Fifteen minutes west of town, past fields of corn, mint, onions, and beets, we stop at a simple farmhouse and exchange pleasantries with the owner.
“Well, wha’dyaknow, it’s the bird hunters! Did you get into any last time?”
So we chat about last time, brag a little, ask if there are any still back there. He gets to talking about the trees he wants to take out over the winter, and then we talk about his buddies who are visiting. They own the fancy fishing rig parked in the drive. Hear about the 8 foot sturgeon they caught earlier in the day. Then he tells us to head on back, and to “do good”.
We take the truck around back, along the feedlot boundary and up the irrigation canal, parking where we can get to one of the ditch crossings at the back of our farmer’s property. Put on the vests, get out the orange Fudd hats, collar up the pup and we’re hunting.
There’s supposed to be a pretty serious rain front coming in. All week long we’ve been worried it would arrive too early in the day and ruin our hunt, but the Lord has blessed us this day and the edge of the front is still aways west of us. So far, the wind hasn’t picked up, but since we’ve started a little early because of the weather, the doves aren’t really flying yet. Our plan is to hunt the grove of trees and then along the ditch banks out awhile for quail. Let the pup work, and stretch our legs, maybe get some shots. He and the dog take the north side, I take the south, and we head out.
There is nothing like an evening hunt, late in the summer. It’s still warm enough not to wear the heavy coat we’ll need next month in pheasant season, but not sweltering like it was when the season started three weeks ago. Some of the nearby fields have been brought in, leaving a rich stubble, but others are still up. There’s still water in the ditch and the trees nearby still have their leaves. We can see the bands of clouds at the head of the front moving up the valley towards us. What a magnificent day.
The dog is young, but he’s learning well and doesn’t get out away from us, so the first quail he gets up are close enough to shoot. Trouble is, they’re between us and they drop into heavy brush at the bottom of the ditch, so neither of us gets a shot. He can’t work them out of the cover so we continue on down the ditch. We don’t see any other quail here, but as we come to a field that has been brought in I jump a half dozen doves off the ground, going away from my buddy. I’m slow bringing my gun up, think I’ve missed my shot, but a straggler jumps up late and one shell later he’s on the menu.
We continue down the ditch, around the corner, beside a beet field. Doves jumping in here, but crossing us, so we get no good shots. We turn around and head back, and find a patch of goathead burrs. Clean the pup up, and our pant legs, then we’re good again (note to self: put one of those strawberry pluckers in your vest to save your fingers next time).
The wind is coming up now and we can see some birds flying, but they’re quite high. And as we get close to the spot I jumped them once, I see that they came back. Ready this time, I make my way closer to them, but they’re more wary this time, jump sooner, and instead of all going one way like last time, they all go in different directions. My one shot hits its mark though, and there are now two in the pouch. After all the walking the only other quail we see are closer to the house, the “special ones my wife feeds” the farmer told us. We think she should knit them little orange vests.
It’s starting to get dark, and close to cutoff time. The wind is up good now, and the clouds are coming in, the moon flying in and out of them. We take opposite corners and try to disappear into the brush along the fenceline hoping for some last minute flyover shots. Off in the distance we can see flashes of lightning. A couple more small flights go over, halfway between us and the moon, and going about 60 miles per hour. He tries a couple shots, but without result, and then the day is over.
We walk back to the truck, put away the guns, and the pup, and head back into town. Pup falls asleep before we make it to the road. It’s full dark before we get back to town, and the lightning continues, more frequent now, and closer. It’ll be raining hard and cold by morning, and many of the dove we saw will be gone before we get another chance to hunt.
But this evening was about perfect. Thank you Lord, and may we go again?
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