Sometimes Missing is Better than Hitting.

Outfitter: Roanoke Waterfowl with Capt. Clark Purvis
Guide: Curtis Hammack
Dogs: English Setter, Teddy, owned and trained by Curtis Hammack and Jack, owned and trained by Capt. Purvis.
Gun: Francotte 12 bore barrels proofed in
Birmingham 2 3/4.
Location: Hobgood, North Carolina

Anyone who has set a spell with me, either in person or over these modern forms of communication, will recall that I have mentioned that my father, father-in-law, and my wife’s grandfather could tell stories of hunting wild quail, dove, woodcock, and grouse right out of the back door.

My father’s days of hunting were pretty much over before I got to be four feet tall. The best shotgun man I have ever seen, and that includes television, was my father-in-law. He was always quick to rebut his father was the true John Wayne and Clint Eastwood with a shotgun. They both competed in live pigeon shoots.

The days when someone in Eastern Kentucky could have a pair of dogs and walk up coveys of quail were over before my time. I may hear or see a Bob White Quail every three or four years. The best covey I ever saw was when I was fourteen. The still, dark morning was the opening of youth deer seasons. My father could not take me due to his health. A neighbor and I were switch backing our way up a reclaim when thunder came out from under my feet instead of from above my head. I actually never saw a bird that had gotten up.

I remember when even the Whippoorwills went silent in Eastern Kentucky. I have not heard a Whippoorwill in over ten years. Whippoorwills used to be my lullaby at night.

What we have lost, we have gained. Deer in Eastern Kentucky have truly crashed. Yet, deer are more numerous in Eastern Kentucky than when I was a child. Western Kentucky treats does like locusts. Turkeys are the most abundant game species in the state. Of course, a few elk are available for chasing. A person seeing a black bear no longer makes the front page of the newspaper. Still, I have always wanted a mess of those Bob White Quail. Now, I, like much of my endeavors, am very much a ham and egger when it comes to shotguns and would be worse with a dog.

The goal seemed simple. Find a place where I could chase a dog chasing wild Bob White Quails. That task was a high bar. Most, if not all, places relied on pen-raised birds. This was okay, but not ideal. Most would not let me use a 12 bore. This seemed downright dumb. Why was a 16 bore ounce and sixteenth number eights ok, but my 2 ½ inch Francotte 12 bore firing the same load not okay; especially for the price these places were asking. My 2 ¾ inch Francotte 12 bore with an ounce and eighth number eights might as well have been a nuclear bomb. The real kick to the side of the head is everyone wanted three to five people in the party to book before taking you on. Also, a lot of those places do not like it when you miss. I was going to miss a lot. That was just not doable for me. Anyone I knew was not going to pay the admission to attend, or could not get away from wives and children. One hunt a good rate with a mix of early release and wild birds fell apart when my cousin citing wife and kids backed out.

Capt. Purvis, who is a member here, posted about two years ago that he was offering wild quail hunts. I reached out to him about a hunt. He is a very busy person. He would return my communication. I had forgotten I had made an inquiry. He attempted to apologize for the delay. I knew him by reputation on AR. That reputation is one of a very busy hunting and fishing delivering outfitter. I was not concerned about the delay. I had no money in the pot, so I did not care. I told him my issues as detailed above. I told him that any hunt would be me alone.

“That is not a problem. Here is the price with lodging and food. I do not care if you miss, we will get birds up for you. I recommend you come in February. You will be the only one in camp. We will let you have pretty much run of the place with one guide. Use whatever gun you like.”

I paid a very small deposit on the best rate I had ever seen. I would be missing Bob White Quail when the new year came.

I tried to become a better shotgunner during the interlude. The dove season was a bust. I missed the five shots I got. The neighbor decided I did not need to shoot at any doves and positioned his vehicle to where he could scare them with the horn as they circled the fields. I would blast at the trap clays. I got very good at the straight going away bird. One just puts the bead right on them, and not hardly ok on a hard quartering away bird. My father-in-law would join in on these bunny slope courses and never miss a break. I would try to get him to join me. “You need to come with me, somebody has to shoot these birds.”

“No, shooting a real bird is different than clays. I can’t see anymore.” He is a soft-spoken man. The only advice he could give was shoot them where they are going. I would shoot with my friend in Alabama who is a good shotgunner. I would beg him to give me some instruction. His response, “I can’t explain how. I just shoot them.” He also was unavailable despite my pleas to accompany me. Something about a new house, kids, wife, a new job. All things that made me think you really need to come hunting with me for the weekend.

The Southeast was smacked with another hurricane before February 7, 2020 got on the calendar. I made communication with Capt. Purvis. There were no long-standing issues created by this hurricane. I reached out to him a week after New Year’s Day. I think I confuse folks, because I use four numbers. Two are cellphones and two are landlines. Anyhow, Capt. Purvis, a week before the depart date, sent me the address and called me.

The day he called me it was seventy degrees Fahrenheit. He again tried to apologize for the delay in communication. Again, I respectfully declined his apology as not necessary, “There is nothing to worry about. I know your reputation. I know you are busy. I am happy to go on that.” I asked him about his weather.

“It has been in the seventies today as well. The only issue with that is we can’t run dogs as long as we would in an outing as when it is cooler.” What time do you want to arrive? I would suggest getting here around one in the afternoon.”

“I do not want to be a pest. If it is all the same to you. I would like to get there early. I am about eight hours away. I was thinking about getting there about eight in the morning.”

“You want to drive all night?”

“It is your show. You tell me when you want me to be there, and that is fine. I would like to arrive early, walk around, and take a nap.”

“How about you leave to be here around ten in the morning?”

“That is a deal.”

The next day brought the second worst flood in the history of record-keeping to my home county. The surrounding counties were closing flood walls. Folks were soon to be using jet skis and boats to travel US 25. I sent a message to Capt. Purvis inquiring about the weather. Remember when I wrote that I confuse folks with all the numbers I use. He sent a reply, “Heavy rains with severe wind giving tornadoes. Plan on one in the afternoon.” This message came to one of my burner, other work contact numbers that does not get signal from my house. I would not see it until I was in North Carolina.

I gave an unspoken thought about canceling. I did not want to worry my wife. I had taken the day off which was not easy to do. I did not see another day on the calendar I could steal. I had a break in the weather. The roads were clear when I came home from work. I left out at ten that night instead of midnight as I had originally planned. I figured that gave me a hedge against having to detour or stop due to weather. The GPS said it was an eight-hour drive. The drive would be a white knuckle, non-stop, nine-hour fight. I cussed, I prayed, I even repented. It would be the same coming home.

I arrived in Hobgood about 9:30 in the morning. I was on the right road, but unsure. I was turned by an older farm hand. I stopped at the end of the road studying. I decided to text my Wife that I had made it. The sky was beautiful. However, the wind was raking at up to fifty miles per hour. I could feel my truck wobbling left and right as I was in park. Trees were down all over the place. Capt. Purvis sent a message asking where I was. I called him.

“Where are you, Joshua?”

“Well, sir, I am more or less here. I am in Hobgood, but I do not know where to go from here.”

“Turn up this road, and go to the end. You will see a post office. Turn right. There is a diner. Go in there and have some breakfast. I will get someone to you about 10:45.”

I had two eggs at the local diner. The local region news was on. The news reported tornadoes had touched down, winds had been touching sixty miles per hour, that they would drop to the low thirties sustained with gusts into the forties throughout the rest of the day.

Oprah had just started to come on the local affiliate morning station when Capt. Purvis walked in. I got up. We shook hands. He was in a rush. Trees had fallen at his parents and on one of his trucks. That was no issue. He got me to the lodge. He told me that the guide, Curtis, would be by before 1:00. I got my stuff unloaded in the lodge and dozed.

The lodge is the hunting cabin we all wish we could build. It is rustic with a kitchen area big enough for a dining table, a living room, and one full bath. The cabin has a rap around porch. The bunk room with two sets of bunk beds is off the living room. Above that is a loft that stretches the length of the floor plan. The cabin has hot water and electricity.

The sound of a dog’s begging barks brought me out of my half slumber. I went to the back door. There was a young English Setter where there had not been one. He was a beautiful dog. I went out on the porch. I wanted to go over and pet him. I did not, not knowing if that was proper. The dog was half jumping, wagging his tail, and trying to get off the lead and go to my left. I looked that way.

Here came a very tall, young man. He was every bit of 6’4”. “That sure is a pretty English Setter,” I said, stepping off the porch in his direction.

We exchanged names and hellos as we met.

“Do you mind if I pet your dog? She sure is pretty.”

“Not at all, but she is a him. His name is Teddy, after Theodore Roosevelt.”

The wind was lashing, not whipping, but lashing. We went inside. “Clark thought we would head on out, but this wind is awful. Rain is not too bad on birds, but this wind. I need to go run some chores, but what do you think we look at it around 4:00?”

“I have no problem with that. I will just lay down and read. You are in charge. I want to warn you right now. I am not a good shot, and I will miss a lot.”

“That is okay. Do you mind if I take my gun since it is just you? Anything I drop will go to your bag.”

“I have no problem with that. I hope you enjoy hunting with me.”

I went back to my bunk. I read a bit of The Old Man and the Boy. I enjoyed the thought that I was just outside of coastal North Carolina getting ready to hunt Bob White Quail just like Roark. I thought about my father.

I heard the dogs. I looked over at the clock it was two in the afternoon. I got up and went outside.

“This wind has settled down some. (It was still somewhere in the twenty mile per hour range). What do you say we give it a go?”

“I am all for it.” I went inside and got dressed. I brought one hundred cartridges loaded with an ounce and an eighth of number eights. I put fifty in my coat pocket. Off, down the dirt road, into a cut cotton field with an overgrown ditch running right through the middle of it, we went.

Teddy went straight for that ditch. It was choked with saw briars, fallen hard woods with rotten stumps, and a strange tree that was in winter. I was over my head, but the branches came out of the base of the trunk like pikes ready to repeal a calvary charge sticking into your face and chest.

Teddy would point and then run a bit, freeze, and run again. “I do not know what that is. I think he has got a rabbit,” Mr. Hammack cautioned.

I saw the prose of “The Old Man” informing the boy about breaking bird dogs from pointing rabbits. I could not help but think he was pointing quail that were running in that fortress of a ditch. We walked up to Teddy. I could hear quail sounding. Teddy would hold a point with his tail up, but wagging with joy. Then he would jump cut at the unseen escape. Hammack found a place to cross a ditch. He eased back a face full of saw briars. “Oh, Shoot!” He laid the briars back over. He stepped back. “They are in here, running.”

One flushed wild just to my right. I turned. It was a hen. She was not far, but when the wind hit her, she was like a ping pong ball ricocheting off a bumper. Mr. Hammack had not seen her get up. I did not want to surprise him. I held fire. Teddy ran a few feet up and froze. Mr. Hammack walked right up to his noise. “Teddy, fetch!” Teddy jumped into the tangle. Bob White Quail came everywhere. I few got high only to be sent to the Atlantic by the wind. One got behind a tree. One came out in front of me about fourteen feet high. I shot. The bird changed direction and went right over my head. I shifted around. I shot as the bird hooked back into the ditch line. I saw the wad go about two feet behind the tail. I heard Mr. Hammack fire. There were no birds to be had.

We kept working. Teddy got another up, but the bird went right behind a tall hardwood and disappeared. I swung on the second bird. As soon as I got my gun to my shoulder, I took it down. “The wind sure moved that bird. No one could hit that. I mean as soon as the wind hit it, gone,” Mr. Hammack commented as I lowered my gun.

We worked on up the ditch. There was a large dead stump with roots the ground had eroded away. Teddy put his face right into that stump. There would be a pattern here. I would position myself where I thought the birds would generally go, but they always came another way causing me to shift one hundred and eighty degrees. Mr. Hammack would instruct, “Teddy, Fetch.” Teddy would try to dig into the stump. Teddy was digging and Mr. Hammack finally kicked the stump. I had just relaxed when nothing broke from the stump kicking. Then three got up. One, a rooster, got up on my side. I fired. I missed. The bird started to turn back into the ditch. I got the gun to the spot and killed my first Bob White Quail, a rooster. Mr. Hammack killed a hen that had gotten up on his side. So, we had two.

“Let’s leave these birds. Let them come back together. We have a lot of places to hunt. We can come back here if we need to. Mr. Hammack, in a manner that I cannot describe, somehow got Teddy to come off the ditch line. Teddy started out to the middle of the cut field. I could see one lone tree in the middle of the fields standing with some patches of knee-high grass. We had not made it across the field when Teddy pointed in the middle of the field at a little roll in the ground. Mr. Hammack and I were having difficulty crossing the swamped field. Poor Teddy was having to hold that point a long time. I got up to where I could see the heads of three Bob Whites just jerking. They would take a few steps, and Teddy would stop to uncoil. “Teddy, Hold! Teddy, Hold!” Mr. Hammack’s demands were being beaten by the wind, keeping Teddy from hearing him and Teddy instinct to not let those birds go. Finally, just as we got up to Teddy, the birds started to walk. Teddy hit into them like a middle linebacker. Mr. Hammack was in front of me. The birds got up straight ahead. He fired at a bird that had crossed. The bird did not fall. Mr. Hammack disciplined Teddy by having come to him. Mr. Hammack would say, “hold,” pick Teddy up and drop him back down saying, “hold.” I felt bad for Teddy. He held as long as his puppy heart would allow him with birds right in front of him in the wide open and us taking so long to get to him.

We got to the big tree. Teddy would get very birdy but never point. We found an impression and droppings from a fresh covey. Again, in no harsh manner, but how one convinces a dog to leave bird smell to go find bird smell I cannot describe. You know the dog has got to be thinking, “I smell birds here. Why do you want to go over there?” Yet, we did. We headed for the far end of the ditch into a cut path through a stand of those pike trees. We came out on the other side from the field, the right side, below the lodge. Teddy went straight for the center of this mess, and stopped with his wagging, otherwise perfect point. Mr. Hammack was trying to find a way in to try to flush them to the edge. I noticed Teddy was looking left to right.

“Do you mind if I go in above Teddy and walk into his point like a blocker?”

“I do not mind if you don’t. I will stay to your right. So, you can shoot to the front left, and behind.” I went in. I went about ten feet above Teddy. I got almost in line with him. I got within in five feet of him when I looked out from his nose. I saw a Bob White rooster right between us. “I see a bird!” I hollered to Mr. Hammack. I was still turned perpendicular to Teddy. My position and hope were a bird, this bird, would fly rising right across from me.

“Teddy! Fetch!” I do not know how many got up. The rooster got up and more or less did what I wanted. He crossed me and had just made it over a tree when I broke him.

“I got one!” Another bird was going away. I swung to him as I hollered. Teddy was right on it. It disappeared behind a screen of pike trees and saw briars. I could hear Teddy jumping into what was a pure swamp just on the other side. He stopped. Mr. Hammack fired two shots.

“Go to the bird you killed.”

I picked him up. I held him for a moment. Teddy was on point in a swamp. Mr. Hammack was no more that fifteen feet from me, but we could not see each other. I was alone. I got the other bird out. I held them together. I felt like I was four again holding my first squirrels.

“Mr. Hammack, I am coming out.” I got up to him in the clear. “Did you get one?”

No, I missed. Let’s see what you got.” I showed him my rooster. “He sure is a pretty one.”

“Teddy is on point further in there, but it is a swamp. I can hear him jumping through it. We went back in. We got to the edge of solid ground and the swamp. We could see Teddy. I got as close as I could standing on a stump. Mr. Hammack walked into Teddy from behind. A bird got up, which I thought was the second one I saw got up and flew between us. We both missed. Teddy went bounding after him. Mr. Hammack would get Teddy to come off. We all three got to the clear again. We started walking the edge back to the lodge. “We will put Teddy up and get the pointer.”

Teddy went in under the branches of the pike trees. He came to a nice point. We took position. A lone Bob White Quail broke going straight away. Mr. Hammack fired and missed. I swung and killed him right before he got away.

We got up to the lodge and changed out dogs. The head of a pointer reminded me of a small bull terrier. I know hunting dogs do not have the weight of a house dog eating steak for dinner, but the poorness of this dog struck me. The mouth and thought filter was not working fast enough.

“My father-in-law would call that dog malnourished,” I stated in a diplomatic tone.

“This is Jack. He is Clark’s dog. When he was young, he hunted long and hard. He has been diagnosed with cancer. The vet wants to put him down. Clark is not wanting to. We will let him stretch. He can lie to us all he wants.”

Jack worked really close. We found ourselves back to the loan standing tree. Jack pointed the indication from the old covey. We got Jack back to the ditch line. He gave a good point. Mr. Hammack and I took opposite sides of the ditch. The bird got up and Mr. Hammack killed him. We were so happy to get a bird over Jack. My brain worked my thoughts into a sentence.

“Jack is the dog on Capt. Purvis’ website you see pointing, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is. He has gone down a lot.”

That night I dined at the lodge with Mr. Hammack and Capt. Purvis. I had walked four miles and had not eaten in over twenty hours. We had steaks on the grill with baked potatoes, bourbon, single malt Islay Scotch, and wine. I ate two baked potatoes and every ounce of a 30 oz. of steak. Capt. Purvis bunked with Mr. Hammack and me.

Capt. Purvis was up about 4:00 in the morning. I rose with him. He was taking his son duck hunting. They invited me along. Capt. Purvis’s son, John Clark, is fourteen years old. He is a very polite young man. I had visions of being wet and cold, so I respectfully declined.

Mr. Hammock and I started about nine in the morning with Teddy in charge. Teddy went hard to the left into a stand of pike trees. He was really far in there. We started working to him. I was going straight to him. Mr. Hammack was swinging to come behind him. I saw Teddy straight ahead of me on point. I looked in front of his nose. There was a Bob White rooster walking in front of him. “I see the bird. He is walking straight to me.”

“Teddy, Fetch!” The bird came up toward me and swerved to the left. I missed with the first barrel. I clipped him.

We went to the far field that we did not hunt before. Looking at it from a distance it looked flat with tallish grass islands. What the field was, was a 1,000-acre swamp. Walking on it was like walking on a beaver dam. The islands of short grass were risen saw barrier thickest with dead fall. Occasionally, there would be a nice stump you could stand on. Teddy gave a great point and did not wag his tail. We worked in. Four birds got up, more or less, in front of me. Two got up in front of Mr. Hammack. I missed. Mr. Hammack missed. We circled the other side of the island. Teddy gave us two more. I clipped one seeing it fall and a few feathers. We walked up to it, but no bird. The bird had buried itself deep under a deadfall. Teddy put his face right on the bird and came up with it in his mouth. Teddy took off with it. The bird kicked out. Teddy dropped the bird. The bird crawled into cover. We tried to pull back. Teddy went back in. Mr. Hammack called Teddy. Teddy came bounding with the bird in his mouth. Teddy dropped the bird, and I killed it. We went deep into the swamp. Teddy pointed under a large saw briar bush deep in the swamp. I got up on a stump. I bent over looking under Teddy’s nose and the saw briar. I saw the Messiah of Game Birds, a Bob White rooster walking on water. “Teddy, Fetch!” Teddy took one bound. The bird came up, got over me, cut away, and I missed. I did not even try the second barrel. Mr. Hammack missed another bird. We went on a march. We came back up. Teddy climbed up on a deadfall and gave his wagging tail point. Mr. Hammack walked behind him and tried to get him to hold his tail up. “Teddy, Fetch.” Teddy jumped down. Birds got up. One went away to the right. I missed as the bird crossed. Now, the bird is going straight away. I killed the bird with the second barrel. “Nice shot.”

We got in the vehicle and went to another field with a ditch line. Mr. Hammack buried his wife’s Ford Expedition in a cut peanut field. We let Teddy out as we studied our predicament. Mr. Hammack called Capt. Purvis who gave him the name of a tow truck. I looked over and Teddy was wagging his tail on point. We got the guns and went over. I saw the bird, a lone hen just on the other side of the ditch. “Teddy, Fetch!” The bird came up. Mr. Hammack missed. The bird got crossing away. I missed. Mr. Hammack missed. I swung and broke the bird with my last barrel.

Mr. Hammack had to use his tip to cover the tow truck, but it did pay for it. John Clark, without my asking, gave me his one wood duck from his morning duck hunt.

Mr. Hammack dressed my birds. I ate the skinless breast of the wood duck brushed in olive oil with a little salt and pepper seared in a dry, screaming cast iron skillet. This was better than steak. My wife loved her piece. My mother-in-law prepared the quail in seasoned flour and fried them in a cast iron skillet. We had gravy and biscuits, with fried apples and fried eggs. We fed four people and one dog. We had one bird left over after dinner.

The only thing missing as I held that first Bob White Quail was my father who stood beside me with that first squirrel. I missed more than I shot. I smile thinking of that Bob White Quail walking on water. Thank you Capt. Purvis.

Great write up. Thanks!

Nice! Sounds like a blast

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Joshua, Great write up! And well done. Birds over good pointers is a joy!

Cheers

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Great report. That seems like my kind of hunt, and possibly my shooting too!

I really enjoyed it,

Tom

Excellent ! Thank You !

If anyone wants pictures, please pm an email or iPhone number?

Thank you all for reading the report.

What a wonderful report!

I can see a pen raised bird place saying don’t miss, as that’s their expense and those birds don’t survive too long in the wild. I’m also shocked at the bias against you using a 12. I personally don’t, but it shouldn’t bother a bird outfitter. I understand minimum calibers for big game, but that’s a the opposite side of the spectrum.

Enjoyed your words a great deal. Thanks for sharing!

Fabulous write-up, thank you for sharing.

That's great writing. I look forward to Jan., I and 5 friends are going to Clark's to duck hunt in the AM and quail in the afternoon.

I greatly appreciate all that have read my ramblings.