This is a report on opening day of dove season in my little corner of the world, which may hold some interest for those who cannot get out and participate anymore, and for those who love it as much as I and just like hearing about others' hunts.
Saturday was opening day of the first dove season here in Jawja, and we opened it on a sunflower field that I planted for the owner. We have planted the same field for doves for several years now, and it just seems to get better each year. It is about 21 acres of planted sunflower and corn, maybe 26 acres total field size, and last year we shot it six times taking over 1000 doves there.
The owner had invited about 35 people, a few more than I would have planned for on a field this size, figuring that maybe two thirds of them would show. Well, all showed up, and the afternoon began with a Low Country boil for lunch. For those of you not blessed to have partaken of such a sumptuous repast, it consists of boiled jumbo shrimp, half ears of sweet corn, thin sliced pieces of pork sausage, some quartered new potatoes, onions, and enough seasoning to make it "jes right". Each ingredient is cooked separately, ideally, and then when done all are combined in a very large serving pan and eaten all together.
While this was being prepared and consumed the host was regularly checking the field, which was about 1/2 mile away, to see if the birds had begun feeding. A good host takes pride in knowing, as near as possible, what time the birds are feeding so as not to make the guests sit in the 90-sumpin' degree heat and 900% humidity any longer than necessary to garner a limit of fifteen doves.
About 3:00 or 3:30 he gathered the group together, welcomed everyone, made a short talk on safety, stressing most of all that no low birds be tried, asked that when the limit was gathered up each gun leave the field so that the ones in less than ideal stands could move to a "hotter" location, and wished us all well. We drove to the field, parked in the woods on the approach road, and spread out into the mowed strips for some action.
The birds were already flying and shooting began immediately. I was in a location I had shot in previous years and did not get much shooting for about the first half hour to forty-five minutes. I was not concerned, though, knowing that the doves would begin coming over a hedgerow of oaks a bit later in the afternoon. They did precisely that, and I soon had my eight year old grandson busy retrieving downed birds. My Lab, Fowler, was hit by a car in front of my house last November and grandson No. 1 has taken over retrieving duties until a new pup is ready. I was using my "stand-by" dove gun, a Beretta 687 SP II Sporting, with a light modified choke in the first barrel and an improved cylinder in the second, and 7/8 oz. of 7 1/2's. I like this set-up so that I can take the first bird, on incomers, way out there then take the second bird closer with the IC barrel. I got my limit after awhile and moved to the shade to BS with the others who had limited or, for some other reason, left the field.
The field of guns, 35 were actually shooting (the host spent the afternoon with a couple of helpers taking cold drinks to those desiring refreshment and otherwise seeing to their every need), took over 500 doves Saturday afternoon and were out of the field in plenty of time for the birds to feed before going to roost. All in all a grand day, and one that I give thanks to my Maker for allowing me to live another year to enjoy. As a bonus, I realized after leaving the field with my limit that, this day marked my fifty year anniversary of shooting doves. I began at the tender age of eight, with my revered Grandaddy, using a J. C Higgins .410 S x S. After all these years I still get the same thrill out of it I did in 1959 on a field of brown-top millet. Grandaddy is long gone, but not really. He lives on in me, just as I will live on in my 8 year old grandson Jackson. It is a grand cycle of dove seasons and lives of wide-eyed little boys and seasoned old men. May it last many, many more lifetimes, and may many, many more shooters be thrilled and humbled by the little grey rocket we call the Mourning Dove.
Stan
