My first puppy.

 It is the off season. June staring July in the face more inspires lazy hot days, grilling in the backyard, and fishing than it does stories of bird dogs and calling ducks. Today I've been thinking back. Back before I had discovered the English setter. Before I knew how to call, or train a bird dog. Before I had a driver's license. Back to where memories become shadows and a boy wanted a long eared shorthair puppy so bad. It was summer then too I think.
My father was a backyard breeder of German Shorthairs back in the 1970's and 1980's. My parents were divorced so I got to visit my dad on the weekends. Often there were puppies at his house. Oh how I loved it when there would be puppies. Dad would let me play with them and I would try to teach them things in the back yard. I suppose that was the beginning of my desire to train bird dogs. Each week I would see less of them and sometimes a new owner would stop by to buy a new puppy. I don’t remember being overly sad that the puppies slowly disappeared. I did always dream of having one of my own, and often tried to talk my mother into letting me bring one home. We lived on the edge of town and I would try to explain that it would be perfect for me to have a bird dog to run in the fields on the wild pheasants that lived there completely unharnessed by a boy and his dog. It didn’t seem right that those birds should live in such a way. Again and again, year after year I would try to talk her into it and every time in her infinite wisdom she would say no. And then it happened. I went to visit my dad and he broke the news to me. There was a new litter of puppies, and he seemed really pleased with the breeding. There was one pup in that litter that I really had my eye on. She had a lot of white, and a few dark liver spots, with the biggest ears you have ever seen. I thought it was so funny that they got wet every time she drank water. I was so taken by her for who knows what

This is one of only two pictures I have of her

reason, but I knew my mom wouldn’t let me have her. I had even gotten tired of asking, and I am certain she was tired of hearing it. I made an agreement with myself that I would ask one last time. This puppy was worth trying. When she said no I would just never ask again, ever. While my dad drove me home in the car I planned my assault. I would tell her about the puppy and how cute it was, and her big ears, and about those poor pheasants living in piece, and on and on. However when I got home my game plan went out the window, and I could only get the courage up to just ask the question. I knew she would say no so as soon as the words left my mouth I expected to just say okay and turn and walk away. I was into my turn when she blew my mind. It wasn’t a yes, but she said she would have to talk to my stepfather. I was so confused. I thought I had the whole script written. Of course I knew he would say no because he didn’t really care for dogs back then. I went to my room trying to imagine what would make him say yes. I couldn’t really think of anything so I was beginning to give up hope when they came in together most certainly to tell me no. Instead I heard something like this. Blah blah blah... responsibility... blah blah blah ...feed it blah blah blah... clean up after it..... blah blah... yes blah blah blah Wait! Yes? Did they really just say yes? Was I really getting a puppy? They were still blah blahing all over the place but I was almost certain they said yes. And

My mom and Spider

they really did. I called my dad and I'm not sure if he was more excited or I was. That long eared white and brown shorthair pup became my first attempt at training my own bird dog. Never again did those pheasants in those fields have to live without being chased. I named her spider. I don’t remember why. I failed miserably at my first training attempt but she did turn into a bird dog of sorts. If nothing else she was steady on point and absolutely adorable.

SETTER TALES AND MALLARD CURLS: LATE SEASON UTAH CHUKAR

SETTER TALES AND MALLARD CURLS: LATE SEASON UTAH CHUKAR:         Stumbling over the top of the hill my eyes found Sunnie standing on point 100 yards from where I crested. After taking a couple mor...

LATE SEASON UTAH CHUKAR

     

    Stumbling over the top of the hill my eyes found Sunnie standing on point 100 yards from where I crested. After taking a couple more steps I could see she was actually backing Tic who was 30 yards out in front her. I took three more steps and the mountain exploded with chukars. As luck would have it I was just out of range. I stood with my hands on my hips gasping for air, and wondering how many times this has happened to me. It was the first flush of the day and it looked like they didn’t go very far so I came up with a strategy to get on top of them and released the dogs from their stand. I put the dogs at heel so they wouldn’t continue to push the birds up the mountain and we quickly made our way to the other side of the ridge so as to sneak around on them. We worked along the side hill to gain elevation on the north facing slope. It was difficult with the slippery footing and uneven terrain, but on a gorgeous, sunny, February day in western Utah I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. The mid-morning sunlight was reflecting off of the snowy north facing slopes. It really brought out the brilliance of rock and grass of the bare south facing slopes. The beauty of the world we live in that few seem to notice these days is just breathtaking. The scenery wasn’t all that was making me short of breath. The clime was exhausting, and my legs were starting to feel as though they were made of jello. I was thinking to myself next year I need to work harder at fitness. When we got to the highest point on the hill we stepped over the top to start working back toward where the big covey had landed. Just as I peaked over the hill I noticed Sunnie had slipped off somewhere. I guess I was not paying attention while as I was struggling and gasping for air. It wasn’t long before I spotted her running at full gate toward the location that I thought the birds had gone, and on the wrong side of the wind. Sure enough she stopped to flush as the birds escaped across the canyon and over the next ridge. Dang it Sunnie! I stood catching my breath. The evil chant of the Chukars on the next ridge started to really irritate me. I wanted to raise my fist and yell at them like a grumpy old man telling those dang kids to stay of his lawn, but I didn't. I had been climbing for three hours so I was not happy at the thought of walking down into the canyon and back up to the top of the next ridge to try once again to get in shooting range of those evil little birds. Being as driven as I am to get birds isn't always easy so I tightened my boot laces, thought it's not going to kill me, and off I went. When I got to the top of the next ridge I could hear and feel my heart pounding in my chest, and then I felt it sink as I realized that those dang birds had landed in the middle of big patch of pinion junipers, and that I probably wouldn’t be able to see them to shoot even if we did find them. “Boy, I cant catch a break”, I said to myself. The dogs were already down in the trees so I followed, and when I found Tic he was standing tall. Moments later I saw Sunnie below him standing birds in another spot. Hustling down the hill I slipped on some loose shale, and fell down smacking the middle of my spine on a rock. My clumsiness had made a real racket, and I could hear birds jumping. I couldn’t see them. I was flat on my back and my legs tingled like your arm does when you hit your funny bone. For a few minutes I thought I might be in real trouble. I noted as I was laying there that I saw a glimpse of two birds that looked to have landed down the ridge 200 yards or so. I looked my gun over to make sure I hadn’t put any new scars on it. I love that 525 Browning, and thank goodness I had managed to hold it out of harms way. It was as clean and beautiful as ever. Several minutes went by before I was feeling like I might be able to get to my feet. My legs were still feeling sort of asleep as I struggled to get up, but get up I did. I walked around for a minute or two trying to decide if I needed to give up the hunt or go on, but the more I walked the better I was feeling so I decided to continue. Remembering where I thought those two birds had landed I worked my back up, again. Once at the top of the ridge we once again worked down the ridge toward the place I thought they would be. Wasting no time at all Sunnie made scent and slammed into a

beautiful point. This was the best situation we had all morning. I was quickly walking in almost forgetting the pain in my back when I saw Tic quartering back to us right toward where the birds were from the wrong side of the wind. He couldn’t see Sunnie. I knew what was going to happen before I even got there. I had no choice, so I whistled the whoa command with hopes I could stop him from running through the birds. He stopped and the 10 or so birds that were there jumped from the sound of the whistle. I was still 60 yards out. “This just isn’t my day” I thought. I was really frustrated now, and I could see the dogs were too. With a sigh I made a plan to start my descent and we went on our way feeling a little defeated. We worked down the ridge back in the direction from which we came trying to get back to the place where we first found birds. At one point we came to a skyline and another big covey of 75 birds got nervous and flushed from the other side of the canyon. I just stood and laughed. I am nothing if not persistent so we hunted on. I wondered if I would ever fire a shot on this day. We had seen so many birds and nothing had went our way. The dogs kept working and I tried to keep my chin up. Another hour had gone by before Sunnie stopped and pointed again. I hustled in expecting the birds to jump before I got there. I had no Idea where Tic was either so I half expected him to mess things up, but not this time. It was a single bird, and he made a mistake and held. I was so excited when it jumped 10 yards in front of me that I almost panicked. Calmness prevailed, and all in one continuous motion my gun jumped to my shoulder, found the bird, and the bottom barrel connected. “fetch Sunnie”, I yelled as she was already in motion. Then my heart sunk again as I saw the winged bird running away 100 yards down hill. I couldn’t believe it. Was this little bugger going to get away too? Experience has taught me that if I can stand and watch often a crippled chukar will crawl under a sage brush or rock and hold at some point. This bird did that and I was able to direct Tic to it. Finally

we had a bird in hand. I had to walk back up to start hunting again but I had new life in my legs, my back hurt, but it wasn’t as bad now. As we worked the rest of the way down the ridge Tic, and Sunnie would take turns pointing and backing until Tic found the final bird of my limit down in the bottom. They really looked like a magnificent team even in their fatigued state. I was grateful to be on the hill in the company of the two dogs I had been cursing earlier. Its funny how we sometimes judge our four legged friends by the circumstance more than their actual abilities.

I finally took some pictures and started the 90 minute walk back to the truck. Together the dogs and I had 10 sore feet, and one very sore back, but a definite feeling of accomplishment. The harder you work the sweeter the prize. It's true.

BTW. I'm fine its nothing more than a deep bruise.

RED LEGGED DEVILS EVERYWHERE

I was looking up at the hill as we put our gear on, and thinking to myself “this doesn’t look too bad, as Chukar country goes. It is basically a gentle slope.” Then I laughed to myself a little. I had been in much worse and really this was just average Chukar country. It was not especially rugged or treacherous for Chukar, just average. Before having time to reconsider our plan we were geared up and starting into our ascent. Bret said “sometimes we see a covey or two on the way up, but not always.” The rest of us just kept walking up, up, and up. We would ascend to the first peak only to have another exposed behind it. We would hike up to that one to see yet another, and on, and on it went. Until finally Bret raised his hand. I wasn’t sure what was going on exactly, and I couldn't see much. I hadn’t seen my dog in a few and before I could even wonder what was up guns were blazing. I was last in the line of four and never even raised my gun. One bird fell and before Brett's dog Cash could finish the retrieve a small fox jumped from his hide and sprinted back behind us staying just out of gun range. His coat was beautiful rusty red in the early morning sun. I think he was hunting Chukar too, and was probably pretty unhappy with us for ruining his plans. Once the action was over and the bird was collected we were back to our main activity of walking up, up and up. Just as we got to what would turn out to be the highest peak we looked up to see my dog Sunnie, and Cash locked

up solid. As we got closer Cash broke and went on like he was trailing up the ridge as though the birds had run over the top. We all assumed he was right, but as I approached where Sunnie was still standing I could see by the look in her eye that she thought the birds were just off the edge from her. I was just about to say something when they exploded downhill tucking and rocketing down the slopes like tiny fighter jets. Guns went off and two birds fell tumbling down the steep hill. Once birds were collected we all had a laugh. It was funny that only one of the six of us had the birds right. We stood on the top and planned the next step.

The plan was for Brett, Cash, and his long time friend George to take the south ridge. George's son, Cody, Sunnie and I would take the north ridge. Cody had hunted here before and he seemed pleased that we would get the north. I was happy to split into a smaller group. I am always happiest hunting in smaller groups or even alone. We said our goodbyes and went our separate ways. With Sunnie running out front I was feeling really good about our chances to get good opportunities on pointed birds.

For the first time that morning I started feeling relaxed and was able to take it all in. The view from that ridge was just breathtaking. There is a magic walking these mountains that are so vast, barren, and dry that very little can survive on them. It is brutally hot in the summer and the only shade is that of the very sparse Pinyon Juniper trees. Water is a rare commodity and it is amazing to me that wildlife finds a way to get moisture here in the summer let alone enough water to survive, even thrive. In winter the cold is bitter and the wind relentless blowing icy snow that stings faces. The north facing hillsides freeze solid and the footing becomes nonexistent. It is country of extremes for sure. However, there is beauty in all things if you look for it, and in these mountains it abounds. The depth, textures, and contrasts are like no where else. You can see forever, and the clear sky is as blue as I can imagine possible. The yellow cheat grass, contrasts against rock and and the steep hillsides offer a visual depth that is difficult to describe. The howls of coyotes, and the occasional screech of a hawk can be heard in the wind, but the relentless vocal mockery of the Chukar is maddening, and beautiful at the same time.

As I was daydreaming about all of these things I was suddenly shaken awake by the gun fire that was obviously coming from Brett and George. I said “it sounds like they found some.” We walked on and on with Sunnie still searching high and low, and hearing the constant pops coming from Brett and George started to weigh on us. Cody jokingly said “I think ol' Brett sent us this way on purpose.”

We chuckled a bit and walked on. Just when we were getting discouraged Sunnie's body language suddenly changed and she was very excited and interested. She ran bigger and bigger trying to turn the bird scent into birds. When she finally locked up 200 yards down the ridge we started to her, but before we got there birds went everywhere from all around us, and then from where she was at birds went every direction. We didn’t do well with the guns and they all flew away. I was a little sad because Sunnie had not done as well as I thought she should have, and we had not done a thing to help make up for it. I was certain we had seen all the birds on the mountain, but we went on anyway.

When she locked up again she would be true to her word and Cody and I would do better also. We walked in to flush and by the time we had birds collected we could hear the devil's red legged friends mocking us from every direction. All of the sudden they were everywhere. From that moment on

Sunnie and the birds put on quite a show. There was constant slightly evil mockery from those that we could not find. I can't begin to describe how many birds were seemingly everywhere. We had many points and flushed many birds. At one point someone shot and the whole hillside across the canyon came alive with flushing chukar. It was among the most amazing things I have witnessed in my bird hunting life. My day came to an end, and almost too soon with Sunnie on point in the bottom of a narrow canyon. Cody and I had gotten separated so I walked in alone. When the birds flushed my bottom barrel connected with one and then my top met

another to finish my daily limit. It took only a short time for Cody to finish his and we were on our way back to the top. Yes, it was uphill both ways. You've heard the stories.

When we got back to our point of separation Brett contacted us to say they had finished their day and were headed back our way. When they met back with us we all exchanged stories of the days events and full bags. It was great that everyone had such an amazing time. We wandered downhill now everyone enjoying the walk back to the trucks. Sunnie and Cash treated us to a point each, and we all enjoyed watching the masked devils fly away. Only when you have spent countless hours, boot leather, blood, sweat, and blisters working really hard for a bird or two can you truly enjoy watching birds fly away out of a point with full game bags.

There might be sweeter hunts than this one, but I have never been on one. A fantastic day, with fantastic people, in a fantastic place, chasing a great game bird. Perfect!

Driving in the darkness the eastern sky opened up to pastel blue and the silhouette of the Wasatch mountains were exposed. Old Hank was moaning the blues on the radio, Tic was in a crate in the back of the truck and I was full of anticipation for the first weekend of the 2015 bird season. Ruffed grouse would be the our target species in the morning and I had been hearing rumors of bountiful hatches. Driving through my old haunts I couldn’t help being reminded of long gone experiences that are only in my memories and in the spirits of old dogs that have long since left us. It was good to be be alone and think of the past. I smiled as I thought, you know Tic and I share a few experiences now too. By the time we arrived at one of my favorite early season canyons it was just light enough to see clearly. It was to be a dry, hot and dusty Utah day in September so we wanted to get our dog work in early. Tic is now 6 years old, but you would think it was his first bird season when I let him out of the truck. He was fired up like a six month old puppy on bird scent. I was so amused by his enthusiasm I couldn't keep the grin from my face as we started into the canyon that has been so good to me for such a long time.

We were about 10 minutes into our hike when a bird flushed at my feet while Tic was exploring a likely spot out to my left. I snapped a shot at the bird as it disappeared behind a pine. Tic now a seasoned old veteran bird dog came running to my aid. Bless is heart for assuming that I had connected. I gave the dead command not knowing if I had a bird down or not. Tic slammed into a half point and then scooped up the dying bird and brought it to hand as he has so many times by now. I am proud of the dog he has grown into I thought. I thought that finding a bird so early was a good sign so we walked on with enthusiasm and Tic settled into his typical hunting gate. Six hours later a now very tired and hot Tic would stop to flush as another bird flushed. I couldn’t see it clearly but I went over in that direction to investigate as Tic stood. As I got to the spot of the flush another bird got up and I could see this one clearly as it gave me a rare

dream of a shot. A grouse flying straight away through a clearing is indeed rare and this one would find out why as it tumbled to the ground a victim of my first barrel. Tic retrieved and that was to be our only grouse action for the day.


We would head back to the truck with the temps getting into the upper 80s I was no longer enjoying
my walk and dog work was not to be had Tic was working but his tongue was hanging pretty good. It was not the epic morning of young dumb brood flushes we were expecting but it was just fine for a start, and It did provide a delicious dinner for us later that evening. I have been very tired of flavorless store bought chicken breast.

We drove off to a favorite water hole for afternoon doves and that was to be much better. It was a classic decoy shoot and was just a lot of fun. Tic enjoyed cooling off in the water and retrieved my birds for me. I shot fairly well and we were able to take our share. What a fun little bird Mourning doves are, and they really were the cap on a wonderful day alone with the dog. Tic and I love to be alone like that once in a while. Its going to be a great year!

The First Round

    I listen with respect and admiration as my heart pounds stronger, faster, and louder in my chest. My mouth is so dry and I can barely swallow as I wait. Thoughts are going through my head. Doubts. Worries. I quickly force them out so as not to harbor them…. I think…Wow his Comeback was really good…..Focus Bret, Focus…. Just short of Panic my heart is beating so loud I wonder if the guy on stage can hear it. I think about what I have struggled with in my routine during preparation, and what was good while I try to focus on the mental notes from practice. Remember… big breath here… little breath there and it will be alright. The whole time the admiring what the guy before me is doing. I hear him finish and the MC say “caller four to the stage”. My heart races as fear is trying to take hold. Leaning forward I force myself to take the first step toward the stage. I dig deep for courage and tell myself boldly, “attack the stage”. I force myself quickly on to the stage shaking with nervous energy. I hear the MC say “would you like a warm up?” I nervously nod. I look down at my call trying to ignore the crowd. I look down the barrel at the insert and straighten it, then bring it to my mouth. The flood of light fades in my vision to a tunnel and then to black. As the call reaches my lips fear changes to intensity. Quacks I think Quacks….. then… find ring….Right There! That’s it… I nod to the MC. The MC says this is for score and I’m into my hale. Each step of the routine plays out as I try to focus on the details trying not to dwell on anything that wasn’t quite right. My mind is on controlling breaths and air as I have done a zillion times in practice. Then just like that, with three quacks and a strong duck I’m done. I pull the call apart to see if the tone board is wet as I walk off. Nope Dry like always…. Walking off the rush of adrenaline washes over me, and I tremble again only now it is different. There is no fear only the post release calm. I hear the next caller warming up as I walk back to the group waiting their turn. Who knows with a little luck maybe I will get to go through the whole thing again in the second round.

SETTER TALES AND MALLARD CURLS: Haunted In The Snow

SETTER TALES AND MALLARD CURLS: Haunted In The Snow: The snow was falling steady when my dog, Bo locked up at the edge where sage became wheat lava fields of northern Utah stubble. I...