Dan Geddings: Tales of Quail

It was a very cold morning, and I was out for a walk on our property. The sun was up, and the weeds and broom straw glistened in the early light. A big covey of quail thundered up from the ditch bank and sailed over the dog fennel toward the woods. They have always startled me with their sudden burst into flight. But I was very pleased to see them.

We hear them from our front porch and see them scurry across the driveway during the summer months. The familiar bobwhite calls start in April, peak during the mating season in May and linger on through June and July. The calls dwindle in August and September. We do not hear them or see them very much through the fall and winter. Occasionally I'll hear a soft assembly call late in the afternoon.

The quail are here on our land. They are here because the habitat is here. They are not hunted here. When I hear them or see them, I think back to my younger days when wild quail were more plentiful, and we hunted them around our home in Clarendon County.

We could walk from our house in almost any direction and hunt quail over farms and fields. We kept a bird dog and did most of our quail hunting after the deer season and duck seasons ended. Late January and the whole month of February was quail hunting time. There were a few trips farther from home to hunt the "birds," but we didn't need to go too far. There was good quail habitat everywhere.

I guess it was just coincidence that there was habitat. There were smaller farms, bushy ditch banks and idle farm land. There were less predators, too. We shot every hawk and owl that we encountered. They were quail killers, and we didn't want them taking the birds.

I shot my first quail when I was a youngster 9 or 10 years old. I remember that morning like it was just yesterday. We drove out to a small farm just out of town. It was cold, and we sat in the car with the heater running for a little while. When my dad, my brother and I stepped out, there was frost on the grasses and our breaths billowed out like steam.

Daddy let the dog out of the trunk, and off we went. I remember he made stern commands to our English pointer, who was very eager. We crossed a cut cornfield, and the dog froze in a point just ahead of us. As we approached, a covey of birds burst from the field and sailed over a nearby fence line. I managed to focus on the last quail in the group, aimed and fired. I was amazed to see the puff of feathers and to see the bird go down.

We hunted quail for years until deer hunting, duck hunting and eventually rabbit hunting became our focus. The landscape changed so much that it got hard to find enough birds to hunt. The habitat was changing, and it was just coincidence.

Several years ago, I was invited to a quail hunt on a preserve by a business associate. The birds were farm raised and put out in the field ahead of the hunt. It was not the same. I was disappointed and vowed not to do that again. There are a few places now where landowners have invested efforts to make prime habitat for bobwhite quail. The habitat work is expensive but can produce good numbers of wild birds. There are also USDA programs designed to help restore quail habitat.

I think I'll just live with my memories and home-grown "birds," but recently my friend and Sumter native Jon Wongrey has written a book on quail hunting. "A Covey of Tales" is a collection of quail hunting stories about the dogs, the people and the land of the bobwhite quail. It's good reading and includes a foreword by baseball great Bobby Richardson.

Jon has published several other books recently and will have a book signing next Saturday at Simpson Hardware on Wesmark Boulevard. One of his books would make an excellent gift at Valentine's Day for your significant other or sweetheart. Stop by and check it out. Tell him I sent you.

Reach Dan Geddings at cdgeddings@gmail.com.