Chickens

September 15 marks the opener of the "real" bird season in Kansas: prairie chickens. I didn't get to hunt them during the early season last year, but had some success during the general season later in the year. This year would be special. After a few years of stories and pictures my Dad decided to join me on his first bird hunt in more than 40 years--mostly shooting the camera, but he would get to pull the trigger as well. Wes joined us as well, only without Doc, who's been sick lately, but is improving.

On the way west we stopped to hunt a spot along the way before the sun set. Fifteen minutes into the hunt Sage pointed and was rebuffed by a stink-rat. What a way to start the season! I couldn't help but laugh.


Ike managed to point a small group of chickens but they flushed wild as the guns approached. Sage may have bumped them, and that's all the action we would see that evening. After a stop for dinner at So Long Saloon in Manhattan we washed the dog at a carwash that also had a doggie wash pod. It did help to some degree, but my fiancé still thinks he stinks.

We were up early the next morning to hit the same spot where I found my first prairie chickens back in 2006. Ike put down a nice run yet we were unable to locate any chickens in our first hunt. From there we moved to my honey hole, a spot that produced nearly every time I've hunted it. Hunting the pasture south Wes nearly stepped on two small groups of chickens and took a bird from each. The second bird flew across a road onto private ground so Wes took Sage over and he pointed the wounded bird in quick order. With Wes limited out he passed his shotgun to my Dad. A few minutes later a dozen chickens flushed several hundred yards out and we watched them sail away. So we continued walking.

And walking…

We looped back around and were cresting a hill when I heard the familiar chirp and confirmed that Sage was on point. I urged my Dad in and several chickens flushed straight away. Unfortunately there were cattle just beyond them so we didn't shoot, and then a few more flushed to the right offering clear shots. We both fired and I know we hit one bird, but it flew on strong. A couple more steps and another bird got up to the left and I dropped it. We decided to head in the direction the wounded bird flew, and several hundred yards further my Dad spotted the wounded chicken trying to hide along a cattle trail. We were unable to find any more birds.

Ike on a covey of quail we saw run across the road. I almost always work dogs on road birds (without a gun).

We ran Ike for an hour or so on Sunday and found some more quail and a young pheasant, but that's it. Already my Dad is talking about coming on the general upland season, and I am welcome to have him.

This past weekend I hunted with Wes, Mr. Scampwalker of 8 More Miles Blog, and Scampwalker Jr. Like the opener we covered a lot of miles but saw less birds. Still, the scenery was some of the best Kansas has to offer.

The fall colors are really starting to turn.

On Saturday we only managed to get close to one group of chickens, and I'll let you read Scampwalker's account. But basically we saw this...

And ended up with this...

And I learned one valuable lesson: wait longer to shoot.

Now, the task is to pack for Montana. Take care.

Cautiously Optimistic...

That's how I would describe how I feel considering the weather we've had and that the due date for personal income taxes is already upon us. The weather was relatively mild. No prolonged periods of snow cover, no ice storms. The rains have been consistent enough to keep the ground moist and not so much to worry about flash flooding. To borrow a term from a favorite childhood story, "just right." At least so far.

This weekend, Sunday rains meant children were doing the Easter egg hunt a day early. The family chef was grocery shopping for the upcoming feast. I, on the other had, was blessed enough to sleep in and be treated to breakfast. As if that wasn’t enough, I was also allowed to run dogs on the best piece of bird cover I’ve seen east of Russell.

For some added fun I loaded the farm lab, Riley, in the truck with my two setters. We started walking down the edge of a pasture and all Riley wanted to do was chase and play with my setters. She’s still carrying a little holiday weight so that didn’t last long. The pasture produced a wild flushing prairie chicken, and at the bottom we turned to follow a thick draw splitting a wheat stubble field. Ike, as he does sprinted ahead following the edge, and it wasn’t long before I hear the familiar beep of the Astro that told me he was on point far ahead. When we got there Sage honored and Riley, who’s never really been “hunting” before approached Ike and started to lick his face. Then two roosters blew from the thicket just ahead of him. Hilarious. There were a couple more recurrences like this as we found quite a few pheasants and another prairie chicken.

Here's Ike on pheasant find number two, with Riley ready to lick the face again.

On the drive out I saw a Harris hawk messing around on the side of the road. As I approached he flew off and I saw this rooster who was managing to keep the fallen tree limb between himself and the hawk.

On Easter morning we repeated the drill before the April showers came, this time without Riley. The results were nearly the same, except we found two coveys of quail. I was worried after the first day didn’t produce any.

Ike on covey number one. Both coveys were 8 or 10 birds, good shape for breeding.

I feel bad I didn't get any good pictures of Sage. I kept trying to get good video of birds flushing but it just wasn't in the cards. Anyway, we timed it so that we were getting to the truck just as it started to sprinkle. I really like that piece of ground.

Typical Kansas Weather

On Saturday morning I awoke to find five inches of snow on the ground. I was to bed late and up early, so it must have fallen pretty quickly. Yesterday was into the 60's, and today could hit upper 70's!

The woodcock flight has reached NE Kansas, as the dogs and I managed to put up six in a very short period on Sunday morning. We don't have much experience with woodcock, but they seemed very jumpy in the snow. The dogs as usual were running the edges looking for quail, but the woodcock seemed more dug in and would flush wild as the dogs ran, or I walked, past. I did come across one guy hunting with a yellow lab. We didn't speak, only waved at a distance, but I have to assume he was hunting rabbits. He probably wondered what I was doing walking around with dogs and no gun. As usual we didn't find any quail. Except for one covey we found while bikejoring last week, I haven't seen any wild quail close to home in almost three years.

Other than that I thought I'd share some pictures my father sent to me. He's purchased some fancy pants DSLR and telephoto lenses and has been getting some pretty amazing pictures. This spring I hope to get a blind on a chicken lek to get some pictures of their mating rituals.

If you click on the pictures you can see full-size versions. The look on the pilot's face is enough to give me a chuckle, I wonder what he was thinking.

Two Weeks: Part V, Lesser Prairie Chickens

For the past couple of years I've always wanted to try to hunt the lesser prairie chicken and the scaled quail in Kansas. Both can be found in the southwest part of the state. Because of a very bad dought in extreme SW Kansas, I decided to leave the scalies for another time.

Lessers are supposedly in a bad way in most of their native range, having lost ~90% of their habitat to agriculture, oil and gas development, over-grazing, and pesticides. Texas limits the hunting to landowners, and by permit only. In New Mexico you have to win a lottery type drawing to hunt them, and I don't beleive they can be hunted at all in Oklahoma. Sounds grim, right? Well, I am happy to report that numbers are, at least local to where I hunted, pretty good. And I found a decent motel for $29 a night. That's a double bonus!

Because the weather was to be warm, I arrived on the scene before legal hunting hours for a little scouting. The first spot seemed a little over grazed so I decided to keep looking. On the way four chickens flew over the road and landed in some CRP.

I got out of my truck and I could hear chickens booming all around me, in nearly every direction. To the north I could even see some birds feeding in the winter wheat field. I observed them for a while and tried to take some pictures; I've Photoshop'd the best one here and you should be able to make out four birds.

I decided to look at the first spot one more time, and on the way back I flushed two more feeding in a cut milo field. I was very surprised to encounter these kinds of numbers, especially so soon. Another look at the pasture and I still wasn't impressed so I moved on. I hunted two smaller pastures with no encounters and it was quickly getting warm and I had forgotten to fill my water. If you ever run out of water, find a church. They always have an outdoor spicket, no one usually asks any questions, and if they do they are happy to help and do anything they can to point you in the right direction.

So, water refilled we drove to another spot. The scenery was pretty amazing, at least for Kansas.

Ike, being the wider dog, got the call as he had the previous two fields. We set our course into the wind towards a windmill that would hopefully have water in it to soak the dog. Well, it didn't. But being the pesky tinker type I figured out that if I climbed halfway up and released a lever I should be able to get some water. Shazaam! Dog wet, windmill off, and wind picking up I decided to change tactics. I had been hunting the ridgelines, basically all the high stuff, I know chickens like to be able to see a long ways. Because of the gusting winds I opted to hunt the low areas between hills, like little waterways. This change produced birds almost immediately. We'd hunt up a waterway, then at the top hop over to the next water way and hunt down. Nearly every one held birds, although they were spaced about a mile of walking apart. The birds were extremely wild, although on two occassions had I not spent both barrells on Hail Mary's I could have bagged a late flusher. As much as I hunt chickens, I really ought to know better. The second time I nearly hit the bird with my empty hulls as I threw them in frustration.

Oh well, I'll be back. Tired puppy...

Two Weeks: Part IV, the Southwest

With a couple days to burn between Christmas and New Year's, and nice weather on the horizon I decided to explore a part of the state I had yet to hunt this season, and target a bird I had yet to pursue, ever. I'd hunt quail in some notably different terrain, as well as the lesser prairie chicken. So, after sleeping in I pointed the truck down I-35 and headed to the southwest part of Kansas. The forecast for the next two days was for highs in the mid-50's, a nice breeze, and plenty of sun.

Usually the dogs ride under the topper in their crates, but this time they got to ride in the cab. I enjoyed the company, and kids waved from minivans while navigating all the red lights through Wichita. Having a dog riding shotgun is also nice when you're trying to drive and eat a Chipotle burrito; clean up crew.

That evening I ran both dogs for an hour or so at a familiar spot and found two coveys of quail, and a few pheasants. The big birds always managed to keep a cedar between the dangerous end of my shotgun and their escape. Here's a look at the terrain, shallow rolling hills, cedars, prairie grass, and thick plum thickets here and there.

The weather was actually a bit hotter than forecast, highs in the low 60's. They went through 2 liters of water quickly so we didn't get to hunt as long as I would have liked. But, we found some birds for our effort.

When my dogs are young and still hunting close I make it a point to make them hunt the thick stuff, especially for quail. While running the edges is important, sometimes coveys will hunker down in the middle of a large thicket, so the dog needs to hunt those. I guess this time Ike wanted payback, so he pointed, and made me crash my way through the thicket to put up the birds. But, upon doing so they weren't there. Maybe they had run, but he found them in some grass a short ways away. I still think he did it on purpose.

I always find myself taking pictures of roosts. I don't know why bird hunters do this, because they're essentially pictures of...well...poop. But I've seen it before and I'll probably continue to do it myself. I found this one just after Ike pointed that covey. If I find a roost in the field, I might take some extra time to thoroughly work the area, because the quail are probably close.

This exact tactic paid off for me later the next day. First I saw this (probably the largest quail roost I've ever seen)...

And then I saw this...Ike with another find.

And now on a single...

Next, lesser prairie chickens.

Two Weeks: Part II

The morning after my trifecta I slept in a bit and then accompanied a good friend to breakfast at the new greasy spoon in town. Being a Sunday, the after church crowd of a small town was in full effect and it was pretty busy. Despite not actually being from this small town, I sure did see a lot of people I knew having their breakfasts. I love that you can still get two eggs, bacon, hash brown, toast, and a cup of OJ for less than $5. Charming, really, especially when the waitress knows everyone's names.

I headed back to the spot where Ike found the quail and the chickens on Thanksgiving morning wishing they would hold again, only this time I'd keep the camera in my pocket. I started at the south end this time; hopefully the stiff artic breeze would alert Ike to the chickens' location before we had to crest a hill and blow our cover. Late season chickens can be jumpy, especially if they've been pressured. Ike made a nice early cast into some CRP and the Astro told me he was on point. I thought it could be pheasants, but I saw some deer running away, so I decided to wait him out since we were here for chickens anyway. Five minutes later and he was still on point 450 yards into the CRP. I snapped a pic of the Astro's screen and got to hopping the fence. The Astro directed me right to his location and a pair of roosters erupted skyward, and like the day before I dropped them both. Elated, extatic, all of the above. I reached into my pocket for my camera to document my second double in two days, and like the transmitter and GPS, it was gone. I walked between that spot and where I crossed the fence three times and was never able to find it. A real bummer, it had some good pictures on it. More than anything else I wanted the card out of it. More bittersweet, I guess.

We returned to the pasture ground with a heavier game sack and worked our way across so that we'd be directly downwind of where I thought we'd find the chickens loafing about. Before we could make our turn north Ike went on point again, now in a bottom area below a man made pond. I snuck below the canopy of the trees and found him pointing in an area with literally no ground cover, just bare dirt with a few horse apples littering the ground. Maybe a squirrel or a rabbit? Ike will point just about anything. He relocated through the thicket and slammed on point again. I walked to his side and peered at the ground, thinking that if ever I was going to see a covey of quail bunched up ready to bust this would be it. A minute passed and I never found anything. One step and I was surrounded by quail exploding from the ground just in front of Ike, absolutely huge covey, maybe two dozen birds. I can't believe I never saw them, they were right there! Ike found one single that jumped in the wind and I missed badly. They landed mostly in some private ground so I pulled him off to get after those chickens. We worked north and I found a couple roosts, but no birds.

We worked into the breeze and when we were circling back to the truck the chickens lifted off the ground quite a ways from where they were last time. Ike was not in the vicinity, and they flew into the wind right over me. I couldn't resist and knocked down another mature male chicken. Had I managed one of those quail it would have been two slams in two days, with two pointed doubles on pheasants. I hunted a new spot, two sections of pasture, hoping for more chickens. But despite a long walk the wind beat us up pretty bad and we weren't able to move any birds. Oh well.

More to come...

Two Weeks: No Work, Lots of Play, Part I

Today is the first day I've reported for duty since December 19th. Frankly, I'm both sad and excited to be back; it's nice to catch up on the blogs I read, and the general happenings in the world. Alas, this is not a business or current events blog, so I'll get to the bird hunting directly.

The past month or more has been bittersweet; it seems that for every extraordinary event something happens to bring me back to reality. On Thanksgiving morning I stumbled across a real gem, a piece of public ground holding pheasant, quail, and chickens. In just more than an hour Ike had finds on two coveys of quail and one covey of about 30 chickens. I only managed three or four quail, and the chickens flushed with the camera in my hands. Still, a great find close to a place where I spend a lot of personal time.

The next day I was invited to hunt some ground in western Kansas with my neighbor and his in-law's family. The land is owned by two brothers and is farmed by the region's Pheasants Forever Chapter president. So, needless to say the policies and farming practies utilized on these lands are favorable to game birds and bird hunting. There's plenty of CRP with standing milo strips, buffers along crop edges, and even strips of CRP running along the terraces in wheat stubble fields. It was a great hunt, with a couple inches of our first snow on the ground. Birds were holding unbelievably tight and they were plentiful. I always get nervous running my dogs in front of folks, especially in "walk and block" situations, because they are bigger going and will freely relocate on running pheasants, which inevitably results in a bumped bird or two. But Sage completely exceeded my expectations, and we shot many roosters over him, several I could have caught with my hands as they were buried in the thick, snow-ladden CRP.

On the second day, after the family headed out of town, I was given the run of the place and we took advantage. Sage quickly put a rooster and two quail in my gamebag and it was Ike's turn. We hunted the wheat stubble field with the strips along the terraces. I could see him running along the edge several hundred yards ahead of me when he started the point and relocate dance that can only mean running pheasants. He'd trot along the edge low and then stop, his body and tail would rise with the scent until he stood tall, and I could see his mouth and nose trying to chew and taste the birds. Then he'd break and creep low with the tail sweeping back and forth like a windshield wiper, and he'd pause again. Eventually Ike stopped and stood long enough for me to close the distance, all the while thinking "this is it." I saw one bird make a run for it into the stubble and I put him up. I pulled the trigger as he sailed right to left and a second bird flushed right in front of Ike, who will often stand through the flush. The first bird crumpled in air and I swung on the second with the remaining barrel. I managed to break a wing and knew we were in for a chase when he langed legs down and head up in the stubble. Ike has never been a stellar retriever, but he will surprise on occasion. Imagine my shock when he flew past me, first bird in mouth, and completely linebacker'd the second bird. It was my first pointed double on pheasants, something I hope I never forget.

With three pheasants and two quail in the bag before noon, I decided to relocate to another part of the state to attempt something I have never done before; quail, pheasant, and chickens all in the same day. When I got there I noticed my Tri-Tronics transmitter and Garmin Astro were missing. I emptied the truck and they were nowhere to be found. Reluctantly I put Sage and Ike down. They were tired anyway, and I didn't think I'd lose them in the open country. A few minutes into the hunt Ike went over a hill towards a milo field and remained gone for a few minutes. As I was doubling back hoping to find him on point a covey of quail sailed lazily over my head and landed in the pasture. And shortly behind them was Ike. I like to think he pointed and held them for some time, they got nervous and ran off and then flew into the pasture. Sage gave me some great singles work, and it was the quickest four quail of my life. Of course, shooting quail in sparse pasture ground is a lot easier than plum thickets, hedge rows, or mesquite country. But we were here for chickens, so I pulled the dogs off the quail and we hunted on. Ike ranged and pointed several chickens that never let me get close enough. Then I saw some birds coming back from feeding to roost. We crept to the area and Ike pointed a bird that again flushed out of range. Ike stood through the flush as I approached and a second bird flushed, and I had my trifecta. A brilliant mature male. I didn't have a limit of anything, but I'll remember it as one of the best days.

EDIT: I forgot to metion that I drove the two hours back to where I was last hunting and I found my transmitter and GPS along the side of the road where we ended. They must have fallen out of the truck while I was loading up.

Winner Winner Chicken Dinner

Have you ever stuffed yourself full of a steak dinner? Sure.

What about when the waitress comes by with the tray full of desserts? They look delicious, right? Your date says they look good, but she's full. Translation: "I want some of that chocolate thingy, but I prefer not to look like a pig."

Such was the case on the way back from Montana. We had bagged sage grouse, sharpies, and huns. I killed three new species of birds. What else could I ask for without looking like a pig? Well, a prairie chicken or two wouldn't hurt, right?

So, back to the sandhills of Nebraska! Dogs were weary, skinny, and hardened, so throw the Hail Mary, put all six down. Getting e-collars and Astro's on that bunch proved to be a task in and of itself. They were fired up and ready to go for our last hunt of the trip.

Long story short, Ted's knee started hurting, the wind was strong, and I would have gotten lost without the GPS. But, we got our chicken, a few doves, and a sharptail. I also missed an easy double.

Montana and Back, Part I: The Sandhills

Friday, Sept 11, 7AM

Arrived at Ted's house with Sage, Ike, Doc, and gear...pouring rain. We both got pretty wet loading up the truck and trailer. As we hooked up the trailer, we discovered the lights were not working. I had already spent four evenings trying to fix the failed wiring, and eventually replaced everything. It worked fine on my truck at my house. We tried a couple things, but didn't want to tear into it in the downpour, so we packed a digital multimeter and some electrical tape and decided to hit the road and fix later. In messing with the wiring, I got completely soaked and had to change clothes. We were on the road by 8 AM.

Five hours of driving in the rain and we were in Grand Island, NE. Lack of options and wanting to push on, we stopped at Wendy's for lunch. What a horrible experience--that's all I'll say. The plan was to park in the Wal-Mart lot and fix the trailer, but when we left Wendy's I noticed the lights were working. Nice! On to Halsey, NE.Road warriors...


We decided to hunt the Nebraska National Forest on the way to break up the drive and get the dogs a taste of the birds they were to encounter in Montana.

Before any "hotspotter" fingers are pointed, I'll explain something. The forest is well known, hunted by quite a few folks already, and frankly is very tough hunting. We worked hard for the birds we took, covering many miles in the sandy prairie, up and down hills, sweating and tired the whole time. On top of that, the dogs had to be flawless on birds for us to be successful. Not may people have the mettle, physical and mental, or the dogs for this place. We spent the Friday evening scouting, running dogs, and shooting any doves that we encountered. We didn't see any grouse, and I was concerned we were in for a tough day tomorrow. We stayed in Thedford and had dinner at Stub's. They don't have mashed potatoes in the evenings, only for breakfast. Huh.

Ted and I were up well before first light the following morning, and I think I lost a filling on the broken up asphalt road into the forest. I'm sure the dogs had a headache. My Ike and Ted's Vegas got the first call of the trip. We both had high hopes for these two. I expected Ike to be the dog of the trip because of his wide range and reliable nose. He's also the toughest dog I've ever hunted behind. Vegas had lived in the shadow of Ted's other dog, an older pointer, but he had been hunting them seperate last season and she was becoming a strong bird finder, and she was already the best "dead" hunting dog we had in our trailer.

The ground and vegetation was heavy with dew from yesterday's rain. In just a few minutes we were soaked to our waists, and Ike was actually cold and shivering. Not long into the hunt I took this picture...

The sandhills is the most surreal place I have ever hunted. Because the terrain is so uniformly dynamic, you can easily get turned around, even with a GPS. Early in the day we used the sun to keep track of our heading, but as it rose we depended heavily on the GPS to keep us pointed in the right direction. This flat spot offered our first sharptail encounter, a bird that flushed wild ahead of Ike just as he established point.

Then we started to connect in this low area; both Ted and I were able to put sharptails in the bag on account of Vegas; my first sharpie!

We also each took sharptails at the top of the ridge following the draw. There seemed to be no discernable pattern to the birds. They were high, low, in flat and in hilly areas, sun and shadows, too. On the way back to the truck Ike pointed a large covey spread out in a flat area from quite a distance. They broke, and of course I wasted my two barrels on the first birds that got up, and was empty for the birds I nearly stepped on. By now, I should know better.

We re-dogged with Doc and Bode. Doc belongs to my buddy Wes, and Bode is the Garmin DC30 coverdog, owned by Ted's friend Bronson. I have no idea why these guys trusted their companions with hooligans like us. We struck out in a different direction from the truck and were quickly into more birds, several flushing wild ahead and far to our flanks. Doc did point one covey, but again they broke too soon. I think the high sun and the heavy winds had them skittish.

One nice thing about the sandhills is that there is at least one windmill in sight from every peak, so you can water your dogs at nice intervals. But, the cows like them too.

It's important to keep your dogs watered, both from a hydration and scenting standpoint.

After the heat was too much, we turned our attention to prairie dogs. All the shots we took with Ted's .223 were over 200 yards. There were a few close calls, but no kills.

On Hunting Chickens

My favorite gamebird (for the time being) is the greater prairie chicken. I particularly like their behavior around pointing dogs, their habitat, and the niche of the tallgrass prairie ecosystem (and folklore) that they fill.

Ted Gartner made the following comments regarding the prairie chicken in a blog post recounting last season's opener:

"For the uninitiated, prairie chickens are the quintessential native upland game bird of the prairies. They roamed the central part of the United States long before the more gaudy, noisy, and ubiquitous pheasant was brought to our shores from China.

"Prairie chickens inhabit vast expanses of rolling grasslands, mostly in Kansas, Nebraska, and South Dakota. As such, pursuing them requires a comfortable pair of hunting boots, rangy but disciplined bird dogs, and a healthy dose of optimism."

I have probably only dedicated a dozen or so days over two seasons hunting chickens, but it didn't take long for them to carve a place at the top of my totem pole of upland bird worship. If thinking about chickens was a paid profession, I could turn in two 40-hour timesheets every week. As Ted mentions, they mostly inhabit tallgrass prairie land in the northern half of Tornado Alley. In Kansas, most of the native grassland fell victim to the plow long ago, which has seriously reduced their range and population. However, there are certain parts of the state where crop agriculture didn't strongly take hold, mostly because of the limestone just a few inches under the topsoil. This layer effectively caused the preservation of some native prairie, because the shallow rock didn't readily allow the ground to be worked with farm machinery. In these areas, I find chickens in pastureland still teeming with native grasses, flowers, and other food sources--although chickens will readily fly miles away to feed on crops.

As you can see, the vast expanses of land and sparse cover allow an independent dog to range far, probing the front and flanks for scent. And when he does locate birds, he can be seen from long distances, making the approach all the more endless and antagonizing. The younger birds are likely to hold for a point in the early fall, and they aren't predisposed to running, although with chickens it's not out of the question, either. The right situation can mean pointed covies in November or December, like this past Christmas Eve. Usually, these covies are rather large.

Their erratic flight isn't strong, and their death comes easily with a well placed pattern of #7.5's. But these birds are neither tame, nor weak. They can detect a hunter's presence and flush wild hundreds of yards away. And they can survive the harsh winter storms that leave pheasants and quail frozen in snow drifts. Simple, and nearly archaic, in appearance, they are known mostly for their wild and extravagant mating rituals.

I'm going to miss hunting them this September, that's for sure.