Location: WingHaven in providence Kentucky
Gunners: Three
Stay: Arrived Friday a little after 1:00 p.m. and left Sunday after the morning shoot.
Game: Plantation or released quail.
Guns and Loads: Bismarck being my 12 bore, 3 inch Merkel 50/122E with 1 ounce No. 8 cooper plated Bismuth loaded by BOSS; Isabella which is my Wife’s Benelli Legacy 28 bore, 2 3/4 inch with 7/8 ounce No. 7 cooper plated Bismuth loaded by BOSS; and a 3 inch 20 bore, Franchi Instinct L, supplied by me unnamed firing 1 1/8 ounce No. 7 cooper plated Bismuth loaded by BOSS.
ROOMS: You have two room options at WingHaven bedrooms with full bath and two queen beds as part of the main lodge. WingHaven also have separate detached housing units with small living room, a kitchenette, and one to two bedrooms. I am going to book my father in law one of these detached units when we go back. The rooms are a little dated.

A Gift Undelivered:

I had hoped to take my Father in Law to WingHaven as a gift. He used to shoot a lot of trap, live pigeon shoots, and upland from Kentucky to Georgia. My father in law can tell you about hunting wild quail in Southeast, Kentucky with coveys in the mid teens right out the back door. He also hunted ruffed grouse out the back door. Those days were on life support when I was a young teen. Those opportunities are all gone now.

My father in law all but put up his guns after I started dating his daughter due to age. I booked this hunt as a gift to him. He will not travel out of state anymore past Tennessee.

Unfortunately, health concerns for his son kept him from making this trip. I had a hard time finding someone to replace him.

I finally after exhausting all options to gibe my father in laws place away called a friendly associate I practice against, “I have this quail shoot in Western Kentucky planned. It is Friday leave Sunday after the morning shoot. I paid for three people. Myself, my wife, and my father in law. My father in law cannot come. Do you want the spot. It is fee.”

His response was, “You want me to be your Father in Law this weekend? You call your father in law Mister right?”

I paused trying to think of something witty, “Yes.”

Round 1:

We picked up my friendly associate who we will call Jay in this narrative for short. Jay is a big man. He every bit of six foot six and heavy. “I have never done this before.”

The best thing I can tell you is the bird going straight away is the easiest, just stab him with the bead and kill him all in one motion. If they are crossing, start behind the bird, swing past his beak, shoot, do not look down, and do not stop the swing.”

My wife added, “Do not worry about it. I have not done it either.”

I missed a turn. The drive is a good five hours from my house, and a strong four hours from Jay’s house. If the reader knows anything about Kentucky geography Providence is past Hopkinsville by about one hour. The cell rings. I recognize the number. Mr. Edwards owns and operates WingHaven with his wife, “Mr. Edwards, we are pulling into the lodge now. I am sorry. I missed a turn.”

“No worries, you have time to get the evening in.’

Mr. Edwards met us as we pulled in to the main lodge building. Hands were shock, lawyer jokes were made, and we entered the lodge.

A hot lunch of argue and pasta was started for us. The first room when you enter the main lodge is a gun locker room. We put our hunting gear on benches. There is a large central table where you can clean your firearms. No loaded guns are permitted into the lodge.

Lunch was ready by the time we got the rooms settled. We were on the back side of the main lodge, so we had a window view of the fish pond, back yard, and a large wrap around porch.

Our first guide was younger than I. We hunted over his dog a German Shorthair and WingHaven’s dog a female English pointer. These were amazing dogs especially the German. I suspect on wild birds he hunts a little far out as one had to be on a hard march to keep up with him. More than once he was on point down in a valley about 200 yards away. However, no bird could escape his noise. He did point two rabbits. I and Jay shot decently on this outing. We put up 30 birds and killed 17. My wife just could not connect. The weather was in the low 40s. She wore a heavy coat. She would brush that decocker on Isabella in the front of the trigger guard on her coat. She normally shoots her gun during warm summer days at the Sporting Clays range in light clothes. This flustered her terribly.

Dinner was a rib in pork chop about 3 inches thick, grilled. You could press the meat with the fork and watch the juices flow up like ground water after a heavy rain. The bone was charred just right. I had a pour of Red Breast 12 Irish Whiskey. I cannot describe desert. It was like a crustless cream pie. This desert was certainly a second slice kind of desert.

The night was filled with loud, and bad karaoke, bourbon, and basketball as half the clients gathered in the master room after dinner. I had one more pour of a 12 year old cask strength bourbon and went to bed at 11:00 p.m. Morning breakfast call was 7:45. Jay, Edwards, and two more guests spent a few hours in the cigar room which is a separate building from the main lodge. I do not smoke.

I called Jay at seven in the morning the next day to wake him up.

“You got any Tylenol? My back is killing me.”

“I have Alive, and sure your back is killing you.”

We all had breakfast at 7:45 in the morning. Breakfast consisted of scrambled eggs, a potato hash, biscuits and white gravy. This was breakfast all three morning. There was noting wrong with it. I am a light breakfast eater while hunting. However, breakfast is nothing special. Dinner at WingHaven is worth writing about.

We had a new guide. Another man younger than myself. He described himself first and foremost as a professional duck guide from Arkansas. He had his lab with him that he would use to flush, and on this second morning hunt two female English Short Hair Pointers. One we had hunted with the day before.

The fields are very large. We walked on average seven miles per field. The terrain on this field was clear cut top with briers freckling, large stands of CRP grass, and hardwoods on the left wrapping behind the back of the property and up the other side. We put up 28 birds on this march. I shot horribly which accounted for our low numbers. The birds were wanting to run a lot. I would position myself as a blocker. The problem was the birds more often than not would get up and fly right at me and over head. I missed seven pivoting to kill them as they got above and past me. Becca killed one on this march. Jay shot better than I did. We had 13 out of 30 put up. The sad part is I killed the first three birds I shot at. We had two actual coveys of four birds. The first time a covey of four broke. I brought the gun to a bird, as the other bird came into my view I swung the gun to that bird. I did not shoot until all the birds were past. I was laughing very loudly at my failure to pick one bird out.

“I saw you on that one. Oh!” The guide dropping his center of gravity and holding an imaginary gun jerking one way then the next.

The next covey of four, I did not know there were multiple birds that gut up. I killed one crossing having positioned of the right. Jay was on the left. A bird broke left and past Jay. He killed it. Everyone started going to my left and away from me. “Jay killed it.” My wife told me.

“Killed what?”

“That quail over there.” Jay replied point to a dead bird in a cut.

“I got one dead up here.”

The guide, “I did not hear you shoot. You guys must have went off at the same time.”

The weather was not our friend on this trip. The winds were gusting over 25 mile per hour. There was a deep blow down, over Jay’s head. The blowdown was over twenty feet long. The birds were running, buried deep underneath. The pour Pointer was doing her best hoping in the snag. She would hop, dig, take her mouth and try to pull out trees and branches. The Guide got in on the action. This placed him above our line of sight. “Be very careful here. He is above our line of sight and in front of us. Make sure the bird is up above the highest point of the down trees or going to the left.” Finally, some unknown number of quail burst out. They did not break all at once or in the same place, but in a conveyor belt manner up and down the blow down. One broke to the left. My wife killed it. Some broke straight up over the head of the guide. No one shot. One broke out to the left as we turned perpendicular to the blowdown. The bird was at the skyline flying parallel to the blowdown. “Kill that bird. Someone Kill that bird!” I was yelling. I guess no one saw it because I killed it.

“Nice shot.” The guide congratulated me. I did not hear that often that day. Lunch was a yummy hot, ham and cheese sandwich. I was very hungry after our seven hour march. I know I ate four of them.

Round 2:

The wind was still going at 25 mph. This time instead of gusting it was more or less constant. We were hunting on a narrow top that gradually sloped down before us. There was a creek on my right running parallel. Across the creek the pasture climbed into uncut CRP which ended at the tree line on top of a not so high ridge. There was an old above ground well with Oak trees growing around it. We were hunting with the same three dogs.

We shot much better this time. In part, because I shot better. I killed a triple with my double early on the march, and this time I killed every bird that flew at and over me. We killed 20 out of 25 birds put up. “I know what I want to say, but it is rude.” The guide said after we killed the eighteenth bird.

“I promise we can take chin music. We actually enjoy it.” I prodded the Guide to finish the statement.

“You guys are shooting like you got your head out of your ass after lunch.”

The shooting was very difficult. The wind really made those birds move live a knuckle ball. One bird was pushed really high. My wife shot him, and the flapping and wind moved him a good fifteen feet to our right when he crashed down. I killed the triple like calling a trap clay. One bird came out of the high CRP across the creek. Bang and dead. THe next one came up right underneath the bird that was crashing. Bang, Dead. The little female pointer never flinched. She just stood on point tail at twelve o'clock. Her ears back, foot up, head down. I reloaded. The guide sent in the Lab. The bird came up over the CRP and hit the wind. I saw the bird do a 360 horizontal spiral and start flying backwards in the wind. If a man could throw a baseball with that movement, he would never have to work again. I traced the bird move for move, Bang. Dead.

Dinner was grilled quail breast wrapped in bacon and jalapeño pepper as an appetizer, and Prime Rib. I enjoyed a 12 year Elijah Crag pour from Edwards Bourbon room. That one room has tens of thousands of dollars worth of bourbon in it.

The Karaoke got a little loud that night.

Round 3 of a Scheduled 3

This morning hunt would be our last. We hunted with one of the female English Short Hair Pointers that we hunted with the day before, and a new dog. His name was Mark. I remember his name because it was a simply, easy to spell good one word dog name. He was an English Short Hair Pointer Black and Smoke colored. However, I am convinced he has some pit bull terrier in him. He is all chest and head. He does not walk. His front legs rotate like the tracks on a dozer. His head is always down. It took me a while to figure out when he was birds versus his normal bulldozer gait. He hunts very close. I finally figured him out. Mark tell is his tail. When that tail stops twitching, he is got a bird. This field was down low and had standing timber on all four sides.

The wind had let up. We killed 28 out of 31 birds put up in the air. I killed the last three with three shots. My wife killed two which was a one hundred percent improvement. Jay shot very well. “I been listening to you. When they are going straight away. I just stab them with the muzzle and kill them in one motion.”

There was one bird that got the better of me. One side was not really trees, but a hill of saw barriers and new growth from cutting. I honestly thought I was trying to kill a woodcock. No, this was a Bobwhite quail. The little female Pointer went right under the briars. The guide thought I killed it twice. I knew I was under the bird as it got up and rose with the slop of the hill. The little pointer, myself, and the Guide went all the way to the end of this sea of barriers only to be beaten. I only got a full glimpse of the bird once as the briars were over my head.

On the other side, the timber was standing clean oak trees. I killed two birds in the timber crossing in the gaps between trees. I only killed one tree. That shot was on line, just had a tree get in the way.

I am going this Saturday to deep fry a mess of quail in my homemade Creole blend, Cornmeal, and Flour.
The health problems that kept my father in law from going on this trip appear to be finally on the other side of that forest. I am going to book a second trip as soon as my father in law’s son comes home from months in the hospital for us all.