A Trip Near McDermitt, Nevada to hunt Hungarian Partridge
By Jeff LeSeur
Archie and the Packrat
Almost 12 years ago in early October, my friend and I went on a trip near McDermitt, Nevada to hunt Hungarian Partridge. Lori and I added a German shorthair puppy to our family earlier that spring. His name was Archie and he joined us on that trip. At 10 months old he had learned to point and fetch birds while hunting quail and grouse, but there was no way of preparing for his experience in McDermitt.
With the dogs in the back of the truck and pulling a travel trailer, we drove the route into Southern Oregon and over to McDermitt. Big country with long straight roads that went on forever and giant mountain ranges surrounding us the whole trip. At one spot we climbed a huge grade just to view an endless plateau of white sand at the top. We arrived late in the afternoon and were tired from the 8-hour journey. After setting up camp, we decided to start dinner before sunset.
Early the next morning we cooked breakfast and enjoyed a beautiful sunrise. It lit up the Montana Mountains on the West side of the Quinn River Valley like hills of gold. After breakfast we left camp for our hunting spot. We parked the truck, collected our gear, and Archie was happy to finally run in the sweet-smelling sagebrush. As we pushed a creek bed towards the canyon, Archie had noticed a few rabbits running in front of him. Like a good boy, he only took a few steps before stopping the chase. Then suddenly Archie went on point and couldn’t move a muscle. I’m thinking “Oh boy he is on a bird!” I couldn’t see because of the sagebrush, so I walked around the brush and saw something crazy. A pack rat standing up on its back legs like a grizzly bear, holding its front claws out, while nose to nose with Archie. Neither were able to move a muscle or blink an eye. I knew that was not how to train a bird dog and walked slowly over to grab his collar. As I clenched his collar, Archie started flipping around. With my shotgun in my left hand and his collar twisting my fingers on my right, I eventually had to let go. Of course, Archie ran after the pack rat, and he stopped nose to nose with it again. I crept up from behind, grabbed his collar, and he lunged forward. The pack rat bit Archie’s lip, and he flipped his head up in the air from the pain as the pack rat flew into the air, did two complete back flips, and landed on my shoulder. A pack rat stands about 10 inches high, and their teeth are an inch long. At that moment with the rat snapping at my face, it seemed like its teeth were 3 inches long and it was the size of a cat. Lucky for me, I was wearing the nylon liner from my waterfowl jacket, and the pack rat slid down my arm onto the ground before it could sink those teeth into my face. Of course, Archie chased the rodent over to a nest and it narrowly escaped. After that experience, every time Archie would pass a pack rat nest, he would sniff and glare at it, while remembering his lip biting nemesis.
Dogs give us love, and if we let them, so much more. It’s their unique personalities and our experiences with them that I cherish the most. Like enduring the cold desert nights inside a Pup tent, curled up together for warmth. Archie was the fourth dog I trained from a puppy to be a bird dog, and my first pointer. The truth is, only in the last few years with him did I realize how much his love and patience had been training me.
