Summer Mountain Quail Recon; or A Mid-Winter's Singletrack Pining

Best mountain quail scouting combo known to man, minus the rube playing with the spoke nipples and zip ties.  

In late August the high country singletrack comes into its own.  Most of the places we ride don't have guide book confirmation, so they aren't perma-muddied by 10,000 tires or the boots of le gapers.  The snow and mud have subsided so it's not a slog fest, and it's not so dusty you look like a character from Dune.  The beautiful blooms are just past their peak in the meadows and even if it's 90 degrees in the valley below, it's almost 70 way up here and it's gonna stay that way all day.  We play on the crest because it's like another planet, and a damn good one until deer season opens.  Oh yeah, and the trails we like to ride happen to be frequented by the most frustrating of upland birds - the mounty.  They love the head high manzanita, the raspy altitudes, and the thick trees that we wind through.  I see their tracks darting out of the springs during the midday water breaks, I see them run through the clear-cuts in the late evenings, and I count them in the mornings when Rosie busts them at the first ravine.  Rosie runs full speed, dangerously close to my front wheel, which has resulted in both of us cursing and bloodied in the past.  But with a smart dog it only takes once or twice to get with the program.  I consider these rides as multi-sport multi-tasking: 1- We are mountain biking, and it's fucking awesome. 2- We're getting in better shape for chukar season. 3- We're scouting for the second Saturday in September, when the scattergun season for mountys returns, as well as getting the dog's head back in the game.

We'll ride for miles and if we cross a covey, I stop and try to snap Rosie into hunting mode.  It doesn't take much as she's always in it, but her being young she doesn't always remember how to do things properly.  If we cross paths with the quail early on in the ride, she may break commands and go straight for them.  All I can do is watch them fly through the thick massive old growth with my lungs too empty to scream more than once or twice. 

I get the upper hand at the end of long rides.  She's a bit more wore down and tends to listen to the guy with the treats and water a little more intently. 

I know it's the peak of chukar and all right now, but the reason I digress to pre-season masturbation is because, like anything with a prime season, I miss riding balls out on high country singletrack.  I got the itch, and I can't scratch it for 6 more months.  At least I can still shoot the birds right now instead of just flushing 'em.  I guess the grass is always greener.