A polite descriptive term might be “little gray sidewinder rockets.”  But on a dove field you are likely to hear much more descriptive, unprintable language after a series of shots.

    Dove season opens Saturday, September 4 this year.  There will be hundreds of happy hunters sitting in blinds on hot fields waiting on a chance to burn some expensive powder, and maybe actually hit a dove or two.

    Don’t get me wrong, some dove shooters are excellent shots and hit with most of their shots. But the way doves dart and twist while flying mean even the best shots miss some.

My uncle Adron was the best shot I saw growing up. With his Browning “Sweet 16” shotgun, he hardly missed. Part of his expertise was knowing which shots NOT to take. Growing up during the depression taught him to conserve every shot.

I was not a good shot.  Usually if I could hit one dove every five shots I was doing good.  That’s five doves per box of shells, or with the current 15 dove limit per day, three boxes of expensive shells. But for the $7.00 per box, if you can even find shells this year, about $21 for what, a little over a pound of meat? That is higher than the cost of prime porterhouse steaks and you don‘t have to clean them! But you miss out on the fun of the shoot.

I say dove shooting rather than dove hunting since you sit and wait on a dove to come to you to shoot. You don’t hunt them until a cripple goes down in the thickest briar patch for a mile.

I loved going to dove shoots with daddy and being his “dog,” not carrying a gun but watching and retrieving any birds he shot. Saturday afternoon shoots were the norm for the month season was open, and we went to some good ones.

I have not been on a dove field since 1972, the first fall I lived in Griffin.  I didn’t know anyone here with a field but I saw an ad for a pay shoot near McDonough. I went over, met the farmer and he took me down to a field.  Some doves were flying so I paid him $25 and thought about where I wanted to place my blind on Saturday.

When I arrived Saturday mid-morning, I built a small blind with dog fennel woven into the fence at a post near a tongue of woods that ran out into the field. I noticed the field looked more like a pasture, and there were more hunters on another bigger field on top of the hill but didn’t think much about it as I got ready to shoot at noon.

By 1:00 I had shot two doves, the only two that came near me.  I was thrilled, I seemed to be on target that day. Then I noticed two guys dressed in solid green, not camo, walking from blind to blind talking to the hunters, so I got out my license.

I started to worry when I saw they were federal Fish and Wildlife agents, not local game warden. When one of them took my license, looked at it then put it in his other hand with a stack of licenses, not giving it back, I knew I was in trouble.

They explained I was shooting on a baited field and showed me ariel photos plainly displaying white strips of wheat on the green field.  They gave me a ticket.

There were about 30 furious hunters with guns that went up to the farmer’s house.  He got up on the porch, said don’t worry, he knew the local judge and nothing would happen, and bought a lot of beer for us. He also refunded our fees.

Local judges have no influence in federal court in Atlanta, where I was instructed to appear or pay a fine. I paid a $75 fine as did the other hunters, and I heard the landowner was charged $2000.  I have had no desire to go to a pay hunt since then.

Oddly enough, the game wardens did not ask to see my two doves even though I told them I had two, and they did not confiscate them.  But two doves for $75 is even more expensive than normal!!

When I bought my land in Spalding County I hoped to plant a dove field. But the only field on it is about an acre. The Georgia DNR recommends no less than five acres for a dove field. I planted wheat and even tried sunflowers, but at best would see two or three doves around the field.

The last doves I shot were about 15 years ago.  My upper pond was about five feet low all summer and the doves were using it as a watering hole since the bare ground around the water was easy to get to and fairly safe for them to drink.

I set up on the corner of the dam one afternoon and managed to shoot five as they came in to drink.  I found out doves would float when they fell in the water, and the breeze blew them to the bank.  Those were also the last doves I ate – they were good but not nearly as good as the ones mama and Gladys cooked.

For years going to Argentina to shoot doves was on my bucket list.  Tales of 1000 doves a day and having to use two or three guns to keep barrels cool made me want to go. But that is going to be an unfilled bucket, just like catching a tarpon.  

My goals have grown simpler as I get older. Now, just going fishing this weekend and maybe catching a bass or two is about all I can hope for!