Six shots, five doves.
It was an efficient, if not productive, opening day of dove season.
I hunted with Dr. Lester Sitzes of Hope, a former member of the Arkansas Game and Fish Commission, and his son John at Mac Neel's farm near Arkadelphia.
Neel's opening day dove hunt is always a big production that draws a big crowd to his sprawling spread on the banks of the Ouachita River. The last time I hunted there was in 2011 with my son Daniel. It was superb. This year doves were scarce. Birds left the area in front of an approaching storm. Those that remained migrated to a farm a few miles away where corn was harvested earlier in the week.
"With all the great hunts we've had over the years, I guess we were due for a slow one," Neel said.
In the grand tradition of southern dove hunting, the actual shoot is only part of the show. After the morning shoot, everyone gathers back at the farm for a nap or to tell lies and watch football over heaping plates of barbecued brisket.
A local legend named Keith joined John and me under the pavilion. He groused about something that my predecessor Trey Reid wrote 12-13 years ago.
"What was it?" I asked.
"I don't remember, but he got everybody stirred up around here," Keith said. "Hey, Bubba. What was it that Trey Reid wrote that got everybody so danged mad?"
"I don't remember, but we all wanted to thrash him!" he replied.
Bubba stalked over to our table, hackles up.
"Are you Trey Reid?"
"Not anymore," I said.
"You didn't bring 'Wildman' with you?"
"Oh, he's wandering around here somewhere."
Bubba's an earthy philosopher who cuts to the quick on every subject. As Arkansas' football game against Nicholls State got under way, there was much discussion around the tables about what went wrong in the Razorbacks' season opener against Auburn.
"What happened is they put their weed-smokin' quarterback in the game and he whupped our butt," Bubba said.
Bubba was impressed with the action on the tube.
"Dadgum! The Hogs are looking pretty good against ... who's that they're playin'? Harmony Grove Benton?"
At about 5 p.m., everyone started filtering back out to the fields. Sitzes waited until he heard a couple of gunshots before we made our move.
We took a position at a choke point between the main field and a secondary field. Sitzes and I stood at the edge of a grove that formed a point between the fields. A boy named Hayden Wright sat beneath a small copse of trees that formed a small island in the field, and John Sitzes went to the secondary field.
A few doves came over here and there, kind of like rogue raindrops from a cloud that's heading somewhere else. Wright bagged one, his first ever.
Sitzes and I spent the long lags between birds chatting. The few that came over the point didn't see us until it was too late, and they were unable to elude the ounce of shot that my lithe Weatherby Athena 20-gauge spewed at them. At about 7:30 p.m., it was over.
Few yes, but enough for a snack.
Sports on 09/14/2014