GOING QUAIL HUNTING
by Bob Snipes, guest writer
As a youngster I accumulated several guns....mostly shot guns and rifles. My first shot gun was a 20 gauge, single shot and it had a plastic stock...just a cheapie which my parents gave me for Christmas when I was about 11-12.
One shot gun for which I have fond memories was a 12 gauge, single- shot with the barrel sawed off to be about 18 inches long. It may have been illegal. If it wasn’t then, I am sure is would be now. I don’t remember exactly where I got that shot gun but I think I traded a model air plane engine for it. Man, that thing would kick the snot out of you and it had a pattern as broad as a barn.
One Saturday afternoon in the Fall, I decided to go quail hunting since the season was open. I drove out west of Clovis Air Force Base to hunt at some friends’ who had given me permission to hunt at their farm. Since it was Saturday afternoon, my friends had gone to town so I cautiously started walking toward pile of old trees and junk. My shot gun of choice for this Saturday afternoon excursion was that old 12 gauge, single-shot sawed off shot gun. Sure enough a small covey of Blues started running down a little trail. I ran, I stopped and took a pot shot while they were running. Woa is me.... quail were flopping everywhere.....5 quail in one shot and I was one excited youngster.
But that isn’t the end of that hunting story. I noticed that two or three quail flew to a stalk field just north of the house. I gathered the quail and hustled to the field, dropping the five quail by my car as I passed. As I approached the field I saw the quail running down one row about 10 feet apart. As I stopped, they flew one right after the other and at a right angle from me. I lead one and baalooooooie.....the dust rose and all three quail fell to the ground....dead as a door nail. Wow.....2 shots and 8 quail and guess what? The limit was 8 quail per day. I gathered them up and headed home and yes, I was one tickled boy and had quite a story to tell Dad and Mother.
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ONE MORE HUNTING STORY
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ONE MORE HUNTING STORY
Let me tell you one more hunting story about that sawed off shot gun. Dad was going to his little ranch north of Broadview one Saturday afternoon to check on his cattle and he asked Art and I if we wanted to go with him. Normally these were very uneventful trips and amounted to a long boring ride and we were reluctant until he explained that with the abundance of rain we could take our guns and maybe shoot a duck.
Well, that created some excitement and Art and I got our shotguns and ammo and we asked Dad if he was going to hunt. You see, Dad didn’t own a shot gun and he never and I mean N-e-v-e-r went duck hunting. He looked at our guns and said “Let me just take that ole sawed off shot gun”. It really didn’t matter to Dad, he wasn’t planning to shoot anything anyway.....he was just along for the outing with his boys.
After a drive through herd of cattle and checking and counting them, he drove to a shallow lake which was just east of the barn about 200 yards. He decided to drop Art and I off on one side and he would go to the other side. So we hunkered down in the tall grass hoping that some duck would be flying around from some of the other lakes and we would get a shot because it was getting later in the afternoon.
Dad did not try to hide the pickup, he just stepped out a ways and set down in the grass. The lake was about100 yards across and we could easily see each other, and Art and I were about 30-40 yards apart.
After about 10-15 minute wait and no ducks.....here comes one duck circling the lake. The duck was so high that you could hardly see it...it looked like a speck and it was circling over Dad. Suddenly Dad sees the duck and we see Dad come up with that sawed off shot gun. Art and I looked at each other and grinned and I hollered and said “Look....he’s going to shoot at that thing”. And he did! ! ....baalooooooie....and the smoke bellowed from that ole shot gun and in an instant that duck folded his wings and tumbled to the earth like a rock. Art and I shook our heads and laughed and we could not believe our eyes.
After a bit, Dad picked up his duck, threw it in the pickup and came around to get Art and I to go home. Dad had the neatest grin on his face like.....well..... guess I showed you boys how to hunt duck. You know......Dad was a good shot but some time it just pays to be lucky.
Dad had a Remington automatic 22 and he was an excellent shot. When we lived on Thornton street and had horses and chickens in the back yard (early to mid 40s) there were always feral cats trying to get the chickens. That was before they outlawed livestock in the city limits. If Dad saw a cat on the back fence he would step out the back door, take a fine bead and shoot the cats right off of the fence.
One time at the ranch we were in the road and Dad spotted a bird at the very top of the barn. It wasn’t a large bird and it was about 80 yards away and he stopped the pickup and said “let me see if I can hit that bird” bang......and the feathers flew like you had busted a pillow. He just grinned and went on down the road. He was a good shot.
Another time down in Brown County Texas we were ridding in the country and Dad said “Look at that big squirrel in the top of that tree”. He had his 22 so he stopped the car and eased the window down and stuck the rifle out. Just as he started to shoot, the squirrel jumped toward another tree about 10 yards away. Immediately, Dad lead that squirrel and “bang” shot that squirrel right out of the mid air. Dad just chuckled and grinned as to say “did you see that boys?” Dad was a good shot and he was lucky also.
Bob, the Hunter
FOR MIL'S
Bobby Joe Snipes, CHS '53
guest writer
guest writer
9/7/15
