Love at First Flight

Article by DALE ROLLINS, PH.D. Photos courtesy of DALE ROLLINS, PH.D.

A man may not care for golf and still be human, but the man who does not like to see, hunt, photograph, or otherwise outwit birds or animals is hardly normal. He is supercivilized, and I for one do not know how to deal with him. Babes do not tremble when they are shown a golf ball, but I should not like to own the boy whose hair does not lift his hat when he sees his first deer. ~Aldo Leopold

I’m not in the habit of editing a quote by Leopold, but in this case, I’d swap “stumbles into the flush of a covey of quail” for “sees his first deer.” If I’d been born 40 years later or raised in an area not devoid of deer during my adolescence, perhaps I’d agree with the quote verbatim.

I reckon deer had as much political panache in Wisconsin in Leopold’s day as they do these days in Texas. But there is a common denominator here, and it involves deer.

I hope you have recollections of stumbling into a covey of bobwhites while en route to your deer blind in the predawn. If your heart didn’t leap into your throat, indeed you are “supercivilized.”

I’ve been quail hunting for the past 57 years. Knock off about those first seven years from age 6 to 13 because most of those hunts were shooting quail from the window of a pickup truck. My daddy could spot a covey of quail or a cottontail’s eye while going 60 mph down a dirt road. Indulge me as I take a trip down memory lane and share some indelible waypoints of quail hunts past.

FIRST BIRD ON THE WING

If I live be a hundred, I will never forget my first bird on the wing. I was riding with my grandpa five miles south of Hollis, Oklahoma. I was hunting with a borrowed Revelation .410 shotgun.

My waypoint for that point is stored forever. A bobwhite hen flushed and veered back to my right. It was a perfect shot indeed, and I picked it up and carried it back to the car with pride. Now it seems as though the bird was flying in slow motion.

FIRST BIRD DOG

My buddy Coondog and I soon had two Brittany pups: Toby and Bambi. It wasn’t long before we were really quail hunting. We had a route through the southwestern part of Harmon County that we made every Saturday morning. We were blessed to have abundant populations of bobwhite and scaled quail, and we cold hunt basically any place we wished to.

MY FIRST SETTER

Bambi got snake bitten in the flank in September 1978. She tried to follow my dad from the vet clinic one day but grew weary about a quarter mile down the road. A city policeman saw her, thought she’d been run over and shot her.

After that, I was bird dog-less for the next 13 years. Then, in 1991, my brother-in-law told me that he’d acquired six Llewellyn setter pups. As we drove down to the pen where they were being kept, I told him that I didn’t have time for a bird dog. But when he dangled the quail wing and a 7-week-old setter female struck a posture, it stole my heart.

I named her Suzie. I’ve probably written more about her exploits than any other bird dog I’ve ever had. We were mates for life.

MEMORABLE SHOTS

Believe it or not, I think I could identify with GPS precision everywhere I’ve shot a quail. But some are worthy of special mention.

Back when I was “mad at quail,” I shot a Remington Model 870 Wingmaster pump. I nicknamed it “KOMA” after the Oklahoma City radio station, 1520 on your AM dial, whose mantra was, “…we keep pumping out those hits.” So did my Wingmaster. Twice, I shot five birds on the covey rise.

The 2015-2016 quail seasons were the best two seasons I’ve ever seen. I shot my first “blob,” got 3 blues with one shot, and enjoyed a number of 40 covey days.

MEMORABLE HUNTS

I’ve likely introduced more young people to wild quail hunting than anyone; no brag just fact. And if you’re one of my grad students you’ll earn one or more quail hunts.

Today’s students just don’t have the opportunities I had as a youth. They need to be rewarded. Nothing stokes the fire better than having them enjoy a good quail hunt behind great dogs.