The Ruggs Riders

Man’s domestic relationship with the horse began about 4000 BC, with military and agricultural uses probably following almost immediately thereafter. From the chariots of the Hittites to the light cavalry of Genghis Khan, the horse has been a critical element in world history. Fossil records show that the horse was native to the Western Hemisphere but disappeared from here between 8,000 and 10,000 years ago. As we know from junior-high history, the beast returned with Spanish “explorers” in the 16th Century. Thereafter, its role in developing and settling (or pacifying) the Western US during the 19th Century needs no explanation. The horse has always been the sportsman’s companion, too, and now it finally has achieved its highest evolutionary assignment: chukar hunting.
Each fall our group of upland-bird devotees assembles in northeastern Oregon. Experience has shown that for wild pheasants and quail that part of the world is about as good as it gets (see “Eastern Oregon Odyssey,” Nov/Dec ’08). For our 2009 junket, group member Ken Harding suggested a destination: Ruggs Ranch, in Heppner, Oregon. Author Steve Helsley was tasked with contacting the operator and getting some details.
Ruggs Ranch has been a wingshooting and big-game operation since the 1980s. At one time it was enrolled in the Orvis Endorsed Lodges program, but a weak economy and the owner’s disinterest took a toll. Last fall the owner of the cattle ranch that surrounds Ruggs purchased the ranch, and the new owner of 86 square miles of pheasant, quail, Hun, chukar, deer and elk country took steps to re-invigorate the hunting business. The first move was to hire Dave Ford as the general manager. Dave was an elk hunting packer, guide and outfitter in Idaho for 17 years, as well as a champion calf roper on the rodeo circuit. Translation: He knows hunting, and he knows horses. Dave also told us that the new owner has given him the authority and resources to make Ruggs a top-tier destination.

There is a certain sameness to commercial wingshooting ranches—nice lodge, gourmet cooking, good dogs, planted birds. My question to Dave during our first phone conversation was, “Assuming that Ruggs has a nice lodge and great food, what makes it unique?”
He responded, “Our premier three-day trips will feature horseback hunting for chukar and Huns, and the hunting party will stay in a tent camp.”
That is unique.
Dave followed by inviting us to Ruggs for a cold-weather horseback hunt—an offer we couldn’t refuse.
Ultimately three Guns and a photographer who was doing promotional work for Ruggs made the trip. All of the Guns were just months from Medicare and in various states of disrepair. Steve’s experience with horses was typical: In 1955 he’d ridden one in a circle to get a Cub Scout merit badge. Ken and author Roger Sanger had slightly more saddle time but not much.
Having selected a date in late February, Dave instructed us to bring sleeping bags, warm clothes, guns and plenty of cartridges. He was emphatic about how cold it could be and that we should consider insulated pac boots. As the three of us favor vintage game guns, there was some concern about how they’d be transported. One of our friends has often opined that the hardest things on shotguns are waterfowling, chukar hunting and horses; we would be combining two of the three. Dave said that saddle scabbards would fully protect the finest of guns. We were skeptical. We also had a slight difference of opinion on ammo. Dave suggested three-inch cartridges with No. 4 shot. As the heaviest of our 2H"-chambered guns was well under seven pounds and one was under six, he would just have to accept that we were under-gunned . . . .
As the trip approached, it became clear that pac boots would not be necessary. In fact, the weather forecast left Steve worrying that his Hawaiian shirts would clash with his hunter-orange vest. The snow and serious cold had decamped eastward, and ultimately we would enjoy conditions similar to those of an early November hunt: 50ish degrees at midday and some freezing at night.
In late February we assembled at the lodge, which is about 70 miles southwest of Pendleton, in the northeastern part of the state. After we traded traveling clothes for hunting garb, Dave briefed us on what was in store for the next three days. We then loaded up in trucks and moseyed out into the vast emptiness that is Eastern Oregon.
After a half-hour we’d made the gradual climb from the rolling topography around the lodge to a vast, almost featureless plateau. We pulled into a field where some of the Ruggs staff were unloading horse trailers. Dave introduced us to Angel Cros-thwaite, the ranch’s “cow boss.” Spending time with Angel proved to be one of the highlights of the hunt. He’s as real a cowboy as you’ll find and is renowned as both a roper and a horse trainer.
Dave got us on our trusty steeds without much trouble and began his tutorial on how to steer, stop and turn. Our mounts were quarter horses from the ranch’s herd, and he swore they were ridden daily and were very calm (which proved to be true). Next came the shotguns. If it’s hard for you to process the notion of “best”-grade Holland & Hollands and Stephen Grants traveling in saddle scabbards, we understand.
We set off across the sagebrush plateau with two English pointers—Sebastian and Booster—ranging far in front. Initially, the territory didn’t look birdy, but then some rimrock outcrops came into view, and soon we could see draws that dropped steeply into a canyon with a creek flowing through it. Now things were looking birdy. Wild chukar hunting usually means starting creekside and earning a stress echocardiogram during the uphill climb. We would do the opposite: find the birds on top and hunt down. Nice.
Before long the pointers locked up about 200 yards out. Dave and Angel assisted us in dismounting and getting our guns, and while Angel held the reins we walked up on the dogs. Dave let the dogs advance, and up came a covey of Huns. Shots were fired, birds were downed, dogs retrieved, and we soon were back in the saddle for more hunting.
After a short ride with the valley in sight below us, the dogs began to point and move, then point and move. Dave said it was typical of hunting chukar from above. The birds, which had come to the high plateau to feed, were seeking the protection of one rock outcrop after another. Again we dismounted, slid guns from scabbards and followed Dave. He let the dogs advance until they flushed a covey of chukar, which flew over the rim to the valley below. Ken had a picture-postcard shot, nailing a bird as it cleared the rim and sending it tumbling out of sight like an exploding sofa pillow. Dave hunts into the wind whenever possible, which not only makes scenting easier for the dogs, but it also presents slightly easier shots if the birds launch into the wind toward their next rock bastion.
Hunting continued this way until Dave announced that it was lunchtime. From the packhorse came sandwiches and drinks, and we enjoyed our meals in the saddle. Having lunch atop a horse, looking at the expanse of Eastern Oregon, regaling each other about our shooting, drinking in rodeo stories from two of the best . . . well, we wouldn’t trade that for dining at the fanciest restaurant in Paris. We were on the Oregon Trail, and time seemed to stand still.
After lunch we started downhill, riding through wide ravines while the dogs worked back and forth across the sidehills. With each covey, we shot, collected birds and then automatically hiked back uphill after the singles. Dave finally stopped us and, with a touch of frustration, said, “Hey, what do you think these horses are for? Get back in the saddle. This is a horseback hunt, not a human endurance run.” Clearly he was not sure we were any smarter than our steeds.
We arrived at our campsite as the sun was dipping behind the ridge. In five hours we had traveled about 3H miles from the trailers, and it felt oh-so-good to get out of the saddles and straighten our legs. Emptying our game bags, we counted nine chukar and six Huns. A very successful day.
Camp consisted of two large wall tents adjacent to an old and very tired barn. It was located in a canyon that was 500 to 800 feet below the plateau where we had begun our ride. Dave describes the area as prime deer hunting territory. The canyon in that spot was about a hundred yards wide, with a flowing creek and volcanic-rock-covered slopes that rose at 45-degree angles to each side.
Dave and Angel secured the horses while we inspected our quarters. The guest tent had a carpeted wooden floor and a sheepherder’s stove. Each of us had a mattressed cot and space to stow our gear, which had been packed in on horseback by Ruggs cowboys. The staff tent had the pièce de résistance: a dining-room table and chairs. When the horses were fed and set for the night, Dave put on a display of his cooking prowess. Over an open-pit fire in front of our tents, he conjured up a meal of steak, fresh asparagus, potatoes and dessert. Let’s just say it wasn’t your average franks and beans. After dinner over another glass of wine came the fireside exchange of lies. This didn’t last long, however, as the good food and drink, a starry sky, the sound of the creek, and a day in the saddle combined to persuade us to turn in early.

Day two dawned calm with a blue sky and white puffball clouds. Cowboy coffee that would have held a spoon upright tasted especially good, and Dave demonstrated that he could make a great breakfast, too—a deep-dish sausage, egg and potato skillet feast. This day’s mission was to hunt the valley around camp, so it was back onto our now-trusted steeds. As it is Ruggs policy to switch dogs each day, we were joined by two new pointers: Sage and Dot.
Ruggs is a licensed hunting preserve—or at least 20,000 acres of it is—so the ranch is allowed to supplement its bird populations. The birds we were hunting had been in the wild for almost a year. As we crossed the creek and then the valley floor, the dogs froze. We dismounted and, guns in hand, followed Dave to the point. To our delight, we flushed and anchored first some pheasants, then several valley quail and finally some chukar. Again the urge was to follow the birds up-canyon, but Dave kept shaking his head: “Guys, do I have to put a bungee cord between you and your horse? If you let the horses and dogs do the work, they’ll let you do the shooting.”
After a successful morning that yielded five pheasants, six chukar and a brace of quail, it was back to camp for lunch and then an unexpected surprise. Dave had said he wanted us to check out a hill from which he would release pheasants that were guaranteed to fly higher and faster than any birds in the UK. Well, we’d heard that one before. We rode along the creek to an old homestead, directly across from which loomed a miniature El Capitan—a dome-like, sheer-faced outcrop that dropped vertically about 60 yards. Some of Dave’s cowboys were on top, out of view, with the pheasants. The birds would try to fly across the canyon to the ridge behind us, making for very tall shooting. Dave positioned us in a semicircle and yelled, “Let the games begin!” But all three of us had shot driven pheasants in the UK and, to Dave’s surprise, birds immediately began falling from the sky. After a neat right-and-left, Steve (with all humility) reminded Dave of his advice about No. 4 shot and mentioned that he was shooting an ounce of 8s in his hundred-year-old 16-bore.
When all was done, we toasted the birds that had escaped and returned to camp for dinner. There we were joined by one of the Ruggs cowboys who specializes in Dutch oven cooking. Dinner was outstanding again, especially the hot peach cobbler, and we retired shortly thereafter.
The morning of day three presented strong winds and threatening skies. After a Dutch-oven breakfast we mounted up and hunted our way out of the canyon and back onto the high plateau. The wind coming up the canyon and ravines kept the chukar hunkered down in cover, but it didn’t keep the dogs from finding them. We followed coveys of chukar straight uphill and onto the plateau, where the Huns were waiting. Cowboys don’t let a little winter storm get in the way of fun, and by now we were real cowboys. Nevertheless, the sight of horse trailers in the distance reminded us that hot showers lay in the immediate future.
Back at the lodge we got comfortable. The facility can accommodate 12 and has a game room and plenty of “elbow room” for relaxed conversation. Meals are consistently delicious, and dinner that third night began with the birds we’d harvested—barbecued and rolled with cheese and bacon into wraps. Following that was a steak dinner with all the fixins, including homemade bread that Steve described as “felony good.”
On departure day we hunted a canyon about a half-mile from the lodge. The area was a combination of chest-high range grass and plowed fields that soon would become food plots. Spectacular weather and fast birds (10 pheasants weren’t fast enough) made the perfect end to our visit.
Ruggs Ranch has what one expects from a top-tier operation: a fine lodge, excellent food, a well-stocked pro shop, a kennel full of high-quality dogs (in this case English pointers and setters, pudelpointers and Labs), and even trophy deer and elk hunting. But we had come for the upland hunting on horseback. We had arrived with some anxiety regarding our skills as horsemen, but aside from a few aches and pains in unusual places, we were leaving problem-free. We also should note that three days in scabbards put no additional dents or scrapes in our guns.
Dave Ford is now developing more horseback and possibly wagon-based bird hunting packages around client desires and physical limitations. Our overall impression was that horseback bird hunting is, in cowboyese, “a hoot.”
Translation: We loved it.

Authors’ Note: For more information on horseback hunting in Eastern Oregon, contact Ruggs Ranch, 541-676-5390 or 541-561-3507; www.RuggsRanchHunting.com.

Steve Helsley, a retired California law-enforcement executive, is currently a consultant to the NRA. He is also a collector of vintage British firearms and an avid reloader. Roger Sanger is a devoted bird hunter and collector of vintage firearms. He is the founder and past president of the California Side by Side Society, and he co-founded the Gold Medal Concours d’Elegance of Fine Guns.