Quail Opener

The Phoenix Valley is a "hot spot" for Gambel's quail, and considering that this bastard summer heat has yet to give up the ghost and make way for fall, that is a pun most certainly intended.  My brother in law Johnny came to town for a brief visit this past weekend to interview for graduate school, but we took advantage of the opportunity and grabbed the shotguns and a three day license for him and headed out to a new spot I had been pondering.

The heat was already radiating through the semi-riparian area when we arrived.  Although I was prepared for a hot hunt, I was still surprised at how quickly my brow was laced with sweat which stung my eyes and permeated my shirt.  I was also surprised by the thrilling sound of flushing quail much sooner than I expected; we were scarcely 100 yards from the truck.  Not one to miss an opportunity I swung on the nearest bird and watched it crumple in the air after the shotgun's report.  Trying to find a sustained lead I shot at a second bird only to realize too late that my lead had been short and the bird was unscathed.  As I mentally scolded myself another bird flushed, the head feather and darker colors identified it as a cock bird.  Instinctively I snapped the shot and the bird collided with the earth in front of me and that was that.  I wiped my brow with a grin, thinking "Damn this heat, but thank God for quail season."

The day progressed, and the quail were on fire, not to mention everything else in the ephemeral wash system that we were walking.  My shooting gradually worsened as I worked through the better part of two boxes of shells, but Johnny shot quite well and displayed conservative wisdom on avoiding the longer shots over thick cover that I seem to possess no self control for abstaining from.  The two of us brought a total of 15 birds to hand, and with a few unfortunate cripples we had collected our limits and concluded the quail opener.

Saturday found us back in the same spot and a few hours earlier than the day before, but we could already tell that it was going to be even hotter than our previous hunt.  We swung out wider to avoid some other hunters and encountered even larger coveys than the opener produced, but already these birds were acting jumpy, almost like the educated birds of late season hunts.  They were flushing a hundred yards or more in front of us, and the only shooting we had was over singles that flushed after the covey had already disappeared.    This afforded us the opportunity to shoulder our guns a little less and talk a little more, which was a welcome change.  It was good to catch up and enjoy a long overdue conversation that the field seems uniquely suited to offer.  With four birds in the vests we called it a day around noon and headed back home.

One of the best parts of hunting with family is sharing the harvest with family afterwards.  We prepared the quail in a kabob style by wrapping the filleted meat with a little cream cheese in a strip of bacon.  Hard on the arteries but oh-so-good for the heart!  I am so thankful to be able to share these kinds of experiences with friends and family, to take a morning and bring from field to table such a wonderful fare.