Feel The Hunt

The alarm went off at 3 a.m., and for a moment I just laid there staring at the ceiling. I don’t think I really slept much the night before. When you know you’re about to fly across the country to hunt birds in a place you’ve only ever seen in photos, sleep doesn’t come easy.

A couple hours later I was walking through the local airport in Cincinnati, Ohio, half awake but completely wired with anticipation. My destination was Spokane, Washington, and eventually Hells Canyon. It felt like one of those trips you dream about for years and suddenly it’s actually happening.

The flight seemed to run on forever. Not because anything went wrong, but because my mind was already somewhere else. I kept picturing bird dogs locking up on point against big western landscapes. Coveys flushing. Shotguns popping off. I probably looked out the airplane window a hundred times wondering what kind of landscape was waiting for me.

When I landed in Spokane I grabbed my rental car and started driving toward a small Washington town where I was supposed to meet two guys named Jake and David. Up until then we had never met in person. We had talked plenty online, mostly about bird dogs, habitat, and upland hunting, but still—meeting people for the first time like that always feels a bit strange at first. But that mutual feeling didn’t last long. Hunters have a funny way of skipping all the awkward introductions. A handshake, a couple laughs, dogs running in the background… and it feels like you’ve known each other for years.

By the time I got there it was late and everyone was worn out. Instead of worrying about where I was going to sleep, I just leaned the seat back in the rental car and caught a few hours of sleep there. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but when you’re on a hunting trip that kind of stuff doesn’t really matter.

Morning came quick.

Coffee was poured, dogs were let out, and before long we were heading to our first hunting spot. It was a long roadside ditch and gully running between fields and patches of brush. Honestly, it didn’t look like anything special when we first pulled up. Then the dogs hit the ground. Within minutes birds started moving.

Pheasants cackled somewhere ahead of us, and coveys of quail burst from the cover in tight little explosions of wings. The dogs worked hard through the grass and brush, locking up on scent whenever they caught it. The birds were sharp though. They ran hard and flushed wild more than once.

Still, we saw plenty of birds and managed to have a really fun hunt. What stood out to me most was the amount of habitat. Washington isn’t always the first place people mention when talking about upland bird hunting, but standing there watching pheasants and quail move through that country made it clear there was a lot more going on than most people realize. For a young man from Ohio, it felt incredibly wild. The land just felt bigger. Freer.

But we couldn’t stay long. We still had miles to go before reaching Hells Canyon.

The drive there turned into one of the most memorable parts of the trip. At some point Jake found a route that took us way off the beaten path. Not long after, cell service completely disappeared. The only way we could talk between vehicles was with handheld radios.

Mile after mile went by without seeing another car. Or a house. Or really anything but trees and mountains.

When you go that long without seeing another person it starts to mess with your head a little bit. Not in a bad way. But… different. You realize how quiet the world can actually be when you get far enough away from it.

Eventually we met up with a group from Hells Canyon Covey Co., and from the moment we arrived they treated us like old friends. That’s one of the things I’ve always loved about the upland hunting community. It doesn’t take long for people to connect when they share the same passion.

The next morning, as morning light started creeping into the canyon, I finally got my first real look at the country around us. And I remember thinking one thing almost immediately. I should have been going to the gym.

The canyon walls were steep. Like… really steep. Covered in loose sharp rock, and brush that looked like it climbed forever. The first slope we tackled made my legs feel like they were on fire. And to make it more interesting, I wasn’t just carrying a shotgun. As a photographer, I had my camera with me the entire time.

Every climb, every hillside, every hike through that canyon meant carrying camera gear along with everything else. But I wouldn’t have left it behind at home for anything. Places like that deserve to be documented. Seeing a dog standing rock solid on point against the backdrop of Hells Canyon is something worth remembering. And there were plenty of moments worth capturing. Birds were everywhere.

Coveys flushed from rocky edges, singles exploded from brush pockets, and the canyon seemed to echo every time wings started beating. The dogs worked their hearts out climbing those hills right along with us.

At one point I remember stopping halfway up a slope trying to catch my breath. I turned to one of the guys and laughed and said something like, “I’ve never been in this much pain… but I’m somehow still enjoying every second of it.”

By the end of the hunt we had seen hundreds of birds and managed to put a few in the bag.

Another detail that made the whole experience even more memorable was how we actually got to our hunting spot. We took a boat down the Snake River to reach it. Flying down that river early in the morning with bird dogs at your feet and shotguns stacked beside you… that’s something I’ll never forget.

It just felt like the start of an adventure.

When we got back to camp later that evening everyone was pretty worn out. David looked over and asked me a question I didn’t expect. “Hey, you want some elk steak and noodles?” At first I remember thinking that sounded like kind of an odd meal combination. But after burning that many calories hiking around those canyon walls all day, I can honestly say it tasted incredible.

Probably the best meal I had eaten in a long time.

Later that night I had a moment to just sit quietly and take everything in. The canyon stretched out forever around us and the Snake River cut its way through the bottom far below. The sky felt huge compared to what I’m used to back home.

Being from Ohio, I had never experienced anything quite like that kind of isolation. No traffic. No phone notifications. No reminders about work waiting back home. Just birds, dogs, hillsides, and good people. And honestly, I didn’t want to leave.

But trips like that eventually come to an end whether you want them to or not. Flights were waiting and life back home was still moving forward. When I finally boarded the plane to head back to Ohio, my legs were sore, my camera was extremely full of photos, and my hunting gear still smelled like dust and chukar.

Looking out the window as the mountains slowly disappeared beneath the clouds, I remember thinking something pretty simple. I’ll be back here someday. But next time… I’ll probably spend a few months in the gym first. Because some places don’t just give you a hunt. They give you something deeper than that. They remind you what it feels like to be out in the world with nothing but dogs, friends, and wild birds.

They remind you to feel the hunt.