[MarketHunter]

Today was another mighty fine day though my shooting was markedly poor. We started off with cranes same as yesterday, but they didn't much wanna play. We had a pair get about 50 yards and, though "The Preacher" is very capable of such distances, operator error failed to bring one to bag.

We stayed at it for awhile but they were all flying high so about 9ish we left off and headed for Mearn's Quail territory. Phil wasn't lying when he said it was going to be a pretty piece of country. High mountainous ridges surrounding a long valley filled with oak and mesquite trees, criss crossed with rocky dry creek beds.

Let me tell you boys, we covered some ground today, thankfully the brandywine like air kept the fat boy together. We hunted over hill and dale, through gullies and meadows, up and down back and forth for several hours.

We had quite a few tense moments and found quail sign nearly everywhere but just couldn't get to grips with them. Finally, just before sunset as we were coming off the last ridge, the young dog pointed right in front of us. But before we had time to even realize it, the covey was up and away. I managed two quick shots but even Dad's old gun couldn't provide enough help to make me connect on that kind of chance. They headed straight for the bushes, I made a fine shower of leaves on my first shot and my second I don't even know. We hit the brush again chasing singles and I managed to miss two more wild flushing birds in the thick stuff. Tough shots, but I should have killed at least one, I was pretty disappointed in myself needless to say.

But what a grand day even if we came home birdless, what a fine piece of country to be carrying a gun in. We found half a dozen patches of scattered deer bones where mountain lions had made kills, I saw ravens flying the thermals overhead, I picked up pieces of white quartz off a hillside and imagined finding a vein of gold running through them. We chatted with a rancher that was headed to check a lion kill with the roughest looking pack of coursing dogs I ever ran across.

Phil left me at the bottom of the hill as he headed to get the truck after our last pass through the quail cover. I took a seat on a piece of lava rock just as the sun touched the hills. I can't remember when I was somewhere so quiet. No tires whining on a highway, no cel phones ringing, nobody but me and the wind for just those few minutes.

Tomorrow it's another quick try at the cranes then off to another stretch of desert around Douglas, AZ to see if I can't miss a Gamble's Quail. The fat duck hunters legs and lungs are holding up surprisingly well even though I'm sure Phil is being pretty easy on me as far as cover goes.


Regards,
Destry

P.S. to Dean: I don't see a grouse dog in my future anytime soon. Though I did have a bit of grouse hunter sympathy today after the first couple hours without a solid point. Those Mearn's Quail proved almost as elusive as those ruffed legged birds you all seem so fond of. But I'd go after them again in a minute. I told Phil at dinner I was almost (that's almost) glad we didn't get one today. Gives me an excuse to come back......