February 27, 2012

Just like Hunting Woodcock

A pair of quail dodged a volley of gunfire and escaped to the thick, marsh-like bay at the edge of the field.

“Alright, I got ‘em marked.” I said.

Most hunters would look at that kind of cover, and leave it to the birds. But I knew Johnny Ferguson likes to hunt woodcock, so he would be up for the challenge. His partner David Upchurch, probably wasn’t as sure.






Even with the light of day, these kind of woods take on a characteristic from an Evil Dead horror film. Dense networks of twisted vines and briars grab at your arms, legs and torso and try to steal whatever loose items you might be wearing, such as a hat or a pair of glasses. They scrape at your knuckles, face or any other exposed skin.   
And the ground can be just as deceitful, covering stump holes with dead leaves or soft mud that rob you of sure footing. Often times, just as you are negotiating the next set of obstacles, head down and one knee bent on the ground, a bird flushes leaving only the sound of wing beats. At best, the bird only presents itself for a split second before it disappears deeper into the dense cover. And if you’re lucky, you get one shot. Prepared for it or not. A style of hunting more typical of grouse or woodcock, than Bobwhite quail. Quick and unforgiving. But if you manage to knock down a bird, it’s a shot that stays imprinted on your memory. Snap shooting at its best. I, for one, love it.





As we walked up on Gus’s point, Johnny found himself tangled in vines. And the briars grabbed my hands and shook my camera as I knelt down. On cue, the bird flushed and disappeared. None of us got a clear shot.


The next point gave us enough time and room to position ourselves before the bird unexpectedly flushed. Johnny and David both fired with a perfect sense of timing as a plume of feathers framed the bird between a window of two small pines. A second later, the bird would have been gone.

Johnny laughed. “This is just like hunting woodcock.”

Away from the familiar fields, I couldn't help but agree.





February 22, 2012

February 20, 2012

Behind Every Good Hunt is A Dog

When Dixie came nose to nose with two other Brittanies in the field, she cocked her head to the side giving the appearance of saying, “I don’t think I know you, so you better get out of my face.”  A simple, “Come on...” broke the stand off and reminded everybody that we were supposed to be hunting.  After a quick dozen of downed birds, Ryan Fulcher and I had met up with his hunting partners in the adjacent field with fellow guide, Ray Murphy, and his Brittanies.


“Is this your dog?” Ray asked as we headed towards the front corner of the field.
“I  inherited her from my uncle.” I answered.
“Really?  I sort of fell out of hunting for a while, so I booked a hunt with your uncle years ago on a whim.  I enjoyed the dog work so much that by the time I came home I had three new Brittany puppies.” He said.


As his liver and white Brittany went on point, Dixie and her brace mate respectfully backed.
Three Brittanies frozen in the tall broom grass. Struck by the scene,  Ray pulled out a camera.
“And...as a matter of fact, Dixie was the dog that got me back into hunting.” He continued.


I understood that statement all too well.  I grew up hunting with my uncle’s dogs at Wintergreen.  And if it weren’t for Dixie, neither one of us would have been walking the fields that day.   But my uncle's dogs aren’t perfect.  There are times when they bump birds, ignore commands, and rarely do they retrieve a bird to hand.  But I have never questioned their desire and drive to find birds.  And as hard as I’ve seen them hunt for me,  I’ll gladly  bend down to pick up a retrieved bird.  For better or worse, we are a team. 
It is a partnership tattooed in the evening sky during hunting season.  Each night, Orion the hunter and his dog Sirius silently stalk the eastern horizon in an eternal pursuit of cosmic fish and fur.   A ritual written in the stars and inherent to our human history.   A reminder that there is a certain happiness found in the bond formed from hunting with your dog.

February 6, 2012

Guns that say more than just a brand

One of my favorite things about taking hunters out is the guns. I am always excited to see what kind of gun my hunters pull from their cases. That being said, I’m not a gun buff. My working knowledge of shotguns is about the same as my knowledge of guitars; I know the classics, how to properly pronounce most brands, proper maintenance and cleaning, and the difference between a Stratocaster and Telecaster. And like shotguns, I can get around half way decent on a guitar. But ask me the specifics on why single coil pick-ups sound different than hum-buckers, and you’ll get a shoulder shrug and a blank face.


A Browning A-5 "Humpback"- Light 12 GA
Last season, I watched an “old-timer” pull out an original Browning A-5, Sweet Sixteen, “Humpback”. It is a horrendously awkward-looking gun. Compared to the sleek and smooth designs of modern Benelli’s, the A-5 with its straight edges and sharp corners looks like it was designed by a Kindergartner with a crayon. But it holds its place in history as the first semi- automatic shotgun. And immortalized in the writings and paintings of the “good old days” of hunting. My hunter went on to tell me that he had hunted with this gun since he was 12-years-old. And that it was passed down to him from an uncle who fought in World War I. He recounted stories of Geese before the days of steel shot, and shooting over countless coveys of wild Quail in the evenings after school. As he loaded the remaining shells in his hand, I realized I was looking a gun with more hunting experience than the both of us combined. “Still cycles 2 ¾ loads like a charm.” he added.


Johnny Ferguson shoulders his Huglu .410 side-by-side





So for me, there are certain guns and gauges that hold a special place in hunting. And I always look forward to the chance to see Johnny Ferguson hunt with his Huglu .410 side-by-side. Though Huglu is a relatively new manufacturer, the .410 has a long history and tradition in hunting.





For many hunters, it is the first gun they are allowed to carry in the field, but after a season or two, outgrown and left in its case. But the .410 holds a certain child-like nostalgia when you carry it as an adult. Its small, toy-like build reminds you of all the excitement you felt as a kid on your first hunts.









Though it can be a difficult gauge to shoot successfully, you can’t help but think, “What a nice little gun,” as you feel the weight of the still warm bird balanced against your gun.


Johnny is the only one of my hunters that shoots this gauge. And he does it well. On our most recent hunting trip together, I watched him and his hunting partner Jim, knock down bird after bird, only allowing three to escape unscathed


The type of gun a hunter carries can say a lot. The reasons for a certain gauge and gun can be just as varied as the hunters’ themselves. I’ve shot the same 20 gauge over/under for most of my life. And I doubt I’ll shoot another one. For me, it just feels good. I shot my first Grouse with that gun. My first Woodcock. My first double on Quail. It has no fancy embroidering on the receiver. No elegant etchings. The wood is weathered and worn from exposure and heavy use. The stock is riddled with scars from thick briar patches. And cured from the resulting blood and sweat of hard hunting. But it has a history. A character. And it was handed down to me from an Uncle.