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January 17, 2024

Reflections from an Owyhee Canyons’ Chukar Camp

TRCP’s new Oregon Field Representative, Tristan Henry, looks back on a recent chukar hunt and forward to the work that must be done to safeguard this iconic landscape

While reminiscing about a recent chukar hunt in the Owyhee Canyons and my new role as the Oregon field representative for the Theodore Roosevelt Conservation Partnership, I was reminded of a quote penned by Walt Whitman almost 150 years ago:

“As to scenery, while I know the standard claim is that Yosemite, Niagara Falls, the Upper Yellowstone, and the like afford the greatest natural shows, I am not so sure but the prairies and plains, while less stunning at first sight, last longer, fill the esthetic sense fuller, precede all the rest, and make North America’s characteristic landscape.”

I’d have to agree with old Walt. I’ve been lucky to spend many days in the field chasing chukar, hunting mule deer, and throwing dry flies and streamers across the vast expanse of public lands that constitute southeast Oregon’s Owyhee country. It’s a rare treat to sip coffee with a bird dog by your side around a morning fire as you watch the first burst of sunlight rise above the Owyhee plateau. Out there, in sagebrush-covered solitude, it can be tempting to want to save the last best places for ourselves, but sharing it is something far more powerful.

A Community Camp

In late October of last year, I joined a group of hunters and photographers for a few days to camp, hunt, and capture images and stories about this remote and beautiful canyon country. A few in our group were lucky enough to experience the Owyhee for the first time: Sav Sankaran of the Orvis company and Durell Smith of the Sporting Life Notebook had loaded their truck more than 2000 miles away and drove 31 hours for their first shots at wild chukar with renowned outdoors photographer Brian Grossenbacher there to capture the moment. Conservation staff and local members of the Owyhee Sportsmen and their families rounded out our camp, and I can say with a great deal of confidence I would share a fire with all of them any day.

We camped in as stunning a desert campsite as I have ever seen. At the confluence of several streams, mallards circled, redband trout finned, and after a frigid night, we woke to cowboy coffee and the sound of chukar greeting the sun from the rimrocks. We discussed our strategy for the morning hunt with scalding bacon that hardened quickly in the morning cold. After the dogs were collared, we drove out of the canyon in the direction of those distant “chucking” partridge. Shutting the tailgate, I heeled my dog, beeped his collar, and began walking westward through sage and rimrock.

“It’s a rare treat to sip coffee with a bird dog by your side around a morning fire as you watch the first burst of sunlight rise above the Owyhee plateau.”

Sturgil, my 4-year-old wirehair, and I had shared some incredible days in the early weeks of Oregon’s upland season, and though this one started out a mess, we ended on a string of high notes. Birds were plentiful and I walked back to the truck with a heavy vest and one sequence etched proudly in my mind: A productive point, the approach, and a cloud of sixes finding a bird.

After a particularly wet spring brought much needed moisture to the thirsty high desert of the northern great basin, it was easy to see glimmers of that once-healthy rangeland. The weight in my vest was tangible proof of the productivity of the place, but thousands of acres of cheatgrass, medusahead, Russian thistle, and knapweed remind us just how much more needs to be done to protect the Owyhee.

Back at camp, we exchanged stories of the day over bourbon and under a star-filled sky. With a shared love for birds, bird dogs, and a thirst for community in wild places, we traversed our memories, each ridge and valley telling a story of survival and adaptation. As hunters, I suppose we’re used to navigating the thin margin between abundance and austerity, and we may be uniquely experienced in finding hope where others see desolation. There’s proof enough of that in the photos. These moments captured the stark magic of the Owyhee just about perfectly.

So few places in the U.S. offer such a complete escape from the hustle and bustle of daily life that one can truly lose oneself in nature. Fewer still offer all this splendor while also supporting grazing, hunting, fishing, and a myriad of other multiple-use purposes, but the Owyhee does. As a lifelong Oregonian and hunter, I’ve come to understand that safeguarding such places is not just an environmental imperative: it’s a moral one. It is our duty to ensure that future generations can experience the same sense of connection and awe that we find while walking in on a point.

Learn more about the Owyhee Sportsmen and how you can help protect the Owyhee Country HERE

And learn more about TRCP’s work in the Pacific Northwest HERE.

Photo credit: Brian Grossenbacher

One Response to “Reflections from an Owyhee Canyons’ Chukar Camp”

  1. Charles LeBold

    I have been enjoying this territory for 60+ yrs. and I could not agree more with the article regarding protections for this area. The ecosystem has been abused and subjected to less than stellar land management and now the recent stressors of rapid population growth and motorized recreation are presenting challenges never before encountered by our land managers. I hope that your group takes a leadership role in guiding the outdoor recreation industry and all users into taking serious aggressive action to address Rapid Climate Change. The land managers have the climate adaptation plans ready for implementation they just need help from our publics. The Owyhee area is unique in this era and we would be remiss in our moral obligations to not try to ensure that future generations have access to this national asset.

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Reflections from an Owyhee Canyons’ Chukar Camp

TRCP’s new Oregon Field Representative, Tristan Henry, looks back on a recent chukar hunt and forward to the work that must be done to safeguard this iconic landscape

While reminiscing about a recent chukar hunt in the Owyhee Canyons and my new role as the Oregon field representative for the Theodore Roosevelt Conservation Partnership, I was reminded of a quote penned by Walt Whitman almost 150 years ago:

“As to scenery, while I know the standard claim is that Yosemite, Niagara Falls, the Upper Yellowstone, and the like afford the greatest natural shows, I am not so sure but the prairies and plains, while less stunning at first sight, last longer, fill the esthetic sense fuller, precede all the rest, and make North America’s characteristic landscape.”

I’d have to agree with old Walt. I’ve been lucky to spend many days in the field chasing chukar, hunting mule deer, and throwing dry flies and streamers across the vast expanse of public lands that constitute southeast Oregon’s Owyhee country. It’s a rare treat to sip coffee with a bird dog by your side around a morning fire as you watch the first burst of sunlight rise above the Owyhee plateau. Out there, in sagebrush-covered solitude, it can be tempting to want to save the last best places for ourselves, but sharing it is something far more powerful.

A Community Camp

In late October of last year, I joined a group of hunters and photographers for a few days to camp, hunt, and capture images and stories about this remote and beautiful canyon country. A few in our group were lucky enough to experience the Owyhee for the first time: Sav Sankaran of the Orvis company and Durell Smith of the Sporting Life Notebook had loaded their truck more than 2000 miles away and drove 31 hours for their first shots at wild chukar with renowned outdoors photographer Brian Grossenbacher there to capture the moment. Conservation staff and local members of the Owyhee Sportsmen and their families rounded out our camp, and I can say with a great deal of confidence I would share a fire with all of them any day.

We camped in as stunning a desert campsite as I have ever seen. At the confluence of several streams, mallards circled, redband trout finned, and after a frigid night, we woke to cowboy coffee and the sound of chukar greeting the sun from the rimrocks. We discussed our strategy for the morning hunt with scalding bacon that hardened quickly in the morning cold. After the dogs were collared, we drove out of the canyon in the direction of those distant “chucking” partridge. Shutting the tailgate, I heeled my dog, beeped his collar, and began walking westward through sage and rimrock.

“It’s a rare treat to sip coffee with a bird dog by your side around a morning fire as you watch the first burst of sunlight rise above the Owyhee plateau.”

Sturgil, my 4-year-old wirehair, and I had shared some incredible days in the early weeks of Oregon’s upland season, and though this one started out a mess, we ended on a string of high notes. Birds were plentiful and I walked back to the truck with a heavy vest and one sequence etched proudly in my mind: A productive point, the approach, and a cloud of sixes finding a bird.

After a particularly wet spring brought much needed moisture to the thirsty high desert of the northern great basin, it was easy to see glimmers of that once-healthy rangeland. The weight in my vest was tangible proof of the productivity of the place, but thousands of acres of cheatgrass, medusahead, Russian thistle, and knapweed remind us just how much more needs to be done to protect the Owyhee.

Back at camp, we exchanged stories of the day over bourbon and under a star-filled sky. With a shared love for birds, bird dogs, and a thirst for community in wild places, we traversed our memories, each ridge and valley telling a story of survival and adaptation. As hunters, I suppose we’re used to navigating the thin margin between abundance and austerity, and we may be uniquely experienced in finding hope where others see desolation. There’s proof enough of that in the photos. These moments captured the stark magic of the Owyhee just about perfectly.

So few places in the U.S. offer such a complete escape from the hustle and bustle of daily life that one can truly lose oneself in nature. Fewer still offer all this splendor while also supporting grazing, hunting, fishing, and a myriad of other multiple-use purposes, but the Owyhee does. As a lifelong Oregonian and hunter, I’ve come to understand that safeguarding such places is not just an environmental imperative: it’s a moral one. It is our duty to ensure that future generations can experience the same sense of connection and awe that we find while walking in on a point.

Learn more about the Owyhee Sportsmen and how you can help protect the Owyhee Country HERE

And learn more about TRCP’s work in the Pacific Northwest HERE.

Photo credit: Brian Grossenbacher

January 16, 2024

Hunting in the Everglades? Yes, That’s a Thing

Richard Martinez shared with TRCP how South Florida hunting offers a chance for backcountry adventure in a subtropical setting – without the need for a passport


When you think of the Everglades, you probably think of water.

Of airboats and alligators, miles of submerged sawgrass and cypress domes. Of swamps filled with mosquitos and invasive pythons. If you’re a saltwater angler, your mind might also wander to the amazing tarpon, snapper, snook, and myriad marine fish that benefit from Everglades conservation efforts.

What may not come to mind is dry land – and the hunting opportunities those thousands of acres provide.

“It’s more than just bugs and swamps and reptiles down here,” says Richard Martinez, a lifelong outdoor enthusiast and Gladesman. “Hunting the Everglades uplands is like nothing else in the country.”

South Florida is a well-known destination for Osceola turkey hunts. But Martinez, a diehard turkey hunter who’s been a guest on MeatEater and The Hunting Public podcast, also seeks public-land deer, wild hog, ducks, and small game. This is largely due to a network of not only wetlands and waterways but also a mosaic of upland pine islands and hardwood hammocks that game species rely on for bedding, foraging, and nesting.

“In other parts of the country, you typically have to travel hundreds or thousands of feet in elevation to experience changes in habitat types, but here the ecology can change within a few inches or feet,” says Martinez.

“I find it very humbling. It’s not a very human-friendly place.”

Click here to support critical Everglades habitat protection

A Backcountry Hunters & Anglers volunteer since 2018, Martinez currently serves on the Florida chapter’s board as chair. He helps coordinate initiatives and outreach across the state, and advocates on behalf of local sportsmen and sportswomen on habitat and access issues affecting South Florida. A strong hunting community exists in South Florida, including conservation associations and airboat and duck hunting clubs.

The Everglades are the largest subtropical wilderness in the country. And for Martinez the biggest draw of hunting in the Everglades is exploring their sheer wildness.

“I find it very humbling,” he says. “It’s not a very human-friendly place. I often feel like everything around me is telling me to go home when I’m there.”

Foreboding as it is, Everglades hunting means not just opportunities for Osceolas, migratory waterfowl, and non-migratory mottled ducks and black-bellied whistlers that are hard to find anywhere else, but an abundance of wildlife in a place that can test even the most seasoned outdoorsperson.

Martinez recalls one close encounter with a Florida panther (he’s had several confrontations with the big cats) while turkey hunting. He was on foot, traversing a “buggy trail” – Everglades parlance for offroad vehicle trails made for the region’s raised 4WD vehicles. “I came around a trail and was within 10 yards of a full-grown male panther. He bolted, but I nearly crapped my pants,” he laughs. “You don’t realize how big they are until you see them in real life.”

Like most other hunters and anglers, Martinez supports Everglades conservation efforts, but wants to make sure that hunters’ voices – in addition to the voices of anglers and conservationists – are being heard, whether looking at panther protections or determining conservation pathways to undo decades of damage from drainage canals and levees.

“Basically, half the Everglades are gone. The same amount of water remains, even though the land capable of holding onto that water is greatly diminished,” he says.

The problem is the need to put those water inputs somewhere for the land to reabsorb and filter out pollutants before they reach the ocean. Martinez says an overlooked result of human-manipulated water levels is negative impacts on hunting and habitat. “There’s a lot of push to put more water into certain interior areas that traditionally don’t hold as much water,” he says. “Those plant communities are now changing and not supporting game species like deer and turkey as well.”

Habitats found in slightly higher uplands which require little to no long-term inundation can be affected by water storage and release decisions that provide beneficial water treatment but keep plant communities submerged for extended periods. Martinez’s hunting community, alongside the Theodore Roosevelt Conservation Partnership and various conservation groups tackling the challenge of Everglades restoration, recognizes the complexities of trying to undo decades of destruction and neglect.

“We shouldn’t call it Everglades restoration. It’s really Everglades reinvention. And who gets to decide how we do this?”

Thanks to the advocacy of hunters, anglers, and conservationists, the Everglades remain a destination location for the adventure-seeking archer or fowler. But out-of-staters oft come unprepared, deceived by heavily edited online videos of the easiest, most successful hunts.

Martinez offers a few tips for those who want to plan an Everglades expedition. The first is to not bite off more than you can chew; to realize how hot and inaccessible the southernmost tip of the nation can be.

“You’re gonna have a real hard time adapting to bow season in August in South Florida,” he says. First-timers should consider a late-winter or spring hunt, perhaps for hogs or turkeys in March, when the weather is cooler and water levels have receded. Or go for mid-winter snipe, which Martinez says are “probably wing shooting’s best kept secret” in the Everglades. If you only have two or three field days to spare, and plan to be on public land, it’s also probably best to seek a local guide. 

Above all, if you head down to the Glades be sure to temper your expectations. “Don’t come to check a box and easily find success,” Martinez says. “Just come down for the experience.”

(Note: A version of this story also appeared in the Winter 2024 issue of Backcountry Journal.)

Click here to support Everglades habitat conservation efforts by insisting that lawmakers continue to provide funding for critical infrastructure work.

Also check out our November 2023 blog on Ryan Nitz hunting barefoot in the Everglades.

Photo credits: All images courtesy of Richard Martinez

January 11, 2024

Striped Bass Q&A: Author Peter Kaminsky

The book author, New York Times columnist, and renowned saltwater fly fisherman talked to TRCP about his love for chasing stripers and the current state of the fishery

Striped bass aficionado Peter Kaminsky wrote the Outdoors column for the New York Times for 35 years. He’s also been a contributing editor to Field & Stream, Sports Afield, and Outdoor Life. A long-time flyfisher, his books include the well-known The Moon Pulled Up An Acre of Bass and The Catch of a Lifetime: Moments of Flyfishing Glory, released in 2023, which is a collection of original flyfishing essays by talented writers asked to describe their greatest angling memory. Based in Brooklyn, N.Y., he spent decades fishing Montauk’s shores and New York City waters.

Recently, he talked to TRCP about striped bass.

Photo Credit: James Levison

TRCP: Flyfishing for striped bass is one of your passions. What’s special about these fish in particular?

Peter: One of the things that was always eye opening about striped bass was there was excellent fishing right where I live in New York City. When you dial into a blitz, it brings out the hunting instinct that we are all born with. You feel as madly wild as the gulls and gannets.

TRCP: What’s one of your most memorable experiences fishing for stripers?

Peter: If we are fortunate, between Thanksgiving and the 10th or 11th of December, if we haven’t had a big Nor’easter and a hurricane then migration patterns for baitfish [on Long Island] are inshore and the fishing can be great, if it isn’t too freezing cold. This has happened only two or three times over the last 30 years. There was one year that [striper fishing legend] Paul Dixon called and said, “If you’re ever going to come, come now.” Bait was pouring out of a cut in Southampton and there were big bass. One day we just caught big fish, forty inch plus, until we didn’t want to catch anymore.

TRCP: How has fishing for stripers changed over the years?

Peter: Well, like all species, you’ll have upticks and downturns. I have seen it go from terrible in the ‘80s to great in the ‘90s, then a sort of a roller coaster up and down since. There is an element of that simply being the way nature is. But at the same time, the degrading of the Chesapeake fishery—the major nursery for striped bass—and the unrealistically generous catch limits for recreational fishing have hurt the fishery.

Photo Credit: Richard Franklin

TRCP: Recent stock projections for Atlantic striped bass were worse than expected, which could lead to tighter fishing regulations. Is it because anglers are still getting into nice fish that they can’t believe populations are declining?

Peter: The truth is, recruitment in recent year classes is doing quite poorly. When you have really good seasons like this past one, with big fish, you tend to think it’s going to be that way forever. But if we don’t put realistic limits on keeping fish, and nothing is done to preserve traditional spawning and nursing areas for striped bass, you’re deluding yourself if you think this sort of plentiful angling will continue.

TRCP: Do you think more fishing regulation is necessary for striped bass, or more regulation of associated fisheries, such as the menhaden reduction fishery in the Chesapeake Bay—which accounts for 70 to 90 percent of the Atlantic striped bass stock?

Peter: Well, I don’t think we should be netting millions of menhaden for cat food, that’s for sure.  Just as clearly, we need to mount a broad-ranging effort at recovery of Chesapeake Bay and other estuaries along the East Coast. From what I understand, it’s the recreational fishery, not the commercial fishery, that’s affecting striped bass numbers the most. This includes high mortality of fish that are caught and held out of the water too long or improperly released. I think the “Keep Fish Wet” movement is a pretty good idea.

TRCP: Stripers are targeted both because of the fight they offer and because they make great table fare. Should harvest-minded anglers currently be keeping that slot-size fish, although legal, in light of the current striper situation?

Peter: For years, I’ve always kept a striper a year as sort of a sacramental meal, but I’m not sure I will do that anymore. Or I will at least put that sacrament on hold until the bass are out of danger. They are delicious, but catching them is even more of a pleasure. You can’t have your bass and eat them too, I guess.

TRCP: Anglers increasingly seem to pursue striped bass for the chance to post their prize photo to social media. Do you post pictures of the fish you land?

Peter: In the last year, I think I took a picture of one fish. And afterward I thought, Man, I shouldn’t have done that. You get caught up in the moment. I know how it feels, but holding up fish for photos is a habit people need to break, particularly for catch-and-release anglers. We live in a selfie culture that makes it hard not to take that grip and grin. I get it. But does the world really need another picture of you and a fish? You’ve got the memory and I guarantee it’s better than any picture.

Photo Credit: James Manning

TRCP: What is your advice to other recreational anglers who want to ensure striped bass are around for future generations?

Peter: In 1983, I made a film with Jack Hemingway [Ernest Hemingway’s eldest son]. Speaking from his experience as Idaho’s fish and game commissioner, I have always remembered him saying, “I’m not saying killing fish is immoral, but if you want to preserve the fishery, then you need to value it more than the next meal. That’s the only way it’s going to work.” My best advice right now is that all striped bass belong back in the water.

Click here to read more about proposed striped bass management changes.

Photo Credit: Russell Kaye

December 22, 2023

Hunters & Anglers Turn Out in Large Numbers to Support the Brooks Range

The hunt-fish community delivered nearly 8,000 comments urging the BLM to deny the Ambler Road permit

Today, Hunters & Anglers for the Brooks Range celebrated a successful conclusion to the Bureau of Land Management’s 2023 comment period concerning the proposed Ambler Industrial Road in Alaska’s Brooks Range.

Supported by 40 leading outdoor businesses, brands, and organizations, the coalition helped conservation-minded hunters and anglers deliver nearly 8,000 comments urging the BLM to deny the road’s permit and highlighted the invaluable fly-in and float hunting and fishing qualities of the Brooks Range.

“Hunters, anglers, and conservationists stepped up for important habitat and their outdoor traditions during this comment period,” said Jen Leahy, Alaska program manager for the Theodore Roosevelt Conservation Partnership. “The BLM has heard from our community and the message couldn’t be clearer: the risks for the proposed Ambler Road are significant and the project permit should be denied so future generations of hunters and anglers can know America’s most wild and remote hunting and fishing grounds.”

Known as the Ambler Road, the proposed private industrial corridor would partially bisect the home range of the Western Arctic Caribou Herd, one of Alaska’s largest remaining herds.

The 211-mile industrial corridor would cross 11 major rivers and require nearly 3,000 culverts, degrading habitat and potentially impeding fish passage for species such as Arctic grayling and sheefish.

“We are fortunate to have partners across the outdoor space who believe in maintaining quality places to hunt and fish,” said Joel Webster, TRCP’s VP of Western conservation. “We appreciate that so many leading hunting and fishing brands, Alaska-based small businesses, and other conservation partners understand the urgency of this issue and the need to convince the BLM to revoke the permit for this risky project.”

The BLM is expected to issue a final Supplemental Environmental Impact Statement during the first quarter of 2024, with a final permitting decision to follow in the second quarter of 2024.

“Although the comment period has concluded, Hunters & Anglers for the Brooks Range will continue to elevate the voices of the hunt-fish community until the final decision is made,” continued Leahy. The group’s online petition opposing the Ambler Road permit can be found HERE.

For more information and to become involved with Hunters & Anglers for the Brooks Range, please contact Jen Leahy at jleahy@trcp.org.

Photo Credit: Glen Eberle

HOW YOU CAN HELP

CHEERS TO CONSERVATION

Theodore Roosevelt’s experiences hunting and fishing certainly fueled his passion for conservation, but it seems that a passion for coffee may have powered his mornings. In fact, Roosevelt’s son once said that his father’s coffee cup was “more in the nature of a bathtub.” TRCP has partnered with Afuera Coffee Co. to bring together his two loves: a strong morning brew and a dedication to conservation. With your purchase, you’ll not only enjoy waking up to the rich aroma of this bolder roast—you’ll be supporting the important work of preserving hunting and fishing opportunities for all.

$4 from each bag is donated to the TRCP, to help continue their efforts of safeguarding critical habitats, productive hunting grounds, and favorite fishing holes for future generations.

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