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Chasing Blues Through the Texas Chaparral Story by Greg Simons
After the second covey encounter with no birds in bag, I pleaded, “Guys, if you continue to hunt these birds in a gentlemanly fashion, we may never have enough birds for the quail meal that is on the dining menu for this evening.” This was the first time that these three gentlemen had hunted blue quail together, and though each were experienced quail hunters, both with blues and bobs, there was that natural tendency for each of them to not breach proper quail hunting etiquette that’s commonly held for bobwhites. The problem is that blue quail do not observe the finer gamebird principles as bobwhites; rather, they are more rogue and prone to run like members of a gang who are scattering from law dogs. I then instructed them, “Okay, amigos, on this next covey, I want all three of you to dismount the truck as safely and quickly as possible, chamber a round, and take pursuit of the birds, not worrying about if the next guy is lagging behind. Be safe but be aggressive.” As we came to a screeching halt near a water trough, with some 30–40 birds scurrying through the creosote like they were on skateboards, my tres amigos launched from the crew cab F-250 as I spouted, “If you have to pot-shoot them on the ground like cottontail rabbits, then do so. Take no prisoners.” Over the next 15 minutes I heard no less than 15 shots, watching them wind through the brush and up the side of a rocky hill covered in lechaguila, with David almost taking a spill. When they returned, they were beaming from ear to ear with 7 beautiful birds in their bag. “I think we figured how we need to play this game together now,” were the words of Jim, as he was picking thorns out of his shin.
WINTER 2019
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TEXAS LAND
57
