One season Ends and Another Begins

“There’s nothing like the smell of gun in the morning.” John said as we walked through an idyllic quail field surrounded by southern pines. As odd as that sounded, I couldn’t help but agree. The mixture of gun oil and burnt gunpowder has a distinct aroma. For me, it’s a smell that’s forever connected with cool crisp mornings spent in the woods, bird hunting.

And after hunting with Chet and his son Chip, and family friend, old army buddy, John, I couldn’t have asked for a better way to start my guiding season at Wintergreen Hunting Preserve. Upon arrival, John introduced himself, and wasted no time in introducing Chet as Dick Chaney. A familiar joke, but I promptly changed into my blaze orange flannel. I hunted with Chet and Chip the previous fall so it was good to see familiar faces and knew both were safe hunters and a pleasure to walk with in the woods. And after John shared a few colloquial Louisiana duck hunting stories, I knew I was in good company.

With the warmer weather this fall, the scent conditions haven’t been that favorable. Factors such as humidity, temperature and wind can all affect scent conditions in a number a different ways. But the morning after a rainy cold front was a perfect opportunity to look for birds. And five steps into the field, Dixie was already on point. The first bird flushed wild before we could set ourselves up for a shot. I appreciated everyone’s safety and restraint. Dixie even held her nerves and remained steady to wing.  Once we relocated on our first bird and got ourselves set up, I was happy to feel the weight of the field’s first prize in my vest.

After several great shots over great points, I noticed Chip walking to my left and recognized the antique side by side he had broken over his arm. A mental picture of our hunt the previous fall flashed in my head.

Just before sunset, we chased down a covey that hung out in the marshy thicket next to the duck impoundments. My puppy Max had located the covey the evening before, so on a hunch we decided to re-investigate the area. For those who hunt Wintergreen often enough, you learn where the coveys like to hang out. And then it becomes a matter of being at the right place at the right time.

Gus trailed the covey to the edge of the thicket and went on point. Dixie respectfully backed. They both smelled the excitement that laid in front of them. The ground exploded as a covey of a quail flushed before us. Chip knocked the first bird down, but failed to find a target among the myriad of feathered bodies scattering towards the thicket. It is a scene that will be forever imprinted in my memory, and triggered by the sight of a early century family heirloom double barrel.

As our morning progressed, the temperature warmed and the humidity seemed to dilute the bird‘s scent throughout the air. And the birds took advantage of it, quietly sneaking off from under points. At noon and one final survey of the field, we decided that those birds who had eluded both gun and dog deserved the afternoon off. After a few laughs back at the car and plenty of quail to make a meal, the hunt was a morning well spent.