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Tall Timbers: Burning Down the House
I’ve heard of folks figuring out the price tag on costs to raise wild quail, but I don’t know of anyone who has kept track of the amount of time that goes into the breeding, training and developing of a championship gun dog. Both are significant. Take that dog number, multiply it by 55, and you’ll have one heck of a lot of hours all represented in the dogs that qualified to run across 28 braces in the February 2025 National Championship for Bird Dogs held at Ames Plantation. The first brace of this 126-year old Super Bowl caliber event commenced on February 10th . The final brace ran over two weeks later on February 27, and during that time weather conditions ranged from a soggy, below-freezing 22 degrees Fahrenheit day to a 75-degree Fahrenheit sweat lodge. If you don’t like the weather in Grand Junction then wait five minutes.
See You At The Dance
Arguably, the most coveted days on a bird hunter’s calendar are the ones where he or she is actually hunting. Those days are the summit of a year-long hike through the day-to-day of dog training, vet bills, hard earned paychecks, and sheer anticipation of what is to come. There are few things we would trade them for. But when seasons have come to a close and winter has laid the earth to a silent, seemingly lifeless rest, where does a bird-afflicted hunter turn to? What can be done to satiate the need for adventure that doesn’t end with the close of upland seasons?
Don’t Chicken Out Of Hunting Chickens
“Flump! Flump! Flump!” sent soundwaves tingling through my ears, followed by the crack
Don’t Lose Your Birds
Almost every bird hunter has experienced the desperate disappointment of losing a downed bird. We all have had to walk away. It is not a good feeling when a bird is lost. Whether using dogs or not, knowing that a bird has been shot and the feeling of being unable to locate it is unnerving.
Booty Blevins and Marvin Means
It was 1946. The War was finally over, and Booty was back in Alabama after duty as a duce-and-a half driver and then infantryman at the Battle of the Bulge, mustering out as a corporal. Before the War, he had worked as a hand on Mr. Maytag's quail plantation at Union Springs. The washing machine maker had loved to shoot quail. Booty had helped Mr. George Hardin train his bird dogs and retrievers and the horses ridden by those involved in the hunts or pulling the hunt wagon.
My Invention
I have always been blessed with just the right amount of intelligence to get neck deep into something, but never enough intelligence to get out successfully. This was one of those occasions. It involves two bird dog bitches and a dummy, me.
Twice Bitten
For a fourteen-year-old, truth can be illusive. In many cases it’s hard to sort out and in other instances it’s just as plain as the nose on your face. I do know one thing that was true; it was well into November, and it hadn’t rained in Amite County since July. The farmers had fed out all their hay and were hoping to get winter rye into the ground before the December frosts, but they needed a rain.
Spring Shuffle Delayed
Oliver Bain sold his AI (artificial intelligence) Unicorn (billion-dollar start-up ) to Microsoft instead of taking it public. He was 58, and unknown to any around him, had a secret ambition he would now satisfy. As a boy growing up on a farm in Virginia, he had walked with his father, a dirt farmer, behind home grown pointers and setters after quail.
The Handoff
The year was 1955. Buck Reed had returned home to South Georgia from the war in Europe ten years before and embarked on his career as an all-age handler of pointing dogs as successor to his father, Sam, who had then retired from the same trade, turning his string over to Buck. Sam sadly died a year later of a heart attack, victim of the near universal curse of his generation, cigarettes.
A Day In The Mash
“Find em!” The rally cry was given to the eager pack of beagles. They excitedly hit the cover, noses to the ground, their tails wagging furiously . My son Steve and I had met his Uncle Gary Sanderson for a rabbit hunt. Having been with Gary once before at Thanksgiving and hearing his dogs in action, I knew we were in for a real treat.
The Dilemma
For Ben Reach, it was the perfect dilemma, the most ironic problem of his long legal career. And its solution the most surprising. It was a long time coming. And the solution was a total surprise to all concerned.
The Hunt Goes On
In the early 70s bird hunting was at its peak in Eastern North Carolina. I was a youngster still and loved to tag along on hunts with family and longed to have my own dogs. It was about this time that I attended my first bird dog field trial, a horseback event being held near my Uncle Henry’s farm. It was there that I first remember meeting Dr. W.C. Sanderson. He was there to compete as was his brother “Dute” Sanderson, a popular local professional dog trainer.
Should We?
Hurricane Hattie had requalified with a third place in the last qualifier of the season. Should they enter her was the question occupying her owner, Sam Slade, and handler, Mack Bain. Both were ambivalent and unsure of their judgment on the issue.
The Master
One of my earliest memories is the smell of the Hoppes gun oil my dad would use on his Sweet 16 Browning after a bird hunt. He and my uncles would tell stories of 30 coveys a day, of the “ditch bank birds”, those bobs that would provide great sport by scattering out down a line, giving the gunners an easy opportunity. Tales of limits by lunchtime and perfectly broke pointers and setters kept my interest high. Like a puppy, I wanted desperately to go with the men on a real bird hunt but was deemed too immature.
