Stay Frosty

Pheasants believe strongly in a few basic maxims of life.

     1) RUN AWAY!!!

Overall that is the main rule, and they do it well.  Only slightly less emphasized in phez elementary is this:

     2) HOLDING STILL = INVISIBILITY

If the unthinkable happens and rule #1 fails, a pheasant will hold still with a bravado bordering on recklessness under the belief that doing so makes them totally invisible.  I always find it pretty comical to see the expression of surprise frozen on a bird's face at this moment.  Probably it's a combination of shock that running did not work as planned coupled with an impending loss of bowel control.  Either way, it's a high alert situation.

I think this is probably the closest I've ever been to a wild pheasant with a camera.  The distance here is about 8 yards.  Light will make or break an image like this, and the morning sun was in the perfect position to cast a golden glow on this pretty little hen. 

The year's first birding trip was a lot of fun even though opportunities were scarce despite covering a lot of ground.

Image Details:

Nikon D4

Nikon TC17EII

Nikon 400mm f/2.8 @ f/5, 1/1000, ISO 100

Chasing Quail

When all else fails...NEW TACTICS.

Around Thanksgiving I wrote HERE about a covey of jittery, rural quail that have unabashedly given me the bird for years.  This group and I have a certain understanding: I foolishly attempt to approach them, and they in turn show me their asses at 100 yards.  It's not an equitable arrangement. 

As the new year approached, I began wondering if a tried and true upland hunting technique - using a blocker - might work on the photo front.  Thinking back, I believe my wildlife photography has benefited greatly from a lifelong background as a sportsman.  Understanding animal behavior patterns, body language, vocalization, and other factors seems to provide me at times with an edge behind the lens.  The idea of pushing/blocking upland game is not new, but shotguns have an effective range of about 50 yards - a distance that needs to be cut in half with a camera.  Still, it was a concept that seemed worth testing out.

I gave Jason Morrison a call, and the game was afoot.  Jay is a guy who I knew had the skill to nail a fleeting opportunity that would last only seconds.

Arriving at the scene, an old farm in Northern Utah, I was disappointed to find that the birds did not pass the night in their usual spot.  It was a downer, because the golden light of morning created a perfect stage upon which there were no performers. Preparing to seek other possibilities, we suddenly noticed the covey near an old corral that had not seen use in ages.  It was at this point that long experience with upland birds kicked into gear, and I knew even before our approach that the situation was ideal.

It was my feeling that the covey, upon seeing my voluminous biomass heading in their direction, would sprint along the corral's contour for some 75 yards.  Here, they would reach a dead end and begin flying up onto some aged fencing and an old, rock wall.  Doing so would give them an escape route to the wheat fields beyond.  If Jason could position himself near this natural collection point in advance, he would have front row seats as 30 quail paraded past him at about 8 paces.

Morrison took the road less traveled, going far out of his way and remaining concealed from view until he eventually circled back about 20 minutes later and got into position.  I knew the birds wouldn't let me get close, so in the meantime I dug out my Nikon TC20-EIII, a 2x teleconverter that would double the focal length of my lens.

Getting the ready signal from Jay, I emerged from cover and vectored towards the corral.  I say "vectored" because it's something of an art to advance on animals without appearing as if you are necessarily headed directly at them.  It's one of those "look casual" things.  As the pusher, I carefully observed the birds in the covey to watch for signs of nervousness, and paced myself to avoid a flush.  The quail moved deliberately, but not in a panic, towards the blocker position.  A few stragglers occasionally tried to double back, and afforded me several medium distance shots from perhaps 20 yards.

At one point I was able to lie down and capture a unique image as this male passed into a natural frame created by the bottom rail of the corral and 2 posts.  Shadows from the fencing formed a number of leading lines, drawing the eye towards the well-lit subject:

The day nearly ended in tragedy as JayMorr encountered a rare, silent killer: A quail stampede. 60 tiny feet, possibly descended from the velociraptor's, bore down on the blocker position.  From my perspective the whole thing wound up looking like some kind of avian flash mob dancing a Spanish Flamenco around Jason.  True to form he did not miss the opportunity.  Be sure to drop in and see some of his fantastic imagery - shot from 8 paces (HERE).  If you haven't attempted to photograph wild, rural game birds - it's difficult to articulate how extraordinary a situation like this really is.  The aggregation of great light, point-blank subjects, correct position relative to the sun, and very little time to work with all combine to make Jay's photographs remarkable.  It was the ideal way to spend New Year's.  A big congrats to Morrison on his first wild California Valley Quail images, and all the dues that were paid leading up to the moment.

Nikon D300
Nikon 400mm f/2.8 VR - f/8, 1/320, ISO 400
Nikon TC20-EIII Teleconverter
Distance to Subjects: 60 Feet/20 Yards

Devil Birds

I had been hiking for a while now.  The ambient temperature was 14° F (-10° C), which was comfortable.  A few years ago my outdoor wardrobe experienced some natural base layer enhancement courtesy of merino wool, which is a miracle fiber.  Like your garden variety wool it insulates even when wet, but against the skin it does not itch and feels like fleece.  Inexplicably it can also stave off odors for a remarkable amount of time, and it breathes extraordinarily well.  I was glad to have my Icebreakers on this occasion.  Incidentally, if you are one of my fly fishing readers, merino socks by this company are the dog's bollocks (meaning badass in the UK) for cold weather wading.

Chukar partridge were my goal for the day.  Early in the Fall it's often possible to locate a covey by listening for calls, but typical of this time of year it was dead quiet.  Wild birds soon realize their chatter is giving them away, and they start dishing out the silent treatment.

Hiking in the steep, rocky talus that chukars love with a 14-pound camera rig offers a pucker factor of about 9.0.  Opportunities can be so unexpected and fleeting, I've never been able to successfully make use of a tripod, monopod, harness, or pack.  It's all free-hand.  At double the weight of a typical shotgun, and with the awkward size/shape of a big telephoto, the visual is like watching someone Riverdance on a cliff face while cradling a huge baby.

Presently due to insubordination on the part of my pulmonary system I stopped to catch a breather in a large boulder field.  About 3 weeks ago I acquired the felicity of walking pneumonia and am still feeling the effects.  After a minute or two, what I can only describe as a chukar whisper seemed to emanate from the rocks to my immediate left.  The sound was barely audible, and far more subdued than I had ever heard before.  My thought was that the call must have been more distant and I'd experienced a sound effect in the strewn boulders.

Following a few seconds of questioning the wisdom of combining thin air with cough syrup, I heard it again - "chuk-chuk."  There were partridge about, and they were close.  Really close - within feet.  Over the last 25 or so years, I've hiked, hunted, scouted, and photographed in chukar habitat hundreds of times, and I can't say that I've ever managed to get nearer than 15 yards.  Until now.

 

18 feet in front of me a mature, well-marked bird hopped up on a rock and was positioned ideally to catch the morning sun.  Had I not been forewarned by the muted calls, which enabled me to raise my lens just in time, I have no doubt a flush would have been instantaneous.  As it was, I captured a short series of images from spitting distance.  At this range I believe my Sitka Gear Open Country camouflage probably made a huge difference, allowing me blend in under point blank scrutiny.

This was a great way to finish out 2011 - with a humbling opportunity that I was privileged to see through the viewfinder. 

Nikon D300
Nikon 400mm f/2.8 VR - f/8, 1/320, ISO 400
Distance to Subject - 6 Yards/18 Feet

Quote the Chukar

The chukar partridge (Alectoris chukar), is so named due it's distinctive call which sounds like "chuk."  Native to locations in Asia such as the Himalayas and Nepal, it should come as no surprise that these little birds enjoy rugged terrain.

To describe the habitat chukars prefer as "steep" is to say that getting kicked in the gonads is bothersome.  Somehow it doesn't adequately sum up the experience.

Hunters and photographers of these partridge can also be identified by their calls, which happen to rhyme with "chuk."  It has been said that a person hunts chukars for the first time out of curiosity, and thereafter for revenge.

To me, no other game bird embodies the qualities of a survivalist quite like them.  Living in the high desert foothills is a game of extremes.  Water and food are scarce, and predators abound.  The chukar is well suited to a harsh life, and is tremendously challenging to photograph.

Infiltrating a covey with 20+ sets of keen eyes, each pair honed by daily existence as a prey animal, can be an exercise in futility.  Add rocky, vertical geography to the mix and it's downright sporty.  If those were the only considerations involved, life would be good.  Unlike the hunter, the photographer also needs to make it all happen during ideal lighting conditions and be positioned on the sunny side of the bird as the opportune moment arrives.

A truly complete image is rounded out by some supporting environmental elements within the frame, helping to add context to the scene.

 

Some native grasses in the foreground, sage brush in the immediate background, and the ever-present rocks so common to a chukar's stomping grounds help complete the story.

Nikon D300
Nikon 400mm f/2.8 VR
Nikon TC17eII Teleconverter

Distance to Subject: 45 Feet/15 Yards

Taking to the Valley

No religious extremist has ever been as fanatical about a concept as quail are over the posting of sentries.  In covey society, forgetting to have someone stand guard is like wearing an argyle sweater vest - it's the unthinkable.  Spanish Inquisitors took Christianity far less seriously, and appear slapdash in comparison to the diligence of these feathered lookouts.

Where I live, quail are somewhat of a dichotomy because they adapt well to urban settings.  In residential areas birds are semi-tame as they move from feeder to feeder, pausing only to avoid the occasional obese house cat crossing their path.  As subjects of photography, these city dwellers are far from ideal.  Photos of game birds perched on a Prius or crossing a well-manicured lawn don't represent the proper wild, upland heritage.

Unfortunately for me, quail living in a rural setting are more paranoid than a methamphetamine addict that's just downed a double espresso and Red Bull frappé.  Constantly contending with numerous raptors, coyotes, bobcats, skunks, racoons, snakes, and other predators - the wild variety invariably appear to be on the verge of a psychotic break.

Upon seeing a hominid in the distant atmospheric shimmer, a rural quail's eyes will protrude slightly out of the head and cause a jolt of adrenaline to surge to the wings. Any attempt to approach to within 100 yards will result in the wholesale evacuation of the premises.

Last year I scouted a really nice farm that had both a healthy quail covey and some classic upland habitat including some fences made of nicely weathered wood.  My hope was to get a few shots of these birds in an iconic setting, but despite making 4 separate attempts, the covey never let me get closer than a football field.  Even with a long lens, my operating distance on a subject this size is about 25 feet.  I wasn't even in the ballpark.

Last weekend I visited the location again.  It's a 2-hour round trip, so I had now driven a total of about 10 hours and this was my 5th day in what had so far been a fruitless attempt to stalk this group of quail.  I was immediately excited as I glassed an area and saw my quarry disappearing behind a 4-foot-high fence.  This was the obstacle I needed to screen my approach from the watchful eyes of the 20 covey members.  In full camo and in max stealth mode I performed what I thought was a flawless stalk and got into position.  Somehow they busted me yet again!  I can only surmise they heard me, but upon peeking around the fence all the birds were in the air 200 yards away heading for an immense field of cattails...

Except one.  The sentry male had taken up the rear guard position, perched on a section of broken fence.  In a fleeting moment of opportunity I made a digital copy of him from about 25 feet away.  I was glad to finally glimpse this this well-dressed gentleman through the viewfinder.

To Flush or not to Flush

...that is the question.

 

Shooting through foliage is usually not ideal, but chukar partridge are fiendish birds with a natural inclination toward sneakiness.  It is not uncommon for a photographer to make loud, rattling sounds with the throat that carry at least as far as alpine yodels after being very close to a large covey and getting no shots whatsoever.

The unpredictability of wild subjects will at times preclude the ability to move and recompose.  In these cases, foreground foliage can be used as an element to draw the viewer to an area of crisp focus.  When using this technique, it's critical to achieve a high amount of detail in the area of interest.  Catch light in the eye and sharpness throughout the bird's mask and head grab attention, while also leaving something to the imagination.

Despite spending the morning in the general proximity of around 40 birds, this was the only opportunity that panned out.  I'll be chasing them again.

11-11-11

At one time in my younger days I hunted upland birds without a dog, and consequently went about life largely unfulfilled.  Part of this may have been due to the fact that my father, in response to vehement requests for a sporting breed, obtained a beagle/fox terrier mix.  In the field this dog's primary talent was turning into a linear motion blur and racing off until he was concealed by the curvature of the Earth.

One can only speculate as to why Dad chose to deprive his posterity of gun dogs, when he himself was raised with a brace of Brittany Spaniels.  My theory is that it had something to do with excessive intake of maple nut ice cream - a bastardized confection he purchased with reckless abandon during my childhood.  Essentially the frozen dairy equivalent of fruitcake, maple nut should ideally be re-gifted during the holiday season and never consumed.  Yet eat it my father did, and in so doing caused irreparable damage to the petulla oblongata, or pet-selecting portion of the brain.

Regardless, I soon reached an age when I could apply the guillotine choke when parental objections were raised and immediately set about the procurement of a proper canine companion.  Dogs in the field have since become the element of upland hunting I enjoy the most.

It was great to be out on a sunny, Fall day.  Thanks to the pups a few wily phez found their way into the vests along with a limit of chukars.  It doesn't get much better than putting boot to cover with a 4-legged friend leading the way and a well-balanced over/under in hand.  11-11-11 worked out nicely.