Winter 2015

SPORT
t an elevation approaching 3,000 feet, the
high-desert terrain cut a razor-sharp horizon
across Highland Hills Ranch. A chukar
flushes, you wheel around, experience the
rush of a game bird escaping against the
silk-blue sky and when the stock of the 20 gauge touches
your cheek a single detonation punctuates an indelible
instant high on the threshold of eternity.
But that was day four…
Turning back the clock, my rental car from Portland
International Airport navigated down the snowy, snaky road
into a steep ravine until the image stamped on the bucket
list of upland enthusiasts of the Highland Hill Ranch lodge
figured prominently on the hilltop. The elegant log creation
illuminated golden comfort through towering windows. After
the three-hour drive you step out from behind the wheel
into the frosty white landscape and the air is sharp, clean
and sobering—unambiguous in its integrity.
The occasion promised big. A driven pheasant shoot
hosted by British author, instructor, gunmaker, stock
fitter and international guide, Chris Batha. Of immense
intelligence and rapier wit, Mr. Batha substitutes England’s
bird havens with the kindred landscape of Highland Hills
Ranch to show us Yanks how it’s done on ye auld sod.
Highland Hills Ranch owner, Dennis Macnab, thrives on
the bloodline of a Scotsman and with his wife and business
partner Mindi the two successful Americans orchestrate the
spectacle and hospitality of an ancestral estate driven shoot
in Northeast Oregon.
First stop, though, was the bar.
Open the front door of the lodge and you’re awash in
the warmth of superb, honey-hued, hand-peeled timbers
that attain a vaulted ceiling buttressed by exposed beams.
There’s an inspiration of Native American felt among the
plush lodge décor and colossal stone fireplace. A spacious
open kitchen replete with granite counters suggests some
mighty fine home cooking served up in the adjacent, rustic
dining room. With six guest rooms in the lodge, you were
mere steps away from gourmet indulgences
Did the Macnabs intend to spoil us? Probably. Highland
Hills Ranch is a two-time recipient of Orvis’ Lodge of the Year,
most recently for the 2012–2013 season. Highland Hills Ranch
is also a charter member of the Beretta Trident Program, which
is the first and only system to rate shooting sports venues—a
rarified achievement considering that only five percent of
destinations worldwide are considered good enough to merit
even one Trident. You can see why the collection of accolades
is a theme of the Highland Hills Ranch legend, but for now, with
voices arising from the bar downstairs, I could use a wee dram
or two of road-straightener.
As the latecomer, most of the shooting party and
their significant others have gained a head start on the
evening festivities. It’s a handsome, prosperous group,
including a clutch of friends from previous driven shoots
here led by Mr. Batha. I’d discover that through Highland
Hills Ranch their relationships deepened to where they now
hunt birds together in Europe with Mr. Batha organizing the
expeditions.
At the bar, hors d'oeuvres, top-shelf spirits and
mixed party nuts lubricated the appetite and conversation
in the intimate quarters. An undertone of convivial oneupmanship
assessed the group’s tenderfoot, but I can take
it and dish it out too with admirable appreciation. The warm
glow of camaraderie now about us, dinner is ready.
Chef Keith Potter has helmed the kitchen since 2004,
defining the cuisine credited with scoring high marks
by Orvis, Beretta Trident and guests. The three daily
meals tendered by Chef Potter rewarded the palate and
belly with deep, complex flavors and abundant fortitude
realized through a fusion of Western, Latin and Pacific
Rim influences. A hallmark was homemade baked breads
that perfumed the dining room. In his words, “I strive to be
elegant without being pretentious. I want my food to be
beautiful, but more importantly to taste good.”
Although the wine cellar at Highland Hills Ranch is
outstanding, one of the shooting party’s member was the
CEO of a national restaurant chain. Prior to the arrival of Mr.
Batha’s contingent, he had hosted a corporate upland shoot
to reward high performers. Sharing his remaining personal
reserve of 90-point reds from Napa Valley complemented
Chef Potter’s meals with an especially sumptuous
pleasure. Dinners at Highland Hills Ranch percolated with
conviviality practically impossible to find elsewhere. But how
did the Macnabs do it?
I believe the rare delight was attributed to the size
of the table and nature of the servers. The dark-wood
furniture of 11 by 4 feet held the ideal balance of geniality
and opulence. Usually we find ourselves talking with the
closest people, but the table at Highland Hills Ranch lets
you actually converse with someone across the way without
raising your voice too much—just the right decibel level
for a good punch-line. The dynamic gave rise to a crosscurrent
of lively sociability during the course of a long,
satisfying repast.
The servers, meanwhile, showed the attentiveness of
a thoughtful nurse. Approaching from behind, they placed
a tender hand on your shoulder and leaned in toward the
table to serve or clear, kindly asking about food and drink
with an endearing warmth in their eyes.
Yes, the dinners at Highland Hills Ranch made you
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