By Dennis Smith
November, a few days before Thanksgiving, a chukar partridge flew into our yard and began strutting around like he owned the place. He hung out for a little over an hour, scratching in the garden, pecking bugs (I presume) off the wooden bedding frames and otherwise making himself at home. At one point he flew up onto our pool cover to help himself to a drink, and then went back to pecking at weed seeds and whatever it was he found so interesting on the bedding frames. Employing all of my Elmer Fudd skills, I was able to sneak within a few yards of him and shoot some photos while he busied himself exploring the rest of the garden.
The chukar partridge isn’t common in this part of the country but was comfortable in Dennis Smith’s backyard this fall.
Now, chukars aren’t exactly common around here. Historically, they were introduced into almost every county in the state at one time or another, but most of the plantings failed. Biologists determined the hatchery-reared birds they released probably lacked the critical survival skills needed to endure in the wild and fell prey to various natural factors: starvation, predators, weather extremes and a general inability to adapt to the environment.
Chukars are actually native to Asia and the Middle East and best suited to remote, rocky hillsides with sparse vegetation. Transplanted coveys have done well in eastern Oregon, Nevada, Idaho and Utah and parts of western Colorado, like Mesa County. But no viable populations of wild chukars existed on Colorado’s eastern plains until 2014 when Colorado Parks and Wildlife planted 168 wild birds from Utah in the rugged terrain midway up the Poudre Canyon — which is a solid hour and a half drive from where I live. Every one of those birds was tagged with identifying leg bands and 60 of them were fitted with radio collars for tracking purposes. This bird had neither, so he certainly wasn’t from any of the Poudre Canyon coveys.
There are several private hunting clubs and upland game preserves in Colorado that release chukars, pheasants and quail for their clients and guests to hunt, so I suppose it’s possible he was one of those fortunate enough to escape the guns of the club hunters. But, with few exceptions, all of those clubs are hundreds of miles from here. I’m aware of three or four within a 50-mile radius. So where this chukar came from remains a mystery.
Now the really odd thing is that this happened to us once before. In 1982, when we lived just south of Loveland, a chukar partridge showed up in our yard one day, took up with our flock of laying hens and stayed for months. He would fly up to the roof of the coop each morning and crow loudly, “Chuk, chuk, chukar, chucker!” then fly down and hang out with the hens all day. In all that time, I never thought to take his picture. This time I had the camera ready.