Where to go
hunting is rough sport. A distant relative of the
gentleman's game of Southern quail hunting, the pursuit of chukar is
physically and mentally demanding. Still, I keep going back.
My guide made a wide, sweeping gesture with his outstretched arm and announced, "There it is. You can hunt anywhere you want." I didn't want to hunt any of it. I couldn't imagine clinging to the sides of those cliffs and, truthfully, doubted if a bird could gain enough traction to avoid sliding down the black diamond slope. Just then, a covey of birds flushed 100 yards below us and sailed out of sight. I declined to give chase.
For the rest of the day, I hunted the kinder, gentler portions of the lease, carefully avoiding the areas without a visible bottom. I also managed to avoid finding any chukars.
The rest of that season was a terrific frustration. After one particularly terrible hunt, I was getting in my rig when an elderly gentleman pulled up in a ranch truck with two shorthairs dozing in the front seat. "How'd you do?", he asked. I unfurled a tale of woe, which he acknowledged with generous head nods and long faces. I asked if he'd had any luck, to which he responded "oh, a little -- can't walk as good as I used to". As he pulled away, I noticed a feather fluttering against the back window. Sneaking a glance into the truck bed, I saw a full limit of chukars piled in the middle of the spare tire. I almost quit.
The following year, I caught a break and met Mitch. We've been hunting together for many years now and I'm thankful that he was willing to show me the ropes. He's fond of saying he taught me everything I know about chukar hunting. Maybe one day he'll teach me everything he knows. My hope is that this website will, in some small measure, do for you what Mitch did for me. I hope you enjoy it and would appreciate any feedback you have. E-mail me at firstname.lastname@example.org.