Bobwhite quail always on the mind of bird hunters

The pursuit of bobwhite quail in scruffy Missouri bottomlands is grand sport and there is a significant number of hard-core "bird hunters" who always have a good excuse for missing work or school occasionally from the first of November through January 15. This is what the quail season is all about.

The morning generally starts early, leaving time for a big country breakfast at home or at a favorite cozy cafe along the way.

Aside from sharing food with partners who love the sport as much as you, the intake of calories is important. Before the hunting day ends, you and your friends will have busted through more that 10 miles of weeds, grasses, fence rows and grainfields for a chance to bag a handsome bird that weighs a mere 6 ounces.

Most of us know it would be a lot simpler and far less expensive to stop at the supermarket and buy a half-dozen prime T-bones. But it you are a quail hunter, you know there is much more to the sport than hunting.

The drive with hunting friends and bird dogs is part of the ritual.

At 6 a.m., the conversation among four hunters and longtime friends is lively and familiar. The forecast for the quail season is mediocre. But there are birds in places where coveys seem to like.

It's not easy going in the blackberry brambles for men, boys and dogs. But past hunts prove that birds hang tight in spots where other hunters shun.

The subject in the truck shifts quickly to dogs as it often does. The new pointer pup is coming along nicely and this will be Jake the pointer's ninth season.

Nobody believes the steady dog is that old. We hunted him when he was a pup.

Does that say anything about how old we are getting? Can you believe we are still doing this together? Some men never grow up. Thank goodness!

Permission to hunt 400 acres of private land has been obtained in advance, confirmed by phone the night before. There is no need to bother the landowner now. We pass the gate and pull off the dirt road onto a grassy shoulder as the sun peeks over the horizon.

A veil of frost blankets the ground. There should be enough moisture and good scenting conditions for the two pointers.

The pre-hunt ritual has each of us reaching for No. 8 shotshells, stuffing them into the elasticized shell loops of our game vests. We shun our heavy canvas coats for vests. The pace and terrain keeps the body plenty warm. Some of us reach for dog whistles, gloves, snacks and blaze orange caps.

Shotguns are uncased. There is one over-under 12 gauge among us, the rest autoloading lighter 20 gauge 24-inch barrels that many quail hunters prefer.

Guns all choked improved cylinder. Most shots at quail are taken in clogged cover within about 20 yards, so most modified and full-choked guns are a handicap.

As though on cue, we look at each other and nod. The doors to the travel kennels are unlatched and a pair of sinewy dogs, square-headed and eager, bound from the back of the truck and hit the ground in a swirl of motion.

They are spotted liver and white. Already, the intensity in their eyes, a pointer trademark, is obvious.

Shells are dropped into the breech of the over-under gun and the barrels snapped shut. Other hunters work ammunition though their autoloaders. The dogs are already 50 yards out and the four of us scurry to close the distance.

About 10 yards separates each hunter in the flank. The pace becomes steady, rhythmic and highly satisfying. It feels good to walk briskly, to feel the crunch of weeds underfoot and to stalk like a predator, ever alert.

The dogs flash back and forth, like remote vacuum cleaners, 20 yards ahead. The work well together. Just watching them prance, their noses held level as radar detectors, is all the reward this group of hunters expects.

Ask any legitimate quail hunter what he likes best about pursuing bobwhites and he will tell you. It's the dog work. That's what it's all about.

Working a long hedgerow, we had already passed spots where the dogs had pointed birds during past seasons. Quail hunters never forget point spots and they will let you know their history without your ever having to ask. It is amazing how many times a covey will be in the same spot, year after year.

On the other hand, quail can be unpredictable at times. They can pop up at places where no self-respecting covey should be. The hedgerow failed to produce and we gathered at the edge of a short-cropped grass field to discuss options for our next move.

A few minutes later, we started walking away from the field when one of our hunters looked back and saw both dogs locked solid in grass no more that 4 inches high.

We looked at each other, shook our heads and walked quietly to the dogs.

At 5 feet away, the pointers could have been lifeless statues. No eyes blinking. No tail twitching. At two feet away, with hunters hovering over them like vultures, one of the dogs whimpered ever so softly.

At one foot and counting, there was no sign of bobwhite on the ground. On ground zero and one more delicate step, the ground exploded as a bevy of buzzing brown quail materialized in the faces of men who have been caught in bobwhite fire many times. Most of the covey sailed above the oak trees.

But at the end, some who showed either poise or luck managed to shoot straight.

Six birds counted on the ground. But if the truth come out, the pointers were the heroes. None of the fallen birds were found by hunters.

Another covey was found after lunch and a few more birds made in the game bag. We headed home content. The dogs snored all the way home.

Charlie Farmer is an outdoors columnist for the Springfield (Mo.) News Leader.