I well remember the days of yore when there were hard frosts in November and
There are still enough Bobwhite Quail to stumble upon a flock while walking through the woods on
search for deer or squirrels. I remember, many times when I was young, almost jumping
of my boots when a large flock exploded around me. Those were the days.
I was thirteen years old when my cousin Tommy and his wife Wilma invited me to live
with them in Lynchburg Tennessee. It was there that she developed a passion for
outdoors that lives and strengthens every day. Tommy was well known in the area.
to train bird dogs. She really enjoyed training the discards that seemed untrainable.
Needless to say, I followed many dogs many miles through the bean fields and the creek.
funds. Some dogs did well, others not so well, but for the most part everything was
there were enough birds around that with enough patience and guidance the un-
trainable could be trained. I must admit that some of the dogs may have had a few
quirks, but in the end we were able to locate enough birds for us to get a few shots a day
between us and that was enough, since what mattered was being out there. But then
I thought.
I was sixteen when we started noticing fewer and fewer quail in the
places where we had always found birds. Finally, Tommy bought two top-notch birds.
dogs that we had hunted on previous hunts with their owner. Their names were
Rusty, Sally, and I remember setters well. Only Rusty caught a perfect
controlling the distance and staying in sight all day. sally for the other
hand hunted wide, too wide really for the many hills and whoops that lie along
Tennessee, but in the end his technique helped locate flocks that had grown poorly.
and far between. She could cover an entire farm in no time and even
remember flocks on certain farms and leave the dog box like lightning.
When he did this, we would keep Rusty in his crate until Sally was out of sight.
way we were able to keep Rusty around to hunt down the areas Sally missed when she did a
directly to the flock he had found the previous weekend. Sally would hold out until we
we got there and sometimes it was over an hour as we could see her pointing above
a hillside away while we covered the rest of the farm.
I can remember my last quail hunt like it was yesterday. Sally had run away in a
family farm and we kept Rusty close. We searched as far as Sally pointed.
Rusty supported Sally as we jumped a huge flock. Tommy and I fail easily
Shots fired and I watched as the flock slithered down the hill and into the nastier looking part.
from the farm We knew that the shoot would be difficult and we did not have much confidence after
blow such an easy shot on the rise.
Rusty and Sally watched as all the bachelors settled in among the cedars and brambles and
then he looked at us as if to ask “what happened guys” before cutting off the
sage-covered hillside and out of sight into the thick, steep woods below. The air
It was cool and the sun was setting. It was going to be our last hunt of the season and
Little did I know, as I trudged into that bush that day, it would become my favorite
quail hunting ever seen and is on par with the best outdoor experiences in
my life, unfortunately it would also be the end of my quail hunting days as I knew
to them. Miles of walking without a single point while deer and squirrels called
my name wherever I went. It was no wonder that she finally gave it up to continue
another game
We entered the cedar thicket while Rusty and Sally worked the brambles and cedar.
tops scattered all over the rocky slope. Tommy was carrying a 12 gauge Browning
automatic while my vest was full of 16 gauge number eight for my Winchester
a single shot. The dogs worked the singles perfectly. Sally stayed because she knew
the birds were close and Rusty stayed because Sally did. Before we were out
in the cedar thicket each had four quails. They made jokes about killing me
as many with my single shot as Tommy with his automatic. Tommy mentioned
that the sun was setting and that it would be better to call it a day. I replied that only
He wanted to get out of the forest before he shot down his four birds.
We were heading to the truck, happy in our heavy bird vests, when
a solo jumped Turning to my right I took a quick shot just as the bird came into
the top of a cedar. Tommy and I saw the shot split the branches of the cedar. Of
Of course I announced that I had made the shot even though I knew the cedar had
probably got the brunt of the shot and the quail was sliding safely into a brush pile
somewhere along the creek below. Tommy was sure that he had lost me and probably
i secretly prayed to have it as i was prone to “rubbing it” back then.
We were both laughing when I told him I hit the bird and we would find it right
the other side of the cedar. She assured me that he had lost me and I honestly thought that
had too, that is until I saw Rusty trotting up the hill, head held high, with a
fat Tennessee Bobwhite in her mouth. I laughed as I reached down and picked up the bird.
out of Rusty’s mouth and slipped it into my vest with the others. Tommy just shook his
head.
We got back to the truck just as the sun was going down and opened the top
in a cold Coke and stood at the back door. Strip off our vest and unload our
shotguns we relived the events of the hunt while Rusty and Sally drank from the
creek and searched listlessly around the truck. I knew and I think Tommy did what
well, that this was one of those special moments that deserved a little time to allow
to soak in and make sure every moment of that day was engaged with that place
reserved in our minds for special moments in our lives.
We finish our cokes and congratulate the dogs on a great day in the country like the
the sun sank and the air grew colder. Finally we loaded the dogs and released the
old Chevy down the gravel driveway on the way home. I can still hear the gravels
bursting under the tires. It’s hunts like this that need to be remembered. am
Sure our memories vary and perhaps some memories of the hunt have become
a bit confusing as many hunts have come and gone but this one tends to come to the top
when I remember the days of the Bobwhite Quail.