Calvin: Thought your thread would have generated a few stories. Here's one.
Before I was old enough to have a hunting license, I accompanied my Dad whenever and wherever he went hunting - from mountain valleys to prairie flats in snow, rain or bright sunshine. One trip was to a swathed wheat field for ducks. It was a nice day, so no low slow flights. Dad had a habit of adding just a bit more powder than the recipe called for so the long shots could still bring them down. (I don't know if there is any validity to that assumption, but he did it.) So we sat in the field with a bit of swath covering us. We watched as high flying green heads criss-crossed the clear blue sky. None had any interest in dropping in for breakfast. At one point, Dad stood up with the VH pointed skyward. Yes there was a line of mallards up there, but they seemed no different to me than any of the others that had flown by. There was that familiar report and I watched in some amazement as one, then two, then three, then four, then a fifth mallard plummeted to the field. Five from a line. Dad told me he lead the first bird by a long way and it was the third or fourth bird that was first to fall and they continued to drop. He was amazed as well. Mr. Parker may not have been amazed just pleased to see another of his guns met expectations.
Cheers,
Jack
Sometimes we were a bit above the valley
A lot of time spent on prairie farm land for both upland and migratory
