I have posted my feelings about finding an empty shell as well, before, on this site. Maybe it's worth repeating.
If I am hunting public land I almost never see one. The place Gil and I hunt woodcock are pretty remote and very few souls venture there for doodles. In maybe 10 years of hunting there with him I have never seen a hull that I can recall. If I did, I wouldn't lose any sleep over it, and I'd pick it up.
On my private land that has been in my family since 1919 I do find an occasional empty. I steward this land as I farm it in corn, cotton and peanuts. We have had lots of dove shoots here over my 66 years of chasing the little grey rockets. Even with plastic hulls, they deteriorate due to UV rays. I occasionally see them with not much left but a dark, oxidized head. Steel ones will eventually rust away, never to be seen again. Older, solid brass ones will be very dark and hardly noticable.
They bring a smile to my countenance as I recall past "warm corners" in that location. One particular find was, and remains, precious.
I was in a field that I knew held many wild bobs in my grandaddy's day. He was an inveterate quail hunter and started out with a double of some make. He often told me of using Remington New Club shells. One day I found only the head of a New Club, the paper casing being long before returned to the earth from which it came. The markings on the head were sharp and clear, and when I picked it up and wiped it off I instantly knew I was holding the remains of a round grandaddy had fired at a quail. Childhood memories of him flooded back, along with stories of his hunts. Money couldn't buy that old shell head from me, then or now.
I admire those who eschew litter, as I do. But, cigarette packs or candy wrappers are not in the same universe as an old shell casing, for me. I pick up litter on my farm, and those that I lease. When I am invited to a dove shoot on another farm I scour for all the empties, but seldom have any to gather because I have trapped them as they are ejected and placed them in my shell bag.
Different strokes, and different chokes, for different folks.
