A Hunger for Huns

A flat-out search for Canada's prairie partridge

"The excitement of seeing rusty tails and hearing that squeaky gate with every flush of partridge should be shared."

-Ben O. Williams, Western Wings


When it comes to wingshooting, there are bird hunters, there are upland hunters, and then there are Hun hunters. I make this distinction because, as you're aware if you know anyone who regularly chases Hungarian partridge, the latter group is cut from a different cloth. This subset of sportsmen pursues its quarry with a fervor often bordering on fanaticism. Mention Huns to a member of this cult, and odds are he'll develop a thousand-yard stare and go dry in the mouth-perhaps even start shuffling his feet and break the sweat of a multi-mile march. It's a sickness, I tell you, but it's an illness worth catching if you can.

In my wanderings among bird-hunting types, I've come to know several of these Brothers of the Hun. They are hunters who speak of little other than pointing dogs, wide-open spaces, and small, grayish birds that run and skulk and flush with fury. Their passion is contagious, and I admit to having caught the bug years ago.

Several trips for the birds had left my condition critical, so last year I decided to make a pilgrimage to where it all began-to where Hungarian partridge were first successfully introduced to North America: Canada's Prairie Provinces. And who better to hunt with than admitted Hun addict Dave Brown, owner and operator of Alberta Bird Hunts?

Dave originally had contacted me about an Oklahoma quail ranch where he guides in winter, but when I'd visited his Website (www.albertabirdhunts.com), I'd never gotten beyond the Huns. When I later learned of Dave's shared passions for pointing dogs and double guns, I knew I'd found the cure to my ill.


It was the second week of October when I left behind the brilliant palette of a warm Maine fall and headed west. I was en route to Hun mecca, and all was right with the world . . . at least until we broke out of the clouds above Calgary. Winter had arrived early in the Great White North; it was 21° and snowing.

No worries, though. When I met Dave at the airport, he immediately inspired confidence. His impish grin and youthful enthusiasm were infectious, and the tan lines from his polarized glasses bespoke a life spent outdoors-presumably scouting for and working birds.

Over lunch at a Middle Eastern restaurant (it turns out we also share Lebanese roots), we talked birds and business. I learned that Dave had been raised in Ontario and that his first career, as a paratrooper in the Canadian Airborne Regiment, had been what had landed him in Calgary. He'd enjoyed the area's fishing and hunting so much that when he'd left the armed forces, he'd decided to set up shop as a guide. These days he owns and operates The Elk River Angler Guide Service and Trout Shop, 31/2 hours southwest of Calgary in Fernie, British Columbia. He spends summers running the shop and its large guiding operation, offering trips on the famed trout waters of the Elk, Bow, Crowsnest, St. Mary's and Oldman rivers of BC and Alberta.

In the fall he switches to birds-mostly Huns and sharp-tailed grouse in Alberta and Saskatchewan before he migrates to Oklahoma for bobs. Recognizing an underutilized resource and a popular way to pursue it, he was the first guide in Alberta to offer upland hunting over pointing dogs-in his case Brittanys. Naturally, he also hosts early season "cast & blast" trips where clients spend several days fishing before heading to the uplands, and he'll combine waterfowl and upland hunts for those desiring both.

A unique opportunity Dave offers is called the Royal Canadian Pacific Shooting Train. You've seen pictures of the Rovos Rail steaming across the African savanna; well, here's North America's version. Imagine spending the day walking the prairies behind a cadre of flashy pointing dogs, then returning to a well-appointed vintage rail car for a gourmet meal and transport to a completely different area for the following day's hunt. The Royal Canadian Pacific Railway is one of the top luxury trains in the world, having hosted such dignitaries as Winston Churchill, Franklin Delano Roosevelt and members of the English royal family. (After lunch Dave gave me a quick tour of the train, and I can tell you that it's one sweet ride. I immediately made a note on my to-do list.) Currently, only one of these excursions is offered each fall, but certainly that number will grow.

As if that weren't enough, Dave manages the care and feeding of the real backbone of his upland operation: his seven Brittanys. And that is where he really shines. It's obvious when a man loves his dogs and vice versa, and to see Dave interact with his Brits is something special. The cooperation and respect yield major returns for Dave's hunters.


Although Dave makes his home in Calgary, the base for most of his upland pursuits is three hours away-near Maple Creek, Saskatchewan-so the next day we jumped in his Suburban and headed southeast. En route we chatted about Huns.

Perdix perdix (aka European gray partridge, Hungarian partridge, or simply grays or Huns) are birds of the steppes, originally hailing from Eastern Europe and central and southwestern Asia. They were introduced to North America around 1900, with the most successful stocking taking place near Calgary in 1908. Birds spread to areas with climates similar to their native land-with cool to cold winters and heavy snows that stay for only short periods because of fluctuating temperatures and high winds. Factor in desirable food, cover and topography-as well as stockings in other locales -and you have a species that now exists in the central and southern Prairie Provinces and west of the Great Lakes. Huns have succeeded because of their tolerance for man's landscape alterations (e.g., farming), unlike other prairie birds such as sharptails, whose numbers have declined when native country has been broken up.

The area that Dave hunts is an ideal mix of habitat: a mosaic of agricultural areas and prairie grasslands that provide Huns with the grains, greens, forbs, insects and cover they require. The stable environment translates into more consistent covey numbers than in some intermountain areas, although covey sizes do fluctuate. (Last year's averaged 10 to 12 Huns).

Dave hunts all private land, and as we drove, his head was swiveling constantly as he scoped out cover and oohed and aahed over various pastures and fields. (We laughed about a Hun hunter's favorite pick-up line: "Hey, nice grass.") I spent my time marveling at the openness of the land and the horizon-to-horizon view, interrupted only occasionally by the odd house or farmstead-half of which appeared abandoned.

Eventually, we turned off of the hardtop, took a couple of gravel roads, and then snaked down an old two-track to where it petered out in a pasture. "Welcome to Hun heaven," Dave said as I looked over the cut wheatfield blanketed in fresh snow.

I no sooner had stepped from the Suburban and moved around to get my gun when a covey of a dozen Huns blew out of the stubble 50 yards away. Dave couldn't have orchestrated it better.

"Come on," I said as the guide continued strapping a beeper collar on one of the dogs, "you planted those birds."

Dave simply flashed that telltale grin and shook his head. "What did I tell you, eh? Hun heaven."

After we'd finished suiting up, we set off across the field with a riot of Brittanys out front. Dave's "A team" consists of his four most experienced dogs: seven-year-old Zane, six-year-old littermates Roxy and Covey, and three-year-old Clint. To watch this mob cover the country is to watch a Ben O. Williams photo come to life-in fact, Dave and Ben hunt together, and Dave credits Ben as being one of his hunting and training mentors. Each team member knows its assigned quadrant, and there is little overlap as an area is combed with efficiency.

Within five minutes, Covey-who in 2000 was the Canadian Derby Dog of the year-was on point near the field's edge, with his three compatriots backing. Thankfully, Dave had explained the rules ahead of time, and when the rooster cackled up from the grass, I held my fire. (Saskatchewan pheasants aren't fair game to nonresidents.)

The next point, however, yielded what I'd come for, as a dozen Huns blurred forth in tight formation. The grayish-brown forms and rust-colored tails stood out against the snow, and the birds' creaking chirps sounded like the strumming of old barbed wire. Dave and I each picked singles and dropped them as the rest of the covey sped off across the gently rolling hills, hugging the contours like harriers. In typical prairie-bird fashion, a series of rapid wingbeats gave way to gliding and then more rapid wingbeats, until the birds eventually tucked into a draw.

Zane retrieved my bird, and I took a moment to admire my first Saskatchewan Hun. It was a plump male, evidenced by the chestnut-colored horseshoe pattern on the bird's lower breast and the lack of barring on the shoulder feathers; its heft was somewhere between a bobwhite's and a chukar's. I slipped the prize into my game bag with the reverence due these scrappy survivors.

We followed the covey into the draw and wound up finding two others-one in a plum thicket and the other in sidehill grass as we circled back to the Suburban. The snow was making not only the Huns visible but us as well, and the birds were flushing at distance. It quickly became evident that the Improved Cylinder/ Modified chokes in my Merkel 16-gauge would necessitate fast shooting to catch the birds in range.

A short drive brought us to another stubblefield bordered by a coulee. This time it was up to the "B Team"-three-year-old Quincy, a French Brittany (versus Dave's other dogs, which are American Brits) from Ben Williams' kennel; and two-year-old Jasper. Although this pair was less experienced, it produced also, and we scored birds from two more coveys.

At last light we were heading for the hotel when we spied a virtual mob of Huns-three close-together coveys moving out to gravel. It was an ideal setup for Dave's puppy, Crash, to stretch her legs, and she took full advantage. After finding, pointing and then busting the birds, she put on a show of pure exhilaration as she raced from hilltop to hilltop, gobbling up turf like a greyhound. It was the perfect end to a perfect afternoon-one in which we'd seen 10 coveys of partridge in just four hours. Hun heaven, indeed.

The following morning it was spitting snow and sleet, and we decided to hop the border and chase some Alberta pheasants. Several hours spent thrashing streamside willows produced a couple of beautiful roosters, and a botched stalk cost us a crack at a half-dozen mallards (we'd returned to the rig for steel shot). When the snow stopped during lunch, we returned to Saskatchewan to check out a coulee Dave had been eyeing but had never explored.

One of the great things about hunting with Dave is that he knows his area and the farmers who work it. Although a lot of the land isn't posted, there's peace of mind in being able to pass through a gate without worrying that an angry landowner is going to track you down. And this time there was pay dirt beyond the fence.

It started with the dogs nailing a covey 200 yards from the Suburban and didn't end for another three miles. During the trek we saw six coveys-four of which "played"-and put six birds in the bag. Dave had discovered another "Hunny hole."

Back at the rig we guzzled water and basked as only successful hunters can. "For me, it's not just about the shooting," Dave said. "It's about watching the dogs work and seeing the birds. I also like showing guys new country and finding fresh coveys. Some day I'd like to have so many productive spots that I can shoot a covey only once during the season.

"If guys want to just shoot birds, they should go to a preserve."

Amen, Brother.


The third morning began with a sharptail hunt in sandhill country-dunes that had grown up to grass, with patches of buckbrush, buffaloberries and snowberries. Earlier in the season Dave and a client had run into 150 sharpies here, but this day we found only two-one of which we took home.

In the afternoon we chased Huns in cropfields bordering Saskatchewan's Cypress Hills, but when it began spitting snow, Dave suggested a few "micro hunts." These were the focused outings I'd read about-for the home coveys that live around abandoned farmsteads. Walking amongst the old buildings did prove productive, but the birds were especially spooky, no doubt due to this strategy being employed by more hunters.

In the evening we returned to Calgary, where I'd spend the rest of my stay making trips to Dave's HDH (high-density Hun) spots. In the next two days I was pleased to hunt with Jim McLennan and then Vince Campbell, both double-gun fanciers, talented dogmen and Hun worshippers of the first order. I also had a chance encounter with Larry Winter, whose father, Austin, was one of the two men responsible for introducing Huns to Alberta back in '08. Larry is now 85, and when I met him, he and his son were gassing up for a day of Hunning. (I told you these guys are hardcore!)

Although the coverts around Calgary didn't prove as productive as those in Saskatchewan, we still saw plenty of birds. (I'll never forget the spectacle of 50 Huns blowing out of one sidehill plum thicket.) There also was evidence that some of the sloughs we hunted had been worked previously, as fresh tire tracks in the snow, Hun prints and scratchings, and piles of feathers indicated someone's success earlier in the day.

All too soon I was on the flight home, reflecting on my experience. In one week I'd encountered more Huns than I'd thought possible, hunted with some of the hardest-working dogs I'd ever seen, spent time with some of the friendliest sportsmen I'd ever met, and gotten to do it all in a setting beyond compare.

Had my hunger for Huns been sated? Hardly. The appetite had grown stronger with feeding. I'd become a willing Brother of the Hun, and nothing was going to satisfy until I could return for more.

I fear I may just need an intervention . . . .


Author's Note: Since my visit, Dave has leased a lodge near Hanna, Alberta, from which he will be running hunts in Alberta and Saskatchewan. He's also added an eighth member to the dog team: another Brittany named Sunny. For more information on hunting with Dave Brown, contact Alberta Bird Hunts, 800-453-3991 or 403-248-6612; www.albertabird hunts.com.


Ralph P. Stuart is Shooting Sportsman's Editor in Chief.

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