Bird hunting book readers please review

[James Clarke]

To Preface this is a short story from a book my father is writing about his experience hunting quail in the Texas panhandle, Oklahoma, Kansas and North Dakota the past 58 years.

Poor Chance.

You don’t always get to win. Most of the great story tellers and authors of books on the hunting of birds dedicate time to the ones that got away. Some in folksy ways, some with academic precision. The Spanish philosopher Jose Ortega y Gasset, elegantly wrote of the vital reason. The dynamic interchange between the individual and his surroundings, he used the drama of the hunt to explain the doctrine of Vital Reason. In Meditations on Hunting, he explains in a critical way the obligations of modern man to preserve that which he hunts. And in doing so he preserves the very nature of man. On just a practical side, they absolutely must get away, or we would not have any left to hunt. And we do not hunt them alone, for what us is a noble pastime, it is a matter of survival for owls, hawks, snakes, coyotes, foxes and a dozen more animals that feed on quail. This is the story of a covey so preadapted to survival that it tormented me and a very experienced old hand.
I have always been lucky with hunting companions through all the stages of my hunting journey. Joe Wood was not an exception to my luck. Joe is 18 years my senior, and a fixture at the Amarillo gun club. We were introduced by my dad as Joe and Dad would shoot skeet every Thursday, and had quail hunted together. Joe was an eccentric person, but in a very pleasant way. He had grown up on a ranch south of Lubbock. Wiry, best describes his physical qualities. He enjoyed old Parker side by side shotguns, with exposed hammers, and he shot them well. He had been a successful stockbroker and rancher. Educated at Southern Methodist University, and from a good family. He was well read in the classics, he could quote Gene Hill and Havilah Babcock, Voltaire and Shakespeare. I believe that he was somewhat impressed that I could too, not Shakespear and Voltaire. But Gene Hill, Havila Babcock, Cory Ford, Nash Buckingham, Archibald Rutledge and of course George Bird Evans. What Joe enjoyed the most was good dog work, Fancy Basket never let him down. Joe was also a pilot and would fly his piper cub to Angel Fire to fly fish for trout. A Texas renaissance man.
I picked up Fancy on a quail hunt in southern Kansas. From a dog trainer that basically just wanted to get rid of this mostly black setter puppy. He had pointing Labs and they were the next great thing at the time. I honestly don’t think he knew what he had genetically, or he just had a bias against black setters. Her registered name was Tom’s Fancy Desert Rambler. She was a Princess of English Setter breeding. A great-granddaughter of Tekoa Mountain Sunrise. Granddaughter of Desert Rambler. Fancy was broke by Max Rackley, one of the better dog trainers in central Oklahoma at the time. I had force fetch trained her, which I hate to do, but she became a very reliable dog on dead birds and cripples. He called her a basket case because Fancy was a bit squirrelly. “She’s got an above average nose and a hell of motor, she don’t lack for hustle either, but she’s just odd and might come untrained if you stop for lunch.” So naturally she became Fancy Basket. The truth was if she was all white with black spots instead of all black with white spots, she would have been the second coming of Bose Ann’s Mosley ! I had learned early on if you did not own land you need to have good dogs to get invited quail hunting. And I always had good dogs and occasionally a brag-dog too. Fancy’s kennel mate was a nice orange and white female named Josey. Josey came from a pediatrist friend of mine. Who always just wanted something different. I never knew her pedigree, but she was above average and easy to handle. She had the typical sweet setter disposition, and moments of excellence. She was most likely from a Llewellin line, he had bought her from a guy in Pennsylvania, she would usually end up backing Fancy anyway.
Joe enjoyed naming coveys. There was the windmill covey, the pump jack covey, his favorite was just called Fancy. Joe and Fancy bonded, he just loved her. They both marched to their own drummer. Fancy liked to stay in the house, her place was always on the floor between the boy’s beds. She was not a picky eater, but she was not food motivated either. In the field she would always have a nice cast, but you had better keep an eye on her. She could accelerate and be 300 yards away in an instant. Many times, she would find a covey and then we had to find her. A small black bodied dog is not that easy to find, but fortunately her white tail was like a flag. I suggested a beeper collar, but Joe would not have that,” it would ruin the tranquility of the hunt”. He could always see that white tail. And he would take his time to get to her, knowing she would hold, and if they moved it was a simple tap on the side and a relocated covey.
Which brings us to the Poor Chance Covey. Poor chance lived in fortress of a plum thicket. A four-acre tangle of wild plums that was like concertina wire. Worse than that it was on a hillside and went over the top of the hill. The approach of the road was west to east. The fort being on the north side of the road. Open grass on either side of the fort and to the south side of the road a creek. They could see you from the road if you drive in. If you were to catch them in the grass, they would make it to the fort.
The only hope for poor chance was to catch them feeding and it would be a shoot twice and hope deal. But between me and Joe there are four shots. Knowing the second they were disturbed they were going back to the fort.
We arrived at the ranch before daybreak. The plan was to park close enough to hear them whistle before leaving the roost. Then release Fancy Basket and Josey and let them locate them and hold the covey. It is a pleasant morning, slightly chilly, with a breeze at our back from the southwest. I did not like this breeze. The lights were on in the ranch house we told Lane the owner and Joes nephew our plan. He laughed at us and said “ ya’ll go ahead, and come by for lunch”. “ I saw them yesterday evening in the short grass”. We let the dogs out to air out and stretch. We decided to go ahead and put on the dog boots here, so we could maintain the element of surprise.
The whistle of the Bob White is a magical sound. “ Joe smiled and said it’s about to get a little Western around here. We quietly uncased the guns and put on the game vests. Joe was carrying his Parker hammer gun, 12 gauge. I had my Winchester Model 23 Classic, 28 gauge. Fancy Basket is whining and shaking her crate, Josey is mellow and stretching in her box.
We parked 100 yards away and walked down the road. Walking the dogs on leads and released at the edge of the field. The plan was still to catch the birds in the grass; I walked with Josey and Joe kept Fancy. Josey took a wide cast to my right and smartly quartered at 75 yards back into the wind. Fancy Basket took off straight away and angled toward Josey. Then the problems started. Josey slams into a point, Fancy Basket slams down too. I don’t know if Basket is honoring Josey. I’m not sure if Josey is honoring Fancy. Joe correctly hugs the side of the field closest to the fortress. And walks in front of the pointing Fancy Basket. I have repositioned myself to Josey’s side and am trying to get where she can see me. I cannot abide shooting over the top a dog on point or shooting if the dog cannot see me.
This situation, I call the quail hunter’s dilemma. It is happening in real time without talking to each other. And there is nothing to say anyway the quail are running the show. And these birds have a strategy, that is diabolical. I walk in between Josey and Fancy. Expecting the flush of the Mob. Of course, it is not what happened. Joe is now walking toward me. The first flush of the birds was behind Fancy and swinging back into the fortress. With the wind behind her she ran past those birds, and they held tight. She was pointing backwards, if that makes any sense. Joes back is turned and if I were to shoot Joe would be in my direct line of fire. Joe turns at the sound of the flush to see the birds safely landing in the fortress. Fancy is relocating and birdy as hell and moving toward the top of the hill. Josey is still staunch on point; I have no idea if she is still backing or down on a single. My only option is to respect her point and head to her. Three sets later and she is relocating. I think the birds are moving to the top of the hill and I move in that direction. Port arms and ready as the second part of the covey flushes from where I was just standing. I get off a desperation shot and drop a leg on one bird. And 12 more birds are back in the fortress. Joe is now walking back toward Fancy who cannot get locked down on point. Josey, having broken off point and is now with Fancy and on the verge of a point. Her tail is raised and slowly twitching. From my vantage point I can only see it tails in the air, until I get to the top. At the top of the hill, we get the most beautiful point out of Fancy and honor from Josey. Tails High, heads up it could have been the cover of Field and Stream. Fancy in the lead, staunch, Josey five feet behind with perfect manners. The wind is still at our backs so I think they must be standing on top of these birds. Joe takes the point and I am to his right in a safe position. We simultaneously step in front of the dogs, about 10 yards apart. Three come out of a clump of grass closer to Joe in a blur of feathers. Whrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr !! Joe drops the bird on the left and I hit the one in the middle. I’m pulling down on the third bird as Joe drops it. Joe is legit with that antique hammer gun. Reloading and the rest of the covey explodes in a ball, ten yards in front of the triple. They are in the fortress before we can blink. We moved 30 quail in the span of 5 minutes. The girls retrieved the dead ones, and we considered it a win. Joe looks at me with a grin and says, “Tom we can bid the mob good day”.” Let’s see if anybody is home at the Windmill and then go to Fancy after they have had a chance to regroup after feeding. I think we should try the Corral covey after lunch. “ We don’t call it Poor Chance for nothing Joe”. This is why I love it, I am at home in this environment, this is my dynamic exchange, my happy place. If you are reading this, I hope you have your dynamic exchange as well. The dog work was terrific. Two experienced hunters, two setters, side by side guns, a November day in the Texas panhandle. Jose Ortega y Gasset would be proud.

My father asked me to post this on the forum since many members here are so well read he is wanting your honest feedback, thank you for your time.

[Harold Pickens]

Very good writing, I felt like I was there walking in on a point. I keep trying to picture Fancy in my mind, a mostly black setter with white spots and tail. Looking forward to reading more.

[Steiner]

Thanks for posting and I thought it was wonderful. The dogs and I have worked a similar covey the last two Decembers in southwest Kansas. The dogs and I have moved about 100 (+-) quail off of a 5 acre, plumb thicket covered hillside and bagged exactly 1 bobwhite quail. And I am not the least bit disappointed as I longingly look forward to our shared encounter next year.

[Mike of the Mountain]

Originally Posted by James Henry Clarke

To Preface this is a short story from a book my father is writing about his experience hunting quail in the Texas panhandle, Oklahoma, Kansas and North Dakota the past 58 years.

Poor Chance.

You don’t always get to win. Most of the great story tellers and authors of books on the hunting of birds dedicate time to the ones that got away. Some in folksy ways, some with academic precision. The Spanish philosopher Jose Ortega y Gasset, elegantly wrote of the vital reason. The dynamic interchange between the individual and his surroundings, he used the drama of the hunt to explain the doctrine of Vital Reason. In Meditations on Hunting, he explains in a critical way the obligations of modern man to preserve that which he hunts. And in doing so he preserves the very nature of man. On just a practical side, they absolutely must get away, or we would not have any left to hunt. And we do not hunt them alone, for what us is a noble pastime, it is a matter of survival for owls, hawks, snakes, coyotes, foxes and a dozen more animals that feed on quail. This is the story of a covey so preadapted to survival that it tormented me and a very experienced old hand.
I have always been lucky with hunting companions through all the stages of my hunting journey. Joe Wood was not an exception to my luck. Joe is 18 years my senior, and a fixture at the Amarillo gun club. We were introduced by my dad as Joe and Dad would shoot skeet every Thursday, and had quail hunted together. Joe was an eccentric person, but in a very pleasant way. He had grown up on a ranch south of Lubbock. Wiry, best describes his physical qualities. He enjoyed old Parker side by side shotguns, with exposed hammers, and he shot them well. He had been a successful stockbroker and rancher. Educated at Southern Methodist University, and from a good family. He was well read in the classics, he could quote Gene Hill and Havilah Babcock, Voltaire and Shakespeare. I believe that he was somewhat impressed that I could too, not Shakespear and Voltaire. But Gene Hill, Havila Babcock, Cory Ford, Nash Buckingham, Archibald Rutledge and of course George Bird Evans. What Joe enjoyed the most was good dog work, Fancy Basket never let him down. Joe was also a pilot and would fly his piper cub to Angel Fire to fly fish for trout. A Texas renaissance man.
I picked up Fancy on a quail hunt in southern Kansas. From a dog trainer that basically just wanted to get rid of this mostly black setter puppy. He had pointing Labs and they were the next great thing at the time. I honestly don’t think he knew what he had genetically, or he just had a bias against black setters. Her registered name was Tom’s Fancy Desert Rambler. She was a Princess of English Setter breeding. A great-granddaughter of Tekoa Mountain Sunrise. Granddaughter of Desert Rambler. Fancy was broke by Max Rackley, one of the better dog trainers in central Oklahoma at the time. I had force fetch trained her, which I hate to do, but she became a very reliable dog on dead birds and cripples. He called her a basket case because Fancy was a bit squirrelly. “She’s got an above average nose and a hell of motor, she don’t lack for hustle either, but she’s just odd and might come untrained if you stop for lunch.” So naturally she became Fancy Basket. The truth was if she was all white with black spots instead of all black with white spots, she would have been the second coming of Bose Ann’s Mosley ! I had learned early on if you did not own land you need to have good dogs to get invited quail hunting. And I always had good dogs and occasionally a brag-dog too. Fancy’s kennel mate was a nice orange and white female named Josey. Josey came from a pediatrist friend of mine. Who always just wanted something different. I never knew her pedigree, but she was above average and easy to handle. She had the typical sweet setter disposition, and moments of excellence. She was most likely from a Llewellin line, he had bought her from a guy in Pennsylvania, she would usually end up backing Fancy anyway.
Joe enjoyed naming coveys. There was the windmill covey, the pump jack covey, his favorite was just called Fancy. Joe and Fancy bonded, he just loved her. They both marched to their own drummer. Fancy liked to stay in the house, her place was always on the floor between the boy’s beds. She was not a picky eater, but she was not food motivated either. In the field she would always have a nice cast, but you had better keep an eye on her. She could accelerate and be 300 yards away in an instant. Many times, she would find a covey and then we had to find her. A small black bodied dog is not that easy to find, but fortunately her white tail was like a flag. I suggested a beeper collar, but Joe would not have that,” it would ruin the tranquility of the hunt”. He could always see that white tail. And he would take his time to get to her, knowing she would hold, and if they moved it was a simple tap on the side and a relocated covey.
Which brings us to the Poor Chance Covey. Poor chance lived in fortress of a plum thicket. A four-acre tangle of wild plums that was like concertina wire. Worse than that it was on a hillside and went over the top of the hill. The approach of the road was west to east. The fort being on the north side of the road. Open grass on either side of the fort and to the south side of the road a creek. They could see you from the road if you drive in. If you were to catch them in the grass, they would make it to the fort.
The only hope for poor chance was to catch them feeding and it would be a shoot twice and hope deal. But between me and Joe there are four shots. Knowing the second they were disturbed they were going back to the fort.
We arrived at the ranch before daybreak. The plan was to park close enough to hear them whistle before leaving the roost. Then release Fancy Basket and Josey and let them locate them and hold the covey. It is a pleasant morning, slightly chilly, with a breeze at our back from the southwest. I did not like this breeze. The lights were on in the ranch house we told Lane the owner and Joes nephew our plan. He laughed at us and said “ ya’ll go ahead, and come by for lunch”. “ I saw them yesterday evening in the short grass”. We let the dogs out to air out and stretch. We decided to go ahead and put on the dog boots here, so we could maintain the element of surprise.
The whistle of the Bob White is a magical sound. “ Joe smiled and said it’s about to get a little Western around here. We quietly uncased the guns and put on the game vests. Joe was carrying his Parker hammer gun, 12 gauge. I had my Winchester Model 23 Classic, 28 gauge. Fancy Basket is whining and shaking her crate, Josey is mellow and stretching in her box.
We parked 100 yards away and walked down the road. Walking the dogs on leads and released at the edge of the field. The plan was still to catch the birds in the grass; I walked with Josey and Joe kept Fancy. Josey took a wide cast to my right and smartly quartered at 75 yards back into the wind. Fancy Basket took off straight away and angled toward Josey. Then the problems started. Josey slams into a point, Fancy Basket slams down too. I don’t know if Basket is honoring Josey. I’m not sure if Josey is honoring Fancy. Joe correctly hugs the side of the field closest to the fortress. And walks in front of the pointing Fancy Basket. I have repositioned myself to Josey’s side and am trying to get where she can see me. I cannot abide shooting over the top a dog on point or shooting if the dog cannot see me.
This situation, I call the quail hunter’s dilemma. It is happening in real time without talking to each other. And there is nothing to say anyway the quail are running the show. And these birds have a strategy, that is diabolical. I walk in between Josey and Fancy. Expecting the flush of the Mob. Of course, it is not what happened. Joe is now walking toward me. The first flush of the birds was behind Fancy and swinging back into the fortress. With the wind behind her she ran past those birds, and they held tight. She was pointing backwards, if that makes any sense. Joes back is turned and if I were to shoot Joe would be in my direct line of fire. Joe turns at the sound of the flush to see the birds safely landing in the fortress. Fancy is relocating and birdy as hell and moving toward the top of the hill. Josey is still staunch on point; I have no idea if she is still backing or down on a single. My only option is to respect her point and head to her. Three sets later and she is relocating. I think the birds are moving to the top of the hill and I move in that direction. Port arms and ready as the second part of the covey flushes from where I was just standing. I get off a desperation shot and drop a leg on one bird. And 12 more birds are back in the fortress. Joe is now walking back toward Fancy who cannot get locked down on point. Josey, having broken off point and is now with Fancy and on the verge of a point. Her tail is raised and slowly twitching. From my vantage point I can only see it tails in the air, until I get to the top. At the top of the hill, we get the most beautiful point out of Fancy and honor from Josey. Tails High, heads up it could have been the cover of Field and Stream. Fancy in the lead, staunch, Josey five feet behind with perfect manners. The wind is still at our backs so I think they must be standing on top of these birds. Joe takes the point and I am to his right in a safe position. We simultaneously step in front of the dogs, about 10 yards apart. Three come out of a clump of grass closer to Joe in a blur of feathers. Whrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr !! Joe drops the bird on the left and I hit the one in the middle. I’m pulling down on the third bird as Joe drops it. Joe is legit with that antique hammer gun. Reloading and the rest of the covey explodes in a ball, ten yards in front of the triple. They are in the fortress before we can blink. We moved 30 quail in the span of 5 minutes. The girls retrieved the dead ones, and we considered it a win. Joe looks at me with a grin and says, “Tom we can bid the mob good day”.” Let’s see if anybody is home at the Windmill and then go to Fancy after they have had a chance to regroup after feeding. I think we should try the Corral covey after lunch. “ We don’t call it Poor Chance for nothing Joe”. This is why I love it, I am at home in this environment, this is my dynamic exchange, my happy place. If you are reading this, I hope you have your dynamic exchange as well. The dog work was terrific. Two experienced hunters, two setters, side by side guns, a November day in the Texas panhandle. Jose Ortega y Gasset would be proud.

My father asked me to post this on the forum since many members here are so well read he is wanting your honest feedback, thank you for your time.

That would be a nice story for Parker Pages, especially if you had some pictures to go along with the text. Just sayin'

[James Clarke]

Gentleman thank you for the positive feedback, if you have anything constructive to add it would also be appreciated. Mike I’m glad you think so I’m unaware of the process for that but I’m sure my father has some photos of fancy to accompany the story and that he’d like having it put into the Parker pages.