Good ending

The 2025-2026 season wasn’t as stellar as I hoped. Some had a good year, and most of them earned their birds. I put the least amount of chukars in the freezer since I’ve been keeping records for over 35 years. But it was still a fun year. I learned a lot about myself and Grady and I never worked so well as a team. We worked hard for what we got.

When my grandson Conner was starting to hunt, I had to remind him quite often that you gotta believe. It’s hard to do when you aren’t seeing the game you are pursuing. I had several hunts this year that I had to remind myself of that. The improvement in my back was enough to keep me going that extra mile. My last few hunts were payback for those unproductive hunts we had earlier in the season.

This was the first year since forever that there were no snow days on the mountain. Five days before the season ended, we finally got some. I had an early doctor’s appointment, but as soon as it was over, the small amount of snow was calling for me and Grady to be on the hill. It was only an inch or two, but it was snow. I loaded up Grady, and we took off to one of our local spots. It was a fairly steep hunt, but I was ready to test out the shot in my back I had just gotten. I have to say, I was pleased with the results. I covered just under five miles and gained 1900 feet in elevation. Grady went over 17 miles.

Jake was up there with us. His collar was in my vest, and a memorial key ring with Jake’s picture was hooked to one of the vest’s rings. Conditions were as close to perfect as it gets. Not a bit of noise except for the sound of 150 or so elk mewing as they headed up away from us. A slight breeze that changed direction was helping Grady find the scent of chukar. 14 times, he did just that. Sometimes a little further than I wanted to go, but I had to oblige his points.

To Grady’s delight, my shooting eye was on. Not perfect, but good enough to keep both of us happy.

It amazes me how well a dog and a human can communicate without ever making a sound when they are on a common journey. Not a word did I say all day. The only sound on the mountain was the Alpha pointing me in the right direction for success. Every connecting shot was viewed by Grady, and the retrieve was without words. We were definitely in sync with each other.

It was a long-sleeve shirt day. A January day that chukar hunters dream of, and I was blessed with the right to be on the mountain, hoping to put some chukars in my vest.

Even the huns wanted to play with us. By the end of our outing, we had made up for some of those trips that weren’t as good for us. By the time we reached the truck, I was very stoved up. I took the birds out of my vest and called Grady over for the success picture. Nothing fancy because I was ready to take the load off my back.

This hunt helped to straighten out my thinking. This whole year, I’ve been trying to find more gentle hunting ground. Even when I found some of that flat country, Grady would still find the birds in the ugliest place he could find. I have to face the fact that I’m going to be stoved up after a chukar hunt, so get used to it.

Greg invited me on a hunt with him and his son on Jan. 30. I declined because I wasn’t sure how my back would be after my last hunt, and didn’t want to have them hear me grunting and groaning. So, I planned a short hunt locally. The plan was to have Barb take me up the hill in the side-by-side. I would hunt downhill to where she parked the vehicle and make a short last hunt. Grady had different plans. He immediately headed uphill. Our short hunt ended up being the longest of the season. I went over 6 miles, and Grady did 18. I still gained 1750 feet of elevation and lost 2800 feet. But it was worth every step.

With the temperature in the upper 40s and a slight breeze, Grady was on fire.

He had over 20 points. Some of them were unproductive, and I had no idea where the birds were. Many of them were solid points with long relocations by Grady as the birds were running. A couple of his points, the birds held tight, and I blew the easy shots.

That soon became a concern. I had a box of shells in the side-by-side and had planned on reloading my vest before I started my hunt. I forgot until shortly after Barb had dropped me off.

I tried hard to pick my shots but couldn’t hold back on a few of those flushes that were out there a ways. But we were having a ball. Once again, we were alone on the hill, not hearing a sound except the one time I had to convince Grady of a dead bird. He looked like crazy but never came up with the dead birds scent. I finally found it and know that he went right over the top of it several times. No big deal though, he found the rest of them.

We hunted hard. About a half mile before we got to where Barb had left the rig, we were both beat. Grady was still hunting, but at a much slower pace and staying within 100 yards. My feet were getting heavy, and I was staying on game trails as much as possible. One last point, and the bird held tight.

At the flush, I swung on the bird but couldn’t quite keep up. Not a feather flew from the chukar from either barrel. I took the two spent shells out and loaded the barrels with my last two shells. There was still some possible country before we hit the finish line. I dreaded the thought of getting back to the truck without any shells left and not having a limit. It’s okay not to limit, but not okay to not limit because I ran out of shells.

Grady and I being worn out solved the problem. Neither of us tried really hard to find that last bird. We found trails to get us down to the truck. While I loaded the side-by-side on the trailer, Grady jumped up in the back seat of the truck. He was through. He wouldn’t get out for our success picture. So I took the picture with him in the truck.

A couple of very tired hunters. 15-minute drive, and we’re sitting by the fire licking our wounds. What a great end to the season.