ShopGentleman Bob? I Don’t Think So…
He's no gentleman
One day last week I got up, pulled on my boots and went turkey hunting at a spot I quail hunt on a regular basis. The reason I was turkey hunting at a quail hunting spot is simple; last fall I don’t think I once flushed a covey while hunting there, but I saw turkeys virtually every time afield. Last week however, I neither saw nor heard a single turkey, yet was literally overrun with quail. I flushed singles. I flushed pairs. I even flushed the same covey twice at the exact same spot both days I hunted. I walked a six-mile loop through this area and not once was I out of earshot of a bobwhite’s whistle.
This was the exact same six-mile loop I walked with the pup three times last fall and put up nothing but dust and turkeys. Where did they go? Granted, my dog is just a pup, but she does know what a quail smells like and she covers a lot of ground, quickly. I should have at least gotten a wild flush or two (and truth be told I would have loved to have had her bust a bird), right?
It was so bad, so discouraging, that by the end of quail season I was about convinced that Colinus virginianus was essentially extinct in that particular patch of public ground. Yet here they were in April, dozens of them, whole coveys of them taunting me with their sheer numbers and their annoyingly cheerful whistles. And of course this was all happening while I methodically ground a slate call into dust and permanently etched the outline of a diaphragm call into the roof of my mouth trying to raise a gobble, any gobble, from a tom.
But it did get me to thinking; maybe we underestimate the quail’s ability to be wily. Perhaps his small size, genteel reputation and understated demeanor masks a cunning and ruthless little bird, one every bit as diabolical and sneaky as a pheasant or turkey. Maybe today’s quail’s are pulling a con job on us.
Think about it: What’s the first anthropomorphism that comes to mind when you think quail? That’s right, “Gentleman Bob.” But maybe this bird isn’t such a gentleman, after all. A true gentleman would graciously allow me to shoot him in the fall, rather than mocking me in the spring. That’s just mean, and suggests a bird that is perfectly capable of pheasant-like malice.
I might be forced to re-think my whole outlook on quail. I used to view pheasant and turkey hunting as a battle of wits with a cunning, crafty adversary who – given the slightest chance – delights in making you look the fool, while quail hunting was always a more honorable, set-piece affair, one in which all the players knew their part and wouldn’t dream of sullying the experience with pheasant-like sneakiness.
Look at it this way: have you ever heard anyone, in response to being outwitted by a quail, raise their fist to the sky and call “Gentleman Bob” a dirty, sneaking little SOB? Have you ever done that with a pheasant? A turkey? Be honest…
Let’s face it: The days of Robert Ruark and Corey Ford are long gone, and I’m beginning to think their well-mannered quail went with them, replaced by a meaner, tougher, more deceitful and altogether untrustworthy foe. Sounds like great fun…
One Response to “Gentleman Bob? I Don’t Think So…”
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Well, let’s face it. In the spring, Mr. Bob’s a little off his rocker anyway. If you don’t believe it, put down the slate and the mouthcall and do a hen quail mating call. (I can teach you if you don’t know it.) Every Bob in hearing will answer, and in a few minutes will be right at you. Like his big cousin, Tom, he goes crazy in mating season and lets his hair hang down. That’s why you’ll see him in the oddest places, acting in the most unexpected ways. Come fall, he and his crew will settle down to more home-bound ways and places which may be vastly different from where you find them this time of year. Gentlemen do cut up a bit from time to time.