It was just after 4:45 a.m., I loaded the truck and headed for the Golden Arches. One sausage biscuit and a large iced coffee, no cream and a little sugar would hopefully do the trick. I was exhausted but determined to do better. The day before I had bagged just a few birds. Dove season is supposed to be an all-out air war! I was used to seeing the skies filled with birds, coming in hot like missiles. Not yesterday. So, today I thought I’d try something different.
I noticed on my last hunt that many of the birds were flying lower than normal. In years past, birds were flying sky high, zipping and zooming past me. I would take long swing shots, coming up from behind them, leading them just a little and boom! And hopefully, one would corkscrew or coming sailing down.
For whatever reason, not this season. At least, not so far! Birds have been flying really low and feeding off the ground early in the morning. Maybe they’ve been roosting right there where I was hunting, and then just walking around? Maybe they were flying in low and I missed some of them? I am not sure.
Let me say this, I have hunted dove since a kid back in Arkansas. I grew up farming fields for winter wheat, and boy oh boy did the dove love it. Every summer we’d work the fields, and every September we’d invite family and friends over for a big ole’ dove shoot out. It was rare when we didn’t limit out. With 10-15 people, we would end up with more than 100 birds.
As a kid, I can still remember that opening weekend. Momma had biscuits and gravy in the kitchen, brothers, family, and friends would all circle around the table with coffee in hand as we’d make our way into the kitchen for a home-cooked meal. Seems the more we grew as boys, so did our stories. We’d reminisce about the good ole’ days, give our two cents on the forecasts of how our field would do, and inquire about our neighbors as well. Dove hunting wasn’t just a fun hunt for us, it was the opening and the beginning of our fall hunting season.
Of course, we could hunt other things through the summer, but for us, dove season was the kick-off. Soon after was bow season for deer, then duck and goose season would be in full swing! Labor Day weekend has and still is for me lots of early morning hunts, big lunches, afternoon naps, and football games! It was and is heaven on earth for a country boy.
As I walked through the desert this morning, it was like I traveled through a portal back to Rice Ranch in Arkansas. I was just a boy back then, now a man. Back then I was in a big field, shaded with large oak trees, now I am rambling around the Sonoran Desert stealing shade from the Sahuaro cacti. As sweat saturated my shirts, and caffeine pulsed through my veins, the call to kill clicked in. Call it beast mode, call it primal instinct to hunt, I am not sure what to call it. Maybe it’s a mojo thing, maybe it’s flow, maybe it’s getting in the zone, but some people have it, some don’t. When you do, you’re a dangerous killer! If the dove are flying, the dove are dying.
The only problem was….they weren’t flying. I mean there were a few. I shot two over the course of an hour or so. Maybe I had a few more shootable shots, but let’s just the skies were empty!
I had two options. Go home or go explore. I chose the latter. With seeing so many on the ground from the day before, I figured I go try kick up a few and see what happened.
As carefully I navigated the dessert terrain, avoiding rolling an ankle or stepping on a rattlesnake, I was constantly looking over my shoulder to the east where birds seem to fly from.
I was cradling an ole Remington 870 express. It was the same gun I had as a kid. No telling how many birds that gun had killed. It’s been the ole faithful for me over the years. Beads of sweat began to run down my head, the sting of salt neared my eyes. It was getting hot and I was covering a lot of ground.
Determined not to go home with just two birds, I decided to make a large loop back to the truck. As I did, I started to notice more and more birds once again on the grounds. They would see me coming from 40-50-60 yards out and fly. They wouldn’t fly far but just enough to be out of range.
Finally, I started to figure out that I could sneak up on them, as I would a rabbit, I had to put some brush or bushes between me and them and then spring up on them. I would flush em and shoot em! It felt like quail hunting, chasing gambels and pressuring them to fly and take a quick shot! It was different, a little odd, but it worked!
First, I got a single, later a double. Some were long shots, other short. After an hour of walking and stalking, I had seven more birds in the bag. While this wasn’t my ideal dove hunt, it was fun.
The desert is full of life with an abundance of vegetation from the Monsoon rains. I heard quail, saw cotton tails and Jack Rabbits and dozens of wild burro’s. As an outdoorsman, a walk in the desert with a shotgun early in the morning, is never a bad thing.
As I continued my hunt, I slowly made my way back to the truck. With an occasional pass shot, or jump shot I bagged a couple more birds. Something about this morning was incredibly simple and sweet. It was just me. No dog, no buddy no family today. Just me and my Remington.
Hunting for me, isn’t just for the sport, it’s not just for the food, or something to do, it’s part of who I am. It’s my past and my future. It’s what helps me in the present. With each hunt comes a sense of gratitude and appreciation for all of it.
The outdoors is my sanctuary, it’s a place of worship. I don’t worship the sky, the sun or the fields, rather I worship the one who made the sky, the sun and the fields, all for our pleasure. And with each hunt, and each experience in the outdoors I grow with more gratitude, especially in Arizona. What an amazing state with incredibly diverse terrain.
I look forward, to hunting all throughout this great state, taking other family and friends with me. From dove to elk, and deer. Quail hunting is still the greatest of all! When I am too old to hike around the desert, I suppose I will pass down that ole Remington and several others nice guns too. Till then, I will be that hunter getting his mojo on the backcountry! A killing machine.