me. Sounds of the males repeating calls over the nervous rambling clucks and chirps of the clustering little furbies played over in my head.
I wanted to hold one of those big brilliant birds in my hand so bad. My drive was fueled in part by a hunting instinct, but also a great curiosity and admiration. I wanted to see one of these birds up close to study that amazing wardrobe of feathers and all the features that made quail such an appealing backyard guest. Mrs.
Ross, an elderly grandma of the neighborhood, would sit deep in her recliner, sharing tales of her youth. The blossoming of California, Catalina Island, and a relationship with Albert Einstein were always fascinating. However, they rarely kept me from drifting off into visions of settling my cross-man BB gun scope on the round profile taunting me just yards away. Something about imagining my BB sailing toward the clueless bird and landing was such a thumping impact that it would knock the quail far off its perch with a whack, leaving just a puff of feathers behind, drifting calmly, casually, and crisscross motions to settle on the ground among all the bird seed.
I'd run that scenario over and over in my mind, smiling politely and nodding when asked if I'd like another square of rice crispy treats, covered in peanut butter and chocolate. Fifteen years later, I'd find myself gazing out the frost-covered windows of a vintage cam trailer, admiring a pristine desert sunset and recalling those early times and sipping another round of cocktails with my pals. Being out in the desert in the winter is grand. Big game is often pushed to the sagebrush country, and there's always plenty to look at and keep your eyes open for.
Two or three of us would post up for a few days and place as marked as some of the most remote in the lower 48. Funny thing is that I never really cared much about the hunting on these outings. I'm a passionate hunter, make no mistake, but for some reason, as an adult, traditional bird hunting of any kind never really appealed to me, and I've struggled for the longest time to make sense of why that is. A few reasons came to surface rather easily, such as quarry of the relative, same size and mold didn't intrigue me the way antlers a big game do.
Similar to the way fishing is exciting to me because of the incredible anticipation of what's yanking at the end of my line and imagining just how big it may be. I'd say I wouldn't have a passion for fishing if I knew that every trout I'd ever catch for the rest of my life would be a 10-12 inch rainbow. And that's what birds are kind of like to me, beautiful as they are, they're all relatively uniform in size and appearance. I'm a very visual person with an active imagination.
And when I daydream of hunting or fishing adventures, it's the what if elements that really stoke my fire, not so much a matter of wow I want so bad to kill a limit of the audio out of this or that or whatever I'm pursuing. Speaking of that, I don't especially like killing things. It's a reality of hunting I totally understand, but it's really my least favorite part. Taking a single deer and elk each year is meaningful to me.
Something that leaves a mark on my soul and I take very seriously. Bird hunting is, in actuality, a numbers game. As an elevated body count or images of maxed out limits on a tailgate is a prototypical measure of success. But I'm not here to whine and complain about that aspect of hunting.
It's just one of the things that does come to mind to me. That's particularly not that attractive. Admittedly, I love my freezer filled with wild meat. And it's pretty tricky to enjoy deer or elk without killing it first.
And of course a lot of this probably has to do with the fact that while I've had several beloved dogs of my own, I've never had a bird duck. I really can relate how so much of Chucker Hunter's passion for this pursuit is a shared investment and a rewarding experience with the dogs that they love and have trained. But for me, I've just always been chasing somebody else's dog. And frankly, whenever I'm chasing a dog, I'm usually yelling, God damn it in the back of my mind.
But during recent deer hunts, I stumbled upon a few areas that were filthy with Chucker. And I began to think to myself that I should take advantage of such riches. I'd walked enough Skylines to appreciate what a great Chucker spot is worth and figured if I had found such areas, maybe I should do something entirely crazy. Go Chucker hunting.
Alone. And without a dog. The thought of this actually began to fascinate me. So last year, following deer season, I dug out my old 870 shotgun and set forth to see if I could be successful as a Chucker Hunter.
And a bird dog. Another factor that came into play is my role as a stay at home dad and the feasibility of getting away. Following two months of banking every haul pass for deer and elk hunting, anything I wanted to do following that, I needed to be able to account for our kiddo. And out of year and a half old, taking a kiddo hunting seems a little crazy at first glance.
But our dear friend Ed Anderson had given us one of those kilty kid backpacks, which Ashton seems to be pretty fond of. I could imagine a scenario of bundling him up enough to stay warm, putting ear protection on him and strapping him to the pack and heading out for a Chucker hunt. And you know what? It actually worked.
Like a dream. We dipped our toes at first to test the water. Fully bundled and settled in the pack, I walked around in the snow and kept him entertained explaining what we were looking for. I'd been showing him lots of Chucker photos and videos that I'd taken and he especially enjoyed the Chucker sounds.
I'd had him along while sighting in my deer rifles, but I was still a bit wary with shooting around him, especially with him right over my shoulder. With abundant caution and explanation, I explained how daddy was going to shoot his loud shotgun and Ashton loved it. Once settled in the major hurdles of jostling hiking and shooting behind us, we set forth. Upward on the mountain, we headed for a cluster of boulders and knobs where I imagined Chuckers would live.
20 or so minutes later, I crept through the rocks and whispered to Ashton that we were looking for Chuckers. Chuckers, chuckers, chuck, chuck, chuck, chuck, chuck, chuck, chuck, chuck, chuck. Tracks peppered the snow and jagged little lines below us and I scanned likely holding areas ahead of us. Carefully, I wove my way through the terrain, hoping to keep Ashton appeased, if not actually entertained.
The first cluster of rocks did not produce, but as we approached the next spot I thought looked fishy, a cubby chumpt. I spun and fired three rounds. The birds quickly melted into the backdrop of like and covered the salt and we called snow. Not a single feather was left falling behind them.
I was frustrated as the birds jumped well within range and it was an absolutely perfect opportunity for me to have capitalized on. An achievement that I understood would have been tail worthy to say that I shot a bird on the first cubby with the first hunt together at 18 months old. Well, several trips and double digits of miles later I finally bent down to show Ashton our first chucker. What's that?
Look Ashton, it's our first chucker together. This is our first chucker. This is our first chucker. Look, it's our first chucker.
Yeah, there it is. Wow, wow. Good. Our first chucker.
Yeah, chucker. My flat chica. We got our first chucker. Oh, look at those legs.
Those feet. There's more tuckers. Yeah, that actually was indeed another cubby of birds that jumped up right in front of us as I was chattering with Ashton. Chucker hunters can all relate to those dang birds knowing just when to catch us off guard.
Boxes of shells were empty to make this benchmark as I came to realize that I was indeed the worst wing shooter I know. But I was finding myself to be a pretty damn good bird dog and Ashton was a trooper. He loved getting out and often slept for hours while I'd hike and hunt. There were times I'd unload my 870 and torque back to see if he was watching and find him sound asleep.
Totally cozy and content bundled up and snoozing on my back. Pretty rad. All season we had great success together finding birds. The number of shots I was getting was on par with days that my buddies would have with their dogs and I was proud as hell of this.
Moreover, I was having a ton of fun being the bird dog and the baby carrier. Throughout the winter, we brought home a handful of birds together. I honed my skills with a few solo days as well and added some respectable checker hunting success to the log packing out 5 one day. But with or without Ashton on my back, I was consistently having opportunities to limit out on birds if I could only shoot.
I found myself driven, like actually really motivated and sincerely excited to get out checker hunting. I really wanted to say that I had shot a limit of birds, especially doing so. Sons the dog. So, as I write this now, early December of 2019, I've yet to get back out after Chuckers.
Ashton is of course a year older and bigger. He's totally mobile now and I'm not sure if he's going to be content writing in the backpack. So I'm not sure how capable my fitness will be since I really haven't exercised since October deer hunts wrapped up. But I am hopeful.
I'm hopeful that we'll be able to get out and hunt again soon. I'm hopeful that all the spots I found last year will once again hold troves of birds the way they did last season. And I'm hopeful that my shooting will somehow be better than it was last season, as it's just shameful how bad I was. Hell, if it weren't for the hundreds of pheasant loads I inherited from my dad, I'd be broke for buying shotgun shells.
I think with all of my ventures, be them hunting, fishing, riding, or racing, the balance of process versus result is equal. I'm hoping that how I do something is equally as important as the resulting outcome. And that chosen process is actually what often draws me in the most. Some would refer to this as a stubborn nature of doing things the hard way, and I don't know, that may be true, but I just think that certain ways are more interesting, whether they're harder or not, and thus that makes them more rewarding.
And as I explore the space and concept of hunting Chuckers without a dog, the challenges of that proposition really drew my interest. Chucker hunting sets a scale that I'm not used to. It's like it makes me smaller and everything else bigger. I mean, when big game hunting, I'm scanning for large animals.
So with that there's an element of scale that just overlooks smaller details by default. It's like a sensitivity dial that's set for a certain level of observation. Because of the size of the birds allows them to hold and hide and little more than gravel and grass, the approach requires a deliberate change of perspective in order to effectively hunt any given piece of land. When I'm bird doggy, I look at a section of terrain and assess that I'm going to have to wind my way through it thoroughly.
I'm going to swing up right next to those boulders, I'm going to dip down into these place, I'm going to climb over any little knob within 30 yards or so as I hunt. I'm going to mimic what I've watched so many short hair pointers do. Without of course, the most important ability that they possess, that bionic sense of smell. Sometimes I like imagining the expanse in front of me as an underwater habitat, and I go looking for birds in places I'd imagine fish holding.
Near structure, ledges, features of one kind or another that lend advantage to forage cover and explosive retreats on the wing. There is something I'm finding really fun about fishing this terrain as a bird dog. I really do employ a fishing analogy, thinking of Chuckers like they are fish, like they have grew up and hold close to structure, once spooked I'll often jump all at once and dart away as fast as I can in a tight school. I look at features around me as if it's underwater and the wind is the current, and I analyze where I'd expect fish to hold as if I was covering water, casting flies or lures, trying to trigger a fish to break cover and chase.
Like fishing, I know I have to be tactful, deliberate and fish it well. I expect and accept that I'm going to miss some, and I may have many spook out the side or out the back door, but just like fishing, I find my balance of effort versus enjoyment and settle into a groove that takes me to a happy place of days well spent. I love taking ownership of where I roam, plotting strategically to utilize a quiet approach and maximize shooting opportunities. I love taking wind into a camp and not in the way that I have to as a big game hunter, nor the way a bird dog does to find birds.
But as a hint as to which direction the birds are likely to flush and how I can get the most time to shoot as they rise up before they hit Mach 9. Minding the wind direction, I'll try to approach so the birds are forced to jump up and flee into a headwind if there is one. I love looking at features and considering why birds would or would not want to be there. How's the exposure?
Wind blasted, the freest snow? Sunlight warming the ground and melting ice? Bright mid-winter green up but no cover? Quick escapement over cliffs?
But ideal for stocking in clothes? All kinds of considerations are part of the palette that I work with when I'm trying to play the role as this alien predator to these alien species of the Great Basin. It's grand fun, and I found it captivating. I've even implemented the most bizarre of tactics, playing to my strengths as a bow hunter and taking those strategies into winter to spot and stalk chuggers.
I'll plan my approach for a juicy basin and crest into position to sit, glass, and listen from a chosen vantage. I'll spot birds from long range to my binoculars and just watch them. Learn what they're up to and why. Just being an observer.
It's similar to what I love and have done so much as a trout angler. Just watching, listening, learning. Then, when I feel I have a good read on where a few groups of birds are and the time is right, I'll plan my stock. Just like big game, I'll chart a route to get myself into shooting range undetected.
To spot a cover of birds from hundreds of yards away, walk along, calculate approach, and tiptoe into their living room, recognizing features confirming I'm within yards of where I know the birds are in any second the world around me is going to explode in a flurry of stubby pounding wings, and that I've set it all up, that's pretty intense. I like to watch the ground closely for tracks and sign. A big reason hunting in the snow is so great. I'll even catch my breath and listen hard.
As I've noticed on many occasions birds will begin to cool nervously moments before jumping. That's not something I can ever remember happening when behind a pointing dog. That's another thing I really value, is the careful, quiet approach that's completely blown up when hunting with dogs. I double my time, hunting chugger, is also an opportunity to see and observe all other kinds of game, whether it's looking for deer and elk or hoping to spot a cougar or other wild animals, perhaps get some photos and video.
I like being able to sneak around throughout the land, carefully making my way with all senses of alert for opportunities to drop into stealth mode and pursue encounters with wild critters. Chuggers do startle, so I think staying calm and quiet is the best approach as I fish in my way through the structure, places I think that are likely to hold birds. I mean just as with the dog, I'm sure in almost all cases they see me coming. I imagine they're all sitting there, looking at each other and wondering in panic little chugger voices D, think he sees us?
Is he gonna veer away or walk right over us? It's a gamble of how long they're gonna sit there and how close they'll let me get to them. Without the help of the dog, I know that I walk right past a lot of birds, who hold tight wondering if I'm onto them and eventually learned that indeed, no, I had no idea they're there. They lay flat on the ground with big googly doll eyes wide, congratulating themselves that this knuckle-dragging moron walked right past them.
It's a certain trade-off compared to hunting with the dog, I totally get it. I pass a lot of birds, but I'm cool with that. Finding hit birds however is without question where having a dog is absolutely better. I've burned up hours and miles, gritting out sections of mountainside looking for downed birds.
I've actually had good luck with thus far recovering birds. And find that element rewarding. However, it can certainly be frustrating, and if I could pull a bird dog out of my pocket at any time, I would deploy a dog every time to find those downed birds. No doubt about it.
I don't know. Overall, I think this non-traditional dogless form of chugger hunting is kind of cool. To me, it's a thoughtful and nuanced approach to hunting that has the odds exceptionally stacked in the bird's favor. I even compare it to fishing with someone who makes all the casts for you and then hands you the rod.
Person may bring home a lot of fish that day, but did they really catch them? Dedicated, traditional chugger hunters are probably cussing me right now. That's fine. This is just my silly perspective, and I'll be the first to admit that my perspectives are absolutely silly.
And I don't want to come off that I'm somehow better because I don't use a dog, or that I take myself too seriously. Trust me, I have a lot of chugger hunting friends with dogs, and I know their program, and I have tremendous respect for them and for what they do. I've just found it so interesting to try and hunt birds solo. It's a different spin with a different process, and there, in that process is where my heart lies.
I think it's also valuable to show that a person does not need a trained and specialized dog to go out and hunt up in a game like this. Anyone can go do a little homework, get out there, make observations, and enjoy bird hunting, even if they don't happen to have all those resources that are necessary for a pro hunting dog. So looking ahead, I'm sincerely excited to resume my chugger hunting career with or without dogs, but often with my new hunting buddy Ashton. We'll play hard together and do our best over all the years that life has in store for us.
This episode may be your introduction to what I'll be talking about often now here in the future. My kiddo and I making the most of outdoor pursuits on public land, expressing gratitude for every day and taking advantage of our strong healthy bodies and going wherever they'll take us. I'm Brian Husky, thank you for listening and coming along. Okay friends, I hope you enjoyed this essay, lots more on deck and in the queue, so please stay in touch and join me for our next adventure together.
And once again, a big thanks to my friends at the Wrinkle Neck Mules for the tune.