Wingbeats and Heartbeats by Dave Books

Author:Dave Books [Dave Books]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: University of Wisconsin Press

Of course, the explosive covey rise rattled me and I shot too fast. For such small birds, they make a lot of noise. Havilah Babcock, a University of South Carolina English professor and poet laureate of southern quail hunting, explained it this way: “Seven ounces of avoirdupois could be wrapped up in no other shape or form that would possess such power to befog and confound the senses or to disconcert and disorganize the human nervous system.” I missed with the first barrel but scratched one down with the second. An hour later Chief pointed again near the edge of a cornfield. This time I calmed my nerves and doubled on the covey rise, a performance I repeated only once during the remainder of the trip.

My most vivid recollection came on the last afternoon of our hunt. Late in the day Jon and I scattered a covey at the edge of a woodlot, and I shot two singles over Chief’s points. The third bird he pointed flew into the woods, dodging through the oak trees. I thought I saw it slant down at my shot, but I lost sight of it in the thick undergrowth. The sky was growing darker, and I didn’t think I had much chance of finding it, but I urged Chief to “hunt dead.” He disappeared while I scuffled around in the leaves and twigs carpeting the ground, hoping for a miracle. A cold wind muttered through the trees, sending the brown oak leaves still clinging to the branches into a nervous chatter. When I heard his bell getting louder, I turned to see him coming toward me with the pretty little cock quail in his mouth, just as amber rays from a dying sun washed across the woodlot.

While my experience with bobwhites may be limited, I’ve shot a lot of Mearns quail in southern Arizona with No. 8 trap loads. Like bobwhites, these birds hold tight for a pointing dog. Most shots are in heavy cover at close range, requiring a gun choked skeet or improved cylinder—a combination that also works well for bobwhites.

There are no bobwhite quail in Arizona, unless you count the masked bobwhite, a subspecies on the endangered species list. While visiting southern Arizona a few winters ago, I drove up a gravel road south of Tucson into the Santa Rita Mountains. Past the turnoff to Madera Canyon, a popular birding spot that hosts a rare, long-tailed bird called the elegant trogon, the Box Canyon Road winds upward through a narrow canyon. On top the terrain levels out into rolling, oak-covered hills, part of the Coronado National Forest. I pulled off at a roadside turnout to let my Brittany, Ollie, water the trees.

There was a public access sign at the barbed-wire fence, so I went through the gate and started up a well-worn trail to look around. Out of nowhere appeared two Brittanys with a pair of hunters not far behind. I hadn’t seen a soul for the past hour—or another vehicle—so I was surprised, to say the least.

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