I’m not so sure that my dog, Gus, doesn’t save a few birds as bartering chips at the end of the hunt. Maybe he gets wind of a couple birds right off the bat, and thinks to himself “ I’ll save those guys for the end of the trip, so I don’t have to go back in the truck.” But maybe that’s asking a lot. Maybe that “Ting, ting.. Ting..” sound that comes from the bell around his collar is just echoing that one marble rattling around in his head going, “Birds.. Birds, Birds…” Either way, I can always count on a few points from Gus on the way back to the car.
I warned my hunter, Ron, as his friends started towards the edge of the field.
“If Gus thinks we’re headed home, he’ll false point all the way back to truck. He knows how this works. If he’s on point, we have to come to him.”
Tim, Max and Bob were already laughing about the morning’s hunt, recounting the birds that somehow dodged 8 rounds of lead and escaped unharmed, as well as the ones that didn‘t. Gus locked up on a clump of reeds.
A large part of guiding with dogs is learning how to read their behavior, their quirks, and even their faults. Gus gets psyched out by mice hiding under rotted logs. And Dixie likes to parade her down birds in front of each hunter, then drop it a few steps away instead of retrieving it to hand, as if to say, “Let me make it clear: This is my bird. I did all the work. You come pick it up.” At almost 11-years-old, she’s too old and stubborn to argue with.
You learn how to read each point. The slight tilt of the head can indicate how close a bird is. A nose to the wind can tell you if a bird is running. A slow creep into a point more than likely implies, more than one bird. Little variations of behavior that allow you to know your dog. But most of the time, it’s all in the eyes.
Gus’ eyes were fixed in a frozen stare.
“Alright, you ready Ron? We have one last bird in here.” I said.
Ron’s Browning A-5 20 ga. cycled as the bird fell on his first shot.
“Is that an original or re-issue?” I asked.
Ron smiled, “Original.”
It happens. The first hunt of the season can be rough, even if you have spent some time shouldering your gun during the off-season. Nerves can get the best of you. The birds never fly the way you expect them to. And it’s easy to psyche yourself out and forget that it’s not all about pulling the trigger. Those are my excuses anyway; I blanked eight times on opening day of Duck season.
So I could sympathize with my long time hunters, Chip and Chet Oehme, after we finished our first trip out at Wintergreen.
“Well Pop, at least we have enough to make a sandwich.”
And unlike me, at least they didn’t go home empty handed.
Here is an easy way to make a little go a long way…and a creative way to use game.
5 Quail Breasts
1 can of Great Northern Beans (un-drained)
1 can of Cannellini Beans (un-drained)
Optional: 1 can of Black Beans (drained/washed)
1 packet of McCormick White Chicken Chili Seasoning
2 cups game stock or water
Sour Cream
Cilantro
Avocados/ Guacamole
Serves 4
Grill or Roast Quail Breasts just to the point where you can pick the meat of the bones. Finish them off in a medium to large sauce pot with a little oil and packet of seasoning (cumin, cayenne, paprika, garlic, salt/ pepper, oregano).
Cook until each piece of Quail meat is coated with seasoning. Use water or better yet, game stock to sort of deglaze all that goodness stuck to the bottom of the pan.
Note: I save/freeze all my carcasses from ducks, quail, pheasant, etc. to make stock, as well as keeping my trash can from smelling for a week.
Add Beans, reduce heat and bring to a slow boil. (15- 20min)
Place in bowls and top with cilantro, sour cream, cheese, avocados or guacamole
The field in front of us was filled with covey calls, when a lonesome Bobwhite lit through the tall pines and landed 50 yards ahead of us.
I warned Johnny Ferguson and his hunting partner.
“Heads up, guys. We got birds wanting to covey-up just ahead.”
Dixie had been working close and tracking these birds for the past 30 minutes, and the errant bird gave us a goal line on our slow walk back. A few steps later, she froze next to a patch of Sweet Gum saplings and suddenly we were right in the middle of it.
“Alright, be ready for more than one bird to get up” I cautioned.
Johnny’s first step towards Dixie sent a bird sailing towards safety, weaving through the trees. The bird fell on his second shot. Another bird jumped. Johnny anxiously searched his pockets for his next two shells and quickly reloaded his top barrel. Suddenly, a chain reaction of nervousness set bird after bird into the air and a single shot rang out as the birds scattered unscathed.
Dixie still sat frozen.
“We still got more birds in here .” I said.
Johnny laughed, “Well, I’m out of shells.”
In just under 4 hours of hunting, we had already moved close to 50 birds. And the fact of the matter is this: The busier Wintergreen is, the better the hunting is for everybody.
I offered a couple of 20 ga. re-loads from my pockets and we set up on the final bird. The reluctant quail fell 10ft from his panicked covey mate who seemed so anxious to fly.
With singles scattered all the way back to truck, and the wind in the dog’s favor, we couldn’t have asked for a better way to ending the morning.
