last day for scalies

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superchicken
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last day for scalies

Post by superchicken »

My wife is a special woman. She informed me last week that she would prefer that we go out for V-day after the fact when there were no crowds and that I should take advantage of the last weekend of quail season. I just had to be back in time for our daughter's birthday party on Sunday. She didn't have to tell me twice, so I bugged out early on Friday fielding the last few phone calls on the road headed west out of the land of squares and circles toward the rolling desert grassland beyond the state line.

I got to the area where we planned to camp after the sun set, and my buddy was already there in an old beater VW camper van. I set up my tent by headlamp while he got the fire going and our dogs perused the area for packrats. We grilled some elk green chile cheeseburgers, told stories (lies mostly) about the old days, hunting, fishing, women, mountains and canyons. We consumed a few fine bitter barley pops which made the lies all the better and more believable, and we sweated a little from the hot chiles while enjoying a view of the stars as god intended it... unfettered by any stupid gringo nightlights, save the light from a burning pile of juniper. About 10:30 or so, the dew dropped heavy and the wind picked up across the blue grama and soap-tree yucca so we called our dogs in and called it a night. I was serenaded by a pair of great horns owls calling from the desert willows and Arizona walnuts in the arroyo and by my buddy's bear-like snoring from his 'old hippy van' 30 yards off. It was a cold, damp night in the desert, but we figured the scenting conditions would be good in the morning. The dog curled up with me under my sleeping bag and we were out until our bladders awakened us before dawn.

We started the day in the dark with more green chile mixed with eggs, sausage, and tortillas. I booted my dog up in pieces cut from old motorcycle inner tubes wrapped around the tops with duct tape to protect his feet from the rocks. We and our dogs were excited about the hunt because the last two weekend had produced fine sport with more than seventy scaled quail falling from the sky and brought to hand by our dogs. Those quail breasts were grilled wrapped in more green chile (the New Mexico State Question is "green or red?" and I'm mostly a green guy) and bacon (which my wife refers to as "man-butter"). We'd hunted coveys in this canyon that were so big that it was as if the ground were boiling as the the gray birds flushed, landed, and flushed again in front of us. As the sun came over the horizon, our third came trundling across the desert in his old Toyota pickup. We donned our vests, made sure we had enough shells for the morning and water for the dogs. I stuck a couple of shells in my old Spanish side by side and we headed out on foot across the arroyo for the big side canyon to the South.

My wirehair was in fine form, quartering into the wind a couple hundred yards on a side and my buddy commented on how he was a ground eating monster. I'd changed up his boot arrangement with the addition of a bulk pack of boy's socks from Wally-World. His GPS collar will often log 25-30 miles in a day and without the sock under his inner-tube boot, the boots would save his pads but rub the tops of his toes off. It'd taken me most of the season to come up with a boot combo that would protect his feet correctly, and it worked today. He is a bearded, black streak on the prairie that paints the landscape with a brush finer than Miller, Tait, or the younger Audubon did back in the day when it was new; a beautiful thing to behold. My buddy's vizsla is getting old and crippled now, though I still remember her as a an adorable pup facing down bears in the dark on the mountain to the west of us. She is the more focused of the two, hunting closer and with intensity that says she will wring every drop of it out before she will no longer be able to run the desert in front of the gun.

We worked the rocky side canyons, occasionally driving a few rangy mixed breed cattle in front of us that looked much like the Corrientes driven north from Mexico by the Spaniards into the new country in 1598, but we found no birds. Our dogs pointed several times, held and relocated as we approached, suggesting wild birds running in front of us. We were likely the ones who educated them over the past few weeks because few others venture out into that area. As we approached the top of the third side canyon, the dogs ranged well out in front showing us they were on birds. The old red-dog came to a solid point and we hurried up the rocky slope. As we walked we could see the birds moving in front of them and roughly 80 yards out they flushed over the ridge into the next canyon. My young wirehair gave chase and was called back by my whistle. As we hiked up a lone bird flushed behind us and one of my friends swung on it and dropped it. It would be the last gray bird we would drop this season. We followed the small covey, but could never catch them. And three canyons later, it was already starting to heat up into the 70's. So we came down into the main canyon and dumped our dogs in a fetid stock tank to cool them.

We hiked back to the truck, and my wirehair and I rode in the bed with chainsaws, oil cans and spent rifle shells and shotgun hulls to check a couple other places, but the heat was upon us and the dogs took to the shade where they could get it, occasionally falling back to walk in our shadows. They were telling us the season was over. Defeated but happy, we headed back to camp and packed up. As we pulled the tent stakes from the ground the wet earth clung to them promising a good green-up and nesting season to come. It will be a long time until we can do this again, but we have high hopes for the coming fall.

My young wirehair slept hard on the seat next to me as we drove home. While he slept, he twitched and yipped dreaming of running the desert and pinning the gray birds until we could get close enough to drop them. With one hand on the wheel, I rubbed his ears and walked behind him in his dreams.
rjohns94
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Re: last day for scalies

Post by rjohns94 »

beautiful account of a wonderful day afield. nicely done
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Grizz
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Re: last day for scalies

Post by Grizz »

beautiful story and storytelling. you have the gift.

Grizz
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plowboy 45
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Re: last day for scalies

Post by plowboy 45 »

Grizz wrote:beautiful story and storytelling. you have the gift.

Grizz

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AJMD429
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Re: last day for scalies

Post by AJMD429 »

That's the kind of wife many hunters only dream of having. Hope you give her a bit of extra smoochin' on your delayed Valentine's day... :wink:
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Blaine
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Re: last day for scalies

Post by Blaine »

You should be writing for a magazine.... 8)
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Griff
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Re: last day for scalies

Post by Griff »

rjohns94 wrote:beautiful account of a wonderful day afield. nicely done
You're either Scots or Irish... no Englishman could tell a tale so well!
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gamekeeper
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Re: last day for scalies

Post by gamekeeper »

I could smell the smoke and feel the heat just like I was there, thanks for a very entertaining read... :D
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Re: last day for scalies

Post by BrentD »

A great story! Wish you had some pictures to go with it. Wish I had some of those green chilies for breakfast too.

Reminds me a lot of hunting quail in AZ back in the day with my dog, now long gone. I'll get out there again.

Thanks
jazman
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Re: last day for scalies

Post by jazman »

Geez, great post. Thanks for it!
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J35
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Re: last day for scalies

Post by J35 »

Good on you it's nice to know there are other people that have there priorities in order. :)

Several places I hunted in S AZ I could get Scalies, Gambels and Mearns all in the same area.

I always carried some stove top stuffing, and cans of diced green chiles in my grub box.
Dice up the hearts and gizzards and mix into the stuffing along with some green chiles, stuff a few birds and wrap in foil, add a few mesquite or live oak coals to the equation and you have the makings for a nice lunch.

-----J
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Paladin
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Re: last day for scalies

Post by Paladin »

Great story and very well told.
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Re: last day for scalies

Post by M. M. Wright »

Well told indeed! Thanks.
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