Where I grew up in the red-clay hills of NE Georgia, I was never privileged to have the opportunity to chase after any of the "exotic" game birds such as pheasant, grouse, multiple species of wild quail excreta, etc. that I read about here daily; nor was I privileged to travel to parts of the country where such birds could be hunted, but I still enjoyed some great days afield with the small game opportunities presented (dove, bobwhite quail, and cottontails mostly). I'll always remember my 10yr. old (at the time) son's first buck (an 8-pt), or that Thanksgiving morning when he, my B-I-L, and I bagged 7 deer in less than and hour and let at least that many more walk. And I'll always remember the rabbit hunt where our pack of beagles flushed two grey fox from a thicket, and I scored a left and right with my old Belgium 16-gauge Prize Machine Gun. But my favorite times afield centered around my most favorite past-time, dove shooting; the most memorable of which occurred on a mid-September Wednesday afternoon in 1977, and in the end had nothing to do with the fact that I bagged my limit.
Seems my wife was working that day, and somehow I'd a day off and was in charge of looking after our 1 and 4 year old sons. But I had this over-powering urge to go dove shooting, something all hunters understand well; and I simply had to scratch that itch. So I began to formulate a plan of action and called my Aunt Peggy and offered her a "deal"; one limit of doves in exchange for 3 hours baby-sitting to which she graciously agreed. So I hurriedly cobbled together my stuff, loaded up my sons and their stuff; and went to see Aunt Peggy. With the kids safely secured, I hastily formulated the balance of my plan which was 1) I had to get the kids and be back home, innocently dressed, before 5:30 as my wife could not know I'd gone hunting as opposed to whatever the heck it was I was supposed to be doing
(she'd have raised immortal Cain!); and 2)I had to be very discrete, as I had not taken the time to ask for permission from the landowner (he knew me and probably wouldn't mind, but it's just not my nature not to ask beforehand). So when I turned onto the dirt road that bordered this tract of land, I made sure to pull my little car far enough into the pines opposite the field so that it could not be seen from the road. I then grabbed my dove bucket, shells, and my Borno ZP49 12-bore; then headed to my "spot". There was nothing planted in this large tract, it had simply been cleared and what had been standing timber was wind-rowed and awaiting burning. But around the edge of these wind-rows were large stands of poke-berry, rag-weed, and other natural plants that attract doves; and since I couldn't cover 50 acres by myself, the challenge was to find a "flyway". Setting up at the end of a wind-row, it quickly became obvious that I'd gotten lucky and in no time was knocking down birds. It was one of those days when it seems that every shot I took connected; and I'd limited out in just over an hour. I was ecstatic at this point because I knew I'd have plenty of time to retrieve my sons and be home well in advance of my bride; so I quickly gathered up my stuff and started up the long hill to my car, making sure all the while that I stayed low and out of sight of any vehicle that might be passing. There was a strip of planted corn maybe 75' wide that separated the road from the field I'd hunted, so as I neared the dirt road I made sure to walk thru the standing stalks; being virtually invisible in my camos. When about 20-25' from the road, I suddenly heard a vehicle; I froze. The vehicle was moving slowly and I saw its red-dust tail long before it topped the little hill to my right. As the vehicle moved toward me it began to slow even more; causing me to immediately conclude that my plan had been foiled, and I was screwed. As the vehicle got closer, Il could make out the clear image of a red 1967 Plymouth Fury 2dr. hardtop thru the corn stalks. This was certainly not the land owners pick-up; but it was a danged fine looking vehicle nonetheless! Then it stopped directly in front of where I stood frozen only a few feet away; and when it stopped I could see that a guy was driving, and on the passenger side sat a young woman. The driver looked carefully around(and also right at me!); then turned and said something to his companion who then jumped out of Plymouth. She hurried to the rear bumper, looked around anxiously one more time; then dropped her drawers and proceeded to irrigate that red-clay road. To that point I'd been virtually petrified with fear; but when I realized what was actually happening, my emotions went from one extreme to the other so that I suddenly burst out laughing (couldn't hold it back!). This gal instantly knew she was being watched! Her britches were up in a flash, and she dove back into that Plymouth; covering her face as she slid out of sight. Her companion then found where I stood amid the cornstalks, gave me a big sheepish smile and slowly pulled away.
There have been other unusual happenstances I've stumbled into over the years, like coming upon a murder scene for instance; but this comical experience always stands out. Any by the way, I bribed the kids for their silence; and to this day my bride (of 48 years now) remains clueless.
Last edited by topgun; 07/18/16 02:01 PM.
