Elk Hunting for Chukar

Editor’s note: This is part of an ongoing series by members of TU’s Sportsmen’s Conservation Project. For more, visit www.oursportingheritage.org, a site dedicated to protecting our backcountry resources.

I love elk hunting, the massive loads, and the crazy weather, too hot, too cold, too wet or too dry but never perfect. All the work getting camp packed in and out. Not to mention all the crowds in Washington. It seems I spend most of my time avoiding other hunters instead of chasing bulls.

Frustrating? Yep.

That’s why come October I grab my scattergun and head to the desert.

Huh?

In a word: Chukar, that small crazy bird that lives in the rocky crags and harshest country of central Washington. I’m lucky in that I have access to some pretty cool country behind a locked gate. I was once asked if I had to choose between fishing, elk hunting or upland game what would I choose? I chose upland game.

Why?

Because there is this super fun insanity and sense of peace that one gets from chasing these birds around with a shotgun. I’ve busted my trusty 870, been bitten my a rattlesnake, blistered the hell out of my heels, froze my butt off and broiled in the heat all while hunting these things. I’ve also walked into a covey of about 100 birds emptied my gun reloaded and emptied it again and hit my limit for the day. I’ve found four thousand year old arrowheads and on top of that I get the opportunity to shoot quail, huns and rabbits while hunting chukar. Not to mention the beautiful country these things live in. Where else in today’s hunting arena can you get all this?

I know it’s pretty damn hard to fill your freezer with these things. Quail are so small that I can stuff them between the little voids in the loose ice cubes at the bottom of my freezer. But that’s okay because they are way easier to pack out. I can hunt chukar all day and never see another hunter and it’s the rare day that I don’t get some shooting in.

Picture this: I’m slowly working my way up a steep sagebrush covered hillside. There is this little rocky outcrop that I’m heading to. About 50 feet below the rocks the world under me explodes with grey birds. I pick one out, lead it a little, BAM, follow through, watch its wings fold and drop. I walk over and go to pick up the bird, that’s when just as I’m reaching down that last bird blows out from under some brush, BAM, BAM, click…crap!

The cleanly missed bird hauls across the valley, lands on the hillside, turns around and laughs it ass off at me. I pick up the dead bird, curse the live one and try to decide if I want to go get some revenge. Because I don’t hunt over dogs chasing that thing would give me a massive calorie-burning workout and maybe a heart attack, it would be worth it but I pass on him for today.

Instead I continue up to the crest and look down into the next canyon. Way down at the bottom is a little green spot where some water seeps out of the ground. I know this canyon will eventually hook back to the one my truck is parked in, seven miles away and between here and there I’m guessing that there are a dozen such spots that may just hold a bird or two. So, I follow the direction of the sun and start heading down. That connection between me the land and these birds is complete in the only way a hunter knows…

Did I mention how much I love elk hunting? It doesn’t matter it’s chukar season.

Gregg Bafundo is an avid Wilderness hunter, angler and explorer.  He currently works for Trout Unlimited and is a founding member of Sportsmen Ride Right. When not protecting Washington’s amazing wild places he is usually found lost among them.