11/27/2018 The comforting sound of unkillable quail

I spent about two and half hours walking around the woods today with a shotgun (as I have done most days lately). Today I was in pursuit of wild bobwhite quail on public land in Mississippi. I set out for Upper Sardis WMA in the Holly Springs National Forest just east of Oxford, MS between 278 and 30.

My destination was Drewery Lake, a secluded reservoir formed by an earthen dam on Kettle Creek. When I arrived there was a single pickup in the turnout (aka parking lot). Since all WMA users are required to display a permit with their name, age, cell phone and address, I knew that 76 year old Mr. Egbert* was likely in the area. About two miles into my walk, I met the friendly deer hunter who admitted he wasn’t supposed to be on a ATV, but that he was too damn old to walk the miles and miles of hunting trails.

The kind man asked me if I was hunting squirrels, to which I replied I was not not hunting squirrels, but I was hoping to find a covey of quail or two. Mr. Egbert said “I don’t want to discourage you, but I’m more likely to see a monster buck out here than you are a covey of quail.” I politely disagreed and insisted he was more likely to see a bull moose than I was a covey of quail. Undiscouraged (I knew that quail on public land in North Mississippi are hard to come by before I set afoot) I marched on. Alternating between following the dirt road and veering off into upland hardwood patches mixed with tall mature pine forests interspersed with grassy areas. Twice Dublin jumped deer.

It was not until the end of my six mile walk, and just before sunset that I saw a fat game bird along the road across from a prescribed burning unit half run half jump into an impenetrable (and un-walkable) thicket of young pine.

I sent Dublin after where I saw the bird go in, and to his credit he hunted hard. But my only reward for the effort was a few unsolicited, from me at least, bobwhite calls at varying distance from road, as if the covey (or pair for all I know) was sounding the all clear, he can’t get us siren.

I was deeply comforted by the presence of those quail. I do not need to always shoot them, though I endeavor to avoid never shooting them, and I don’t need them to flush or even to see them. But it helps to know they are there. It gives a small sense of confidence upon return, and a vivid visual for me of what type of habitat quail might be found in the age of declining harvest and population.

A little blood gets drawn on cold windburned hands (35 degrees) from the briars

*Name changed to protect the innocent.