Rudy's training secret (in videos)

For awhile I've been trying to get Rudy to go a little further in his training than just retrieving, but he's had a rough time. I originally thought he just wasn't smart enough, and at times I've mentally kicked myself for not buying a real hunting dog, (truth is I didn't know how much I'd come to love dog training and bird hunting back when the wife and I picked a pet-store pup). I've also thought it must be me. Having never trained any dog before I was convinced that my lack of skill was manifesting itself in my dog.

Luckily I've found the secret. Birds. That's right. The secret is birds. Rudy gets bored with bumpers and balls, but his desire for birds never ends.

At a park near our house the doves feed on the ground everyday so Rudy and I often do our training there. Here's a video of him chasing a bunch up and retrieving for me. Sorry you can't see the doves very well. There was about 15 of them.


I throw doves which I shot last month (now frozen) instead of bumpers or his tennis ball and it has made all the difference. He's been able to learn how to do blind retrieves, in which he takes direction from my pointing hand because he didn't see where the bird fell, as seen here:


Often when sent on a blind retrieve his direction needs to be corrected, so I've tried to teach him to take direction from me. Because I use birds he cares enough to learn that when I blow the whistle he must sit, look at me and go left, right, farther, or closer depending on my what he sees my arms do. He has picked it up very quickly:




I've also been able to teach him that he needs to finish one retrieve before he can go get the next. That way if I shoot a bird while he is on his way back he won't drop the one he has for the one just hit. You can see here that he looks back and marks the fall, but then continues his fetch.


And finally a combination of direction and distraction.


What a good little dog. He'll never win any awards for speed. In fact he still thinks this is all just for fun, (which I guess it is). But even if he never fully gets it, I'm impressed. He is, after all, an unregistered pet-store pup taken from his litter at three weeks of age and considered not worth the effort to doc his tail to meet breed standards. Not exactly from a royal lineage. There might even be a little mutt in him, but like I said...I'm impressed.

A rub, a squirrel, and a Bambi bath.

There's no real theme for this post, just a few random videos from the Nebraska woods where I hunt.



Yes those are green leaves and green grass in the middle of October; a strange sight for a Utah boy. October for me usually means the trees are bare and the color green has long since gone into hibernation. The canal is the same that Rudy almost drowned in, just a mile or two upstream. At the end of the video you see a small tree with the bark rubbed off. Male whitetail bucks do that for the same reason male dogs lift their legs; like a "No Trespassing" sign to let others know that this property has been claimed by a big buck. I appreciate him letting me know he's around. Makes it easier to decide where to place my treestand.




Right after I took this he came up the back side of my tree and didn't see me until he was almost within arm's reach. I'm sure his little adrenaline glands erupted upon seeing, of all things, a big ugly human perched in his tree, staring him in the face. The poor little guy basically flew through the branches trying to get far enough away to feel safe. He then angrily chewed me out for the next twenty minutes. We have squirrels like this all over our front yard as well. Rudy loves chasing them whenever he can.

And finally...a video that proves Bambi's mom was never actually shot. Here she is giving Bambi a spit bath near my treestand.


Oh how cute. Right after this I put the camera down and shot her.

Just kidding, of course! I let them feed on through. It's fun watching nature when it doesn't know you're watching. At the same time it feels weird like I'm some kind of peeping Tom. That squirrel sure treated me like one.

Global Positioning System

I turned twenty nine last Thursday and my wonderful wife bought me a GPS for my birthday.


I can't believe how I ever hunted or fished without one. For example, two days ago I found myself lost in a blanket of fog while driving to my hunting grounds. All of Nebraska looks the same, especially under heavy fog before sunrise, and I would have missed my turn off the highway onto the dirt road if not for the beep of the GPS warning me I was near. Again it saved me while walking into my treestand. If not for my GPS I would never have found my tree.

I took it with me to a corn maze and it saved us. Whenever we came to a fork in the maze I was able to say with certainty, "We've been right, let's go left," because the GPS showed it.

I have also spent some time using it for geocaching with a friend of mine here in Lincoln. The last thing I need is another hobby, but I could definitely see myself getting more into it. Rudy and I were out the other day looking for a geocache (and a place to hunt pheasants) when Rudy suddenly stopped, lifted his nose into the air and started acting very confused. He looked up at me from the tall grass with such fear in his eyes, so I said aloud, "What's wrong?" At the sound of my voice a coyote, only fifteen yards from where my pup stood, sprung from his hiding place in the grass and was gone.


I figure the coyote saw something coming through the grass (which is much taller than my little dog) and thought it might be his next meal. He couldn't see me because I was twenty yards behind a brush pile. I wish I had brought my gun.

Whether for hunting, corn mazes, or geocaching, I plan on never going without a GPS again.

Feels like I'm on the Outdoor Channel

A few days ago I was out again hunting birds with the dog when I found this.

I like knowing there are big bucks around. Rudy and I crept down the trail into the trees a bit, found a wonderful little grove, spooked two deer out of it, and decided it would be perfect for a treestand. The next week I put one up. In the picture it is folded up and pad-locked to the tree because unfortunately there are people out there who still believe in the phrase: "finders, keepers; losers, weepers."

I perched myself in it for a few hours this morning and thoroughly enjoyed my time there. Just after sunrise a buck, (possibly the one that made that track), snuck through the trees about 65 yards from me. In Utah-terrain that means a possible shot, if you've practiced up; but in Nebraska-terrain that means you can barely see him through all the grass and trees. Too thick for a photo but he was about this big:


I love hunting. Especially this time of year. A post or two ago I wrote about the hints of Fall in the air, football, and changing leaves. Well it's taken forever here in Nebraska but I finally saw some colored leaves today, and it was actually a little cold. I brought some of Courtney's favorite hot Halloween drink (see her blog) in a thermos, and as I was screwing the lid back on I saw this:


They were in a much less vegetated area 45 yards away, and I suppose I could have launched an arrow, but I hate wounding animals. Where I haven't practiced much at all this year I figure I better not take low-percentage shots. Especially at a doe on the first morning of a three month hunt. I may shoot a doe eventually, and hopefully a buck too, but not today. Ten minutes later I had two more does walk within five paces from the trunk of my tree. Way cool. It still blows my mind that I'm hunting whitetails in Nebraska...like all the shows I used to watch on the Outdoor Channel. It's much better in real life than on TV.

Here's a satellite photo of the place. My tracks and treestand are in red. Deer trails are in yellow. Click the pic for a zoomed in view. The deer feed in the corn and soy fields early in the morning and walk under my stand on their way to take a nap.













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My Little Canine Friend

Last night Rudy coerced me into taking him out for doves again. (Truth be told he didn't have to twist my arm too hard.) A post or two ago I mentioned that upon finding downed birds he chewed them up instead of bringing them to me. I'm happy to report that after endless reminders that retrieving is his only choice, he's decided to change his ways. In fact, the pup has proved himself quite the gun dog lately. He didn't hesitate fetching these three birds right to my hand, but when photo time came he made me hold them, and then decided he was too cool to even look at the camera.


Sorry it's a little blurry. It was actually a lot darker than it looks. We explored a new piece of land last night and right before dark we found the jackpot, - a small pond beneath some old cottonwoods near a bunch of dead trees filled with thirsty doves. One flew overhead and fell at the shotgun blast, which spooked the whole flock. Rudy ran to, picked up, and brought back the bird and was off looking for more before I could even get out a "good boy." Sometimes he can be so cocky.

We walked over and placed a few decoys in the dead pines where the bunch of them had just been perched and took up a nearby hiding place.


Within ten minutes I had missed three birds coming into our little ambush. Rudy searched hard for each one until I called him off, which made me feel bad so I threw a dummy out into the tall grass and sent him for a retrieve. He got to where it was lying, smelled it, looked at me with disgust, and then kept looking for a real bird. A battle of egos ensued about who was going to pick it up; the whole scene being spectated by at least four more doves soaring overhead. We resolved our differences (meaning I gave in) just in time to pick up the gun and shoot two more. Rudy had some struggle finding these two, but eventually came up successful. I wouldn't have found them without his nose, and I think he knows that. He just sat and soaked up the much deserved praise.

On the way back to the car he had an experience which quickly ended the "who needs you" attitude that he had given me all night. Because the grass was taller than him, he didn't see the edge of a little cliff until it was too late. Down he fell and plunged into the stale water in the old canal. He tried to come up for air but his head was blocked by the blanket of fallen branches and leaves floating on the surface above him. The poor dog frantically began searching for a way through, and because of the way the water was covered, he might not have found it in time if I hadn't dropped the gun and hopped down the little cliff myself. I anxiously pulled up the floating mess of entwined leaves and branches just enough that he could breathe and I could call to him. Wide-eyed and gasping, he dog-paddled over and put his front paws on what little shore there was. With his tail between shaking legs he just stared at me till I could get into position to pull him up by his collar to dry land.

Late that night Courtney captured a picture of me and the little "tough guy" who, as you can tell, had the "I-don't-need-you" attitude scared right out of him.

Whale Tails

Just a quick post about my...well I guess he's actually my ex-step-brother-in-law, but he's a closer friend than how that makes it sound. He informed me earlier in the year that he had drawn the coveted Utah big bull tag. I got an email from him last night with these pictures. The bull scores 340 and I love the huge whale-tail split in his fifths and sixths points. Nice job Josh. I'm jealous.

Chiggerless Utah

I took Rudy dove hunting a couple times last week and discovered the second thing about living in Nebraska that I hate (the first being the humidity):



It's called a chigger. They are way smaller than you'd ever guess considering the size of wound they inflict. Most websites say it takes a magnifying glass to see them crawling on your skin, and they bite hard, leaving a welt larger than a mosquito bite with an itch that not even a wire brush on a Dremel tool can satisfy. They don't carry any known diseases, thankfully, because Rudy and I got eaten alive this week. Deet and I are going to get a lot closer this hunting season.



But we had a load of fun. I stuck some decoys in a dead tree and pulled up a shady stump nearby. Within ten minutes I had shot two doves, but Rudy, having never retrieved a bird that he didn't first see me throw, assumed that these downed birds were his find, and therefore his to chew apart. Several more doves flew within shooting range unharmed because Rudy was receiving lessons in the art of being a good gundog. He did very well for his first time.

Yesterday we went hunting again and I can't believe how excited he got. As soon as we pulled onto the dirt road leading to the small reservoir where we hunted on Wednesday, something clicked on in his little dog memory and he began jumping over the console from front seat to back, whipping my shoulders with his vibrating tail. He barked at me when I told him to sit and stay in the back, but reluctantly he complied. He is the reason I'm hunting doves this year.

The Fall

A fellow student of mine mentioned in class today how nice it is to feel the air beginning to cool, to which the girl next to her replied, "I hate the Fall. Everything's dying, and summer is ending, and all you have to look forward to is Winter. It's depressing."

I could not disagree more.

This time of year every year something changes in me, and it's usually sparked by a random, seemingly insignificant event. A few years ago I left the university bookstore feeling molested, as usual, by being forced to spend my limited funds on ridiculously over-priced textbooks. I came around the edge of the building and spotted a few red leaves amongst the scrub oak thickets atop mountains overlooking the valley, which literally (meaning in real actuality) sent chills down my spine.

I remember last year taking Rudy for an after-dark walk and filling my lungs with refreshingly cool air that was saturated with that familiar September scent of sun-scorched earth and sagebrush. Yeah it sounds cheesy, but it was like breathing in pure energy for my soul.

I experienced it again last week when the cold rain came through Lincoln and I could feel the Fall in the air. Images of backyard barbeques, college football stadium lights, campfires smoldering, and antlers bouncing toward me through the aspens came into my mind. I love the fall. It's arrival somehow awakens passion in me and anxious anticipation for life. I got it really bad this year for some reason (bad enough to post about it). I took Rudy dove hunting last night (pictures are forthcoming) and surprised myself. I haven't been this excited for a dove hunt since I was 16.

I have no idea how someone can use adjectives like dying, ending, and depressing to describe the season. They've obviously never seen what I've seen or felt what I've felt.

Misses

If you've never missed then either you're lying or you haven't spent very much time hunting. I've missed plenty of animals, and what's interesting is that I remember the times I missed just as well as the times I didn't.

The first elk I ever missed was the first elk I ever shot at. She was only thirty five yards away, but I was nervous-shaking so bad she could have been five yards away and I'd have still sent the arrow low. A whole herd came in on the trail you can see to the right of my fletchings. In my haste I guessed my twenty-yard pin onto her chest and let it fly, but afterward paced off thirty five yards from where I sat to the tree.


The first time I ever missed with my 12 gauge (in fact the first time I ever shot it) was the morning after I bought it, which was also the opening morning of pheasant season. I had convinced my dad to let me have my Christmas gift early because my little single-shot 20 gauge I was used to wasn't enough gun for pheasants. The dogs flushed two roosters twenty yards in front of us and I pulled the trigger, which slammed the gun into my teenage shoulder and filled the air with lead. It wasn't until the bird landed unharmed in a nearby field that I realized I could and should have pumped the gun and shot again.

I can't number how many broadheads I've left in trees. I actually climbed this one and dug the broadhead out after missing a large 4-point. He smelled me at the last moment and spooked just as I released the string. The blades cut through his breath and struck the tree 80 yards down the mountain. I don't know what came over me after that. I guess I was just frustrated and digging into a tree was my way of "sticking it to the man"...well..."to the deer".


Once we brought our girlfriends on the bowhunt with us. We were dumb then. On one morning Jake and Brooke went up into a patch of Aspens and had a buck stand broadside at 19 yards away. He missed, which was not at all like him at that distance, and he couldn't come up with any good excuse until Brooke turned out one of her now famous quotes: "Jake, I think you missed because I was praying that you would." He didn't speak to her for awhile. Later when a buck walked into where my girlfriend and I sat, I let her take the shot. I think she missed on purpose because her arrow never reached half the distance between us and the deer before sticking into the ground. Maybe there's a connection between both meanings of the word "misses".

The easiest shot I've ever missed was at a rabbit with a .22 pistol at six yards, (don't laugh).

The biggest deer I ever missed was described in an earlier post about the hardest hunt I've ever been on.

The miss I regret the most was when I missed the target and glanced the arrow up the hill, through the trees, and into the neighbor's deck. Thank goodness they weren't out having a family barbecue right then.

The worst miss I've ever seen was when my girlfriend's dad blasted a deer through both of its hind quarters at twenty yards away, while seated in the passenger's seat of my truck, rifle resting out the window! If he hit it, then why does this count as a miss? Because the deer he hit was actually the doe next to the buck he was shooting at!? It was one of those times when I was embarrassed and I wasn't even shooting the gun.

The most unbelievable miss I've ever had lead to this picture:

We were heading off the mountain for home when we rounded a corner and spotted this little last-chance buck. It was a longer shot than I would have taken, especially at such a tiny deer, but a friend we were hunting with said he needed the meat and he'd tag it, and he talked me into it. During the time from when I released the string to when my arrow hit the dirt 65 yards out, the buck had turned to face away from us, which allowed the arrow to slip right between his hind legs. There was no blood on the arrow, in fact it never actually went in him, so that's why I'm technically counting it as a miss; yet 100 yards uphill we found him dead near a pine tree. How you ask? I'll spare you the unpleasant details and just say I didn't have to use a knife to cut him open when I went to field dress him. One blade of my broadhead did that part of the job for me.

I took this video 60 seconds before I missed this buck in Idaho two years ago. I had patiently watched these bucks all summer on private property, and knew their patterns, so I was not buck-fever-ing at all. 45 yards away broadside. I have no excuses. The truth is I just sucked it up because I didn't practice enough that year.

I don't mind missing. If we never missed it wouldn't be hunting, it would just be killing. The fact that you're never guaranteed is what makes the hits that much sweeter. Whether I end up with my game on the grill or not, the challenge of it is what makes both hits and misses stick in my mind to be told and retold at many campfires to come.

Nebraska Doe, Utah Buck, and "I shoot professionally"

Well, we made it to NE after spending a new gun's worth in gasoline alone, but I like it here a lot. We've moved in and school is starting next week. You can see the house and read up on all that on Courtney's blog.

It's opening day of hunting season in Utah today and all my friends are up in the hills without me. Instead, I'm pity partying while staining my porch in the hot, saturated air of Lancaster county. JD shot his first bow-kill deer this morning at only eight yards away just after sunrise.


I'm proud of him. He is one of those guys that when he says something, that's how it is. No exaggerations. No fish stories. Often after meeting fellow outdoor-lovers, they proceed to entertain me with stories of their special access to private land with "monster" deer, or that they teach fly tying classes and compete professionally in archery competitions. Then, when you get to know them better you realize that the fly tying lessons they teach are actually to their younger brothers once every other month, and that they shot once in a competition where Dave Cousins attended, and their private land access belongs to their nephew's dog's first owner's brother who said to stop by anytime he's in Mexico.

After awhile you tend to believe only half of what people say, but not JD. He said he has a dog that is trained to follow his hand signals to find downed birds, and sure enough, I've seen Lily follow his directions into the most ridiculously thick of places and come up with a bird in mouth. When we found this buck earlier in the year he said he was going to shoot it when hunting season opened, and he did. It's refreshingly nice. Here's the video of us scouting.

I saw my first Nebraska whitetail on a drive the other day. It's a blurry picture but I was thrilled. I can't remember the last time I got so excited about seeing a boring old doe.


Hopefully soon I'll have pics of my own to post of me in camouflage with a little buck and my bow in hand. But my hunt doesn't start for another month, so till then I'll probably keep making posts about pics I have from the good old days.

Box Canyon of the Henry's Fork

Every year around Memorial Day, certain large aquatic bugs leave the sunken boulders they have called home and crawl toward the shore of my favorite river, -the Henry’s Fork of the Snake in Idaho. Once out of the water the nymphs cling to a nearby rock or branch, and from inside their armored shells they emerge as Salmon Flies:

For a trout, the start of this hatch means the start of a thanksgiving feast. For a week or so, Salmon Flies hover over the water to mate and then fall onto the river to lay their eggs. This hearty, easy meal entices the usually bottom-feeding big fish to come to the water's surface; and such fish are also the reason I've come to the water’s surface for the last three years in a row.

Last year plans with friends fell through, and my ever-patient wife decided she'd rather go with me than have me go alone, so off we went. There is no better way for her to tell me she loves me than to put up with pouring rains while trying to read...

...hail storms putting holes in the tent...

...and grizzly bears...

...all so that I can hook into a few six-pound rainbows. The trout in Box Canyon are not only fat, they're smart, and they use the river's swift current to their advantage. On more than one drive home I've found myself favoring my left arm for the steering wheel because of the soreness in the other "fish-fighting" arm.

On every trip so far I've been able to watch Osprey bring fish to their nest overlooking the canyon.

Here I am casting, wondering if Courtney has taken the picture yet. Turns out she was taking a video.

You can't see this in Nebraska!

My conversion to trail cameras

My buddy Jake and I went camping this weekend. It was my last alpine adventure before my wife and I move to flat, corn-covered, elk-less Nebraska in a few days. We hiked up and down canyons, stayed up till 3 AM telling stories around the campfire, and caught several trout on our fly rods, - all in our favorite little elk-hunting hole in Utah. He was lucky enough to draw a tag to hunt a big bull elk this year, so we spent most of our time looking for one. I've hunted elk for years, but this year I found something that will change the way I hunt from now on.

This is it. It's a camera that you leave in the woods, tied to a tree, which takes pictures of animals as they walk by its motion-sensor trigger. Jake put two of them up near a water hole and a salt lick a couple of weeks ago, so this weekend we hiked in and checked the pictures.

This bull came in for some salt the morning after he put his camera in the tree. If you look close you can see another bull behind him.


A little buck deer stopped by a few days later. He's a 2x4, though the picture doesn't show his back left fork.


In one picture we counted 12 different cows and calves.


Trail cameras are also equipped with a flash so animals coming in after dark, like this little buck, can't escape the gaze of its ever-ready lens.


Here are a few good bulls posing for the cameras.


This bull (below) is probably the biggest from this week's catch. For those who know about scoring elk, what do you think he scores? Write me a comment and let me know.

The hardest hunt that I’ve ever been on.

I was talking the other day with a friend of mine from Nebraska about hunting Mule Deer as compared to the farm-grown Whitetail that he's used to. He said he’s heard that hunting “those” deer (Mulies) is easy. “You just drive right up to ‘em,” he said. “Anybody can do it.”

Maybe a doe in Canada with a rifle, but not where I come from. This post is for him.

A few years ago I decided I was tired of only shooting little bucks. I was ready to shoot a “trophy” at all costs, so I accepted an offer by my friend Jake to go with him up the back side of Nebo Mountain, one of the tallest in Utah at 11,928 feet. We loaded our gear in packs, strapped on our bows, and headed for the base of the mountain. On our way up the canyon we met a friend coming down whose grandfather had just shot a bull elk.

We gratefully helped him trail the bull, as well as cut and load the meat, and enjoyed the experience; however, as a result, we ended up not starting our five mile hike until midnight. And a gruesome five miles it was across the steep face of Nebo by headlamp and moonlight. At 2:30 AM we reached the only somewhat level piece of ground on which to set up a small tent, which we did, and then fell asleep.

Early that next morning we arose and began to hike again, only this time straight up hill. The blue line in this picture is the path we took. (You may have to click on the picture to see a larger version that shows the path more clearly).

At the top of the blue line we sat down and scanned the mountainside with our binoculars, looking for deer. We found one. A very large one, in fact, feeding his way toward his bedding ground (yellow line, right to left). The sight of such a big buck made my body ache less and the hill seem much less steep. He had four points on one side with deep forks and thick tines, and the other side was identical except for a three inch cheater point sticking straight out from his back tine. Including the fifth point he was around 27 inches wide. Truly a trophy for me.

We watched as he and the two smaller bucks that were with him bedded down in the rocks. I picked a route up the mountain (seen in red), made a few mental notes, and started uphill. My plan was to sneak around and up over the rocks; hopefully getting a shot from above.

After three hours of hiking uphill at just under 12,000 feet, gasping for breath all the while, I finally reached a spot above the bucks. Here’s another angle:


I slowly crept down the steep rocky mountain face until I could just see his antlers from my crouched position. I wanted to get another ten yards closer, then I’d stand up straight, draw my bow, and shoot him from 30 yards away. Or so I planned. I patiently began the slowest ten yards of my life, knowing that if I kicked a rock down all my hours and energy would be wasted. After only five yards I felt a breeze at my back. It was now or never. I knew that in a matter of seconds the deer would smell my sweat soaked body and be gone. I stood up, drew my bow, and took aim.

Because the slope was so steep I had to allow the bottom limb of my bow to go between my legs. I knew that shooting at such a vertical angle would severely affect my yardage pins, but I had no time to think it through because my odor entered his nose and he stood up. Figuring I had only a second or two before he would run, I guessed and placed my 20 yard pin on his chest (he was about 35 yards) and released my arrow, which slide through the air and just over his back. All three deer bounced away and my hunt was done.

On the way back to camp I stopped on a small glacier, took my shirt off and laid in the snow which felt great in the August heat. Jake and I were both so tired that we camped one more night and hiked out the next day. While on the hike out I took this picture:

You can see how steep it was, and in the top left of the picture you can see a red X. It was at this red X a week later that I took the following picture. The green line is where we hiked with packs to our camp and you know the other colors. The black X is the spot from which I took the picture above.

Is hunting Mule Deer easy? Not if you want a trophy deer with a bow on public land. But hit or miss, it was worth it.

Running on thin slippery boards

In honor of the 100+ degree weather we've had today, I have decided to post about one aspect of the outdoors that I'd love to be doing right now. I've been cross-country skiing several times in my life and every time I do I come home feeling so invigorated, thinking to myself, "I really should do that more often." We usually pick a place to ski where we have to break trail through powder; that way we are guaranteed to encounter only resident moose and beautiful views such as this:

During my most recent trip, upon reaching our destination, I made myself a Lazy-Boy out of snow, (there was definitely no shortage of it), and whipped up a cup of hot chocolate.


That night at Walmart I saw these for only $2.00 each so I bought some. (Yes they really work. All you have to do is push a button on the bottom and wait five minutes. And the hot cocoa tastes great). Unfortunately they still sit in my cupboard today because I never found the occasion to use them.


The only cross-country trip that I wish I hadn't gone on was the time I took a girl who I met one random day at Home Depot. I'm not sure if I was just date desperate and therefore oblivious when I met her, or if the girl I went out with was actually a different girl than the one I met at the store, but wow...how do I explain it. How about this: ditzy motor mouth wearing too much leopard print.

Usually I go skiing with my brother Devin, who probably loves it as much or more than I. Here he is praying to the weather gods that they might warm it up a little. I think they answered his prayer in excess, just six months too late.

Spring Birds

Every year during spring I become a little bird nerd. I can’t help it but I start noticing every bird around me and I always keep an eye out for rare species. This spring I had just bought a new video camera, and always kept it nearby, so I ended up with a lot of photos of the little feathered perchers. I’m in the mood to post so here are a few photos:

While I was fishing the Henry’s Fork Salmon Fly hatch this year a Yellow-rumped Warbler hopped up on a rock near me.


This male Ruby-crowned Kinglet hung around for a while near the golf course where I take my dog for walks. They’re pretty small and very shy, so I was lucky to get this photo; especially because of the little bit of red showing on his crown. Only the males have it and rarely show it except during breeding season.


Here's an American Goldfinch:


And a Lazuli Bunting:


And three birds that I had never seen until this year. A White-crowned Sparrow, a black-capped Wilson's Warbler, and a rare Green-tailed Towhee:



This spring we had a pair of Killdeer nest near our house.


When you get near their nest, (which is on the ground amongst pebbles and dirt), or near their flightless chicks, they act like they're hurt in an attempt to lure you away. Rudy fell for it and ran after the male, which he didn't catch. I, on the other hand, am smarter than the dog (thankfully) so I stayed put and scanned the ground near me, which revealed it's camouflaged secret:


We watched these eggs till they hatched into two cute little chicks. They ran around on the grass for a few days until they got eaten by a hawk.

And finally...an American Robin. Not very rare, I know. But I just like this picture.