RAMBLING ANGLER OUTDOORS©

I remember the days when November was still cold and there was still enough Quail to stumble into while just walking through the woods. I remember many times, back then, nearly jumping out of my boots as a large covey exploded around me. Those were the days.

I was thirteen when my cousin Tommy and his wife Wilma invited me to live with them in Lynchburg. Tommy was known for training bird dogs and never turned down the chance to train a cull that someone else had given up on. Needless to say, we followed many dogs many miles through bean fields and creek bottoms. Some dogs did well, others not so well, but the great thing was that there was enough Quail around that with enough patience even the bad ones could be trained.

We were beginning to notice fewer and fewer Quail in places where we had always found them. Finally the training stopped and we found ourselves with two magnificent bird dogs. Rusty and Sally. When alone Rusty hunted perfectly. Hunting within sight and checking back periodically. There is nothing like watching a bird dog work birds and Rusty was a treat to hunt with. Sally was a great bird dog as well but loved to hunt wide, real wide. Sally was great and would hunt in close once we flushed the covey. It was always the most fun hunting the singles as both dogs stayed in close and did their thing but in the end Sally's desire to cover a whole farm in thirty minutes or less came in handy when the Quail became harder to find.

I can remember our best Quail hunt like it was yesterday. Sally had run off on a familiar farm. We waited to let Rusty out so we could keep him close. We slowly hunted up to where Sally was pointed and Rusty backed her. Tommy and I both missed easy shots as we often did on the rise for some reason. Sally and Rusty watched the singles zig zag through the cedars and light in some nasty stuff. They both looked back at us as if to ask, what happened boys, then loped off the sage covered hillside and disappeared into the steep thick woods below.

We entered the thicket as the dogs worked the rocky slope. Tommy was toting a Browning automatic and me a sixteen gauge single-shot Winchester. It was my first gun and Tommy had given it to me for my birthday. The dogs worked that thicket perfectly and before we were out we both had four birds in our vest. Tommy mentioned that the sun was setting and we better call it a day. My reply was that he wanted out of there before I topped his four birds with a single shot.

We were making our way to the truck when I jumped a single. Swinging to my right I took a quick shot as the bird disappeared into the top of a cedar tree. Tommy and I both saw the shot part the cedar. Tommy was sure I had missed and probably secretly prayed that I had as I was known to, rub it in, a little back then. We were both laughing as I told Tommy I had killed that bird and Rusty was heading down there to get him. I honestly thought I had missed but hen I spotted Rusty trotting up the hill, head held high, with a fat Bobwhite in his mouth. I laughed as I bent down and took the bird from Rustys mouth and slid it inside my vest with the others. Tommy just shook his head.

We made it back to the truck and popped the top on a couple cokes. I can remember how good a cold coke tasted after walking over hills and through the briars. Um Um. We shed our vest and unloaded the shotguns then relived the hunt and savored the moment while Rusty and Sally drank from the creek and half-heartedly hunted around the truck. This was one of those moments that deserved a little time to make certain that it all made it to that place, reserved in our minds, for special moments in our lives.

We finished our cokes. It was almost dark now and the air was cold as we loaded the dogs, commending them on a great day afield. I can still hear the gravels popping beneath the tires as we slowly rolled down the gravel road on our way home. It is hunts like this that need to be remembered and this one tends to rise to the top when I reminisce of the days hunting the Bobwhite Quail and growing up in Lynchburg Tennessee.