The Big Empty will put a hold on you.

Miles of high lonely peaks and barren ridges breaking up an expanse of desolate valleys that if uninterrupted would rival the Great Plains. The scarcity of water runs foremost in the planning of any effort. The misleading scale of the place alone has put many people face down on salt flats, red dirt, and buried under rock piles.
When you’re hunting you never truly feel at home here. You can make it as comfortable as possible, but you weren’t meant to survive here. The caloric scale pivots to lost even when you do drag a limit of birds from the earth.
This is a place for deference. It never fully hits you till you’ve been climbing a peak for the better part of an hour and turn around sweating to find you’re not even halfway to the top.
These things are viewed as unnecessary discomforts to the mass of modern Americans. Some might consider it abuse or if you’re from the bible belt, flagellation.

So what do you feel like when you reach the truck and all the game bag holds is coagulated bloody feathers, crumbled dog treats, and a muley shed?

The most humbling part of chukar hunting is realizing the folly of your pursuit. This is a silly game meant for silly people. Most of us have some good poker faces, but lets face it – there are easier and more efficient ways to find a meal. Especially going all the way out here for it.

At least when you get to the top empty handed you can have the most satisfying shitter view for a hundred miles.

They grow up so fast.

Rabble Amongst Yerselves or Holler Back

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