South side of the mountain was blasted dry, save for the drifts that like to hide under the slipstream of bushes capable of holding their shape in such places. The sign was pressed on those high altitude icebergs, their scant puzzle pieces all pointing to the top of the mountain. The dogs knew it. Tails whirling and my imagination seeing a helicopter dog take flight caught me off guard when John's dog busted two mounties that broke to my far left and were out of range before I could swear. It was John's dog and side, why the hell didn't he get a shot off? They were mounties anyway, and we wanted some chukar first. I think that the mounties are a hell of a lot harder to hunt, which should equate to fun for those of us in the business of what I imagine outsiders to call "Big investment, Small gain" outdoor activities, but they don't have the flavor and size. And Chukar is a far stranger word than Quail. CHUKAR. We busted the rocks and snowy peak until we left empty handed. Fool's Gold sign in every drift, perhaps put there by wizards to keep us pumped all day. Getting skunked hunting isn't getting skunked, it's going for a hike with your best friend, and your hunting buddy.