When the Birds Don't Fly

 I arrived at the dove field an hour and half before legal shooting time so I could have time to observe any flight activity of the resident doves. Three days into the season, I did expect a slow down from the opening day flurry. Even so, during that first half hour or so of observation several dove winged their way across the field with a few setting themselves on high branches of a dead tree along one edge of the field. The potential appeared to be there, at least to a small degree, so I kicked back in a shady spot and relaxed waiting for the legal shooting time to arrive. The longer I waited, the hotter it got and with each passing minute, fewer and fewer dove made themselves known to the point that as shooting time arrived, zero activity subdued any anticipation over the last 45 minutes. 

(KY Dept of Fish and Game photo)

Patiently, I waited, and waited. I even took a walk around the perimeter of the field hoping to jump a bird or two out of the trees. Nothing. I continued to wait and continued to grow more uncomfortable in the growing heat. The birds simply were not flying.

Sometimes that happens even with the best of plans and highest of anticipation. The birds are simply not going to come. I've known some fellow hunters in the past who would have reacted negatively to the situation. Difficult, it is, yes - to remain patient in such a time. Even so, over the years I have experienced enough of these kinds of situations to where I have learned how to adapt to them. Hunting is a lot like fishing in this regard. So many times have I been skunked while fishing, I could easily get discouraged, but there is an important distinction between getting discouraged and remaining upbeat - there is more to fishing than catching fish - and there is more to hunting than bringing a game animal home. 

As it became apparent the birds were not going to fly that day, I spent much of the waiting time enjoying other values.  Across the middle of the field a dozen or more American Goldfinches zipped and darted in and out of the standing millet and sunflowers blending their colorful antics with a myriad of multi-colored butterflies. A few clouds drifted high above shifting their shapes with subtle movements. My attention was redirected toward the distinctive clip-clop of a horse as it trotted down the paved road pulling one of those classic black Amish buggies. 

I found myself being absorbed into the landscape where my senses were intuned with what was happening around me. After a while, I stood to stretch stiff legs, then made a second quick walk around the perimeter of the field hoping to jump a dove or two out of the trees. Along the way, I stopped to cut a few sticks of river cane that grows in abundance near the edge of the creek that cuts along the base of western ridge. I'll use them to make arrows - maybe, at least try to anyway. I jumped no dove on my walk, but just moving around helped to pass the time and gave me a different perspective on the lay of the land.

I returned to my original spot in the shade of a group of sycamore trees and set the shotgun across my lap, then wiped some sweat from my brow. The day was growing hotter by the moment soon to touch base with that dreaded 100+ degree mark - pretty hot for the first week of September. As a result, my shady spot felt all the more cooler. After about 45 minutes with no flying activity, it became apparent the birds were not going to show up, so I decided to pull out and give the day and the field a rest. Although the birds refused to fly, that small little 10 acre field provided a few hours of simply getting away to enjoy what nature did provide.

Once I arrived back at my Jeep and reloaded all my gear inside, I walked to the edge of another field bordering the parking area. Standing there I found a few moments to survey each corner and the lay of the land of that larger field, hoping maybe, just maybe, I might see a dove or two wing their way across  toward where I stood. There were none.

When the birds don't fly does not mean the day is a bust. It simply means the day presented to you other values that in many ways, at the very least, are just as important as to why you came in the first place. When I think about it, maybe, just maybe, those other values were what I was mostly after anyway, and for that reason, my day afield turned into a most successful memory.

The Dove Shoot: Hottest Day of the Season for the World's Worst Wingshot

 September 1st is traditionally the beginning of the hunting season in most states. Here in Kentucky there are probably more people afield on this day that on any single day through the entire season. Most all of them are there to join in one of the fastest, most challenging, most frustrating, yet more rewarding of all hunting days; The Dove Shoot. This day can also be one of the hottest days of the year and September 1, 2026 proved to be such a day.

Results from an Oklahoma Dove Shoot - Circa 1980's
Also, The only Known Photo of my Old Stevens Model 311 16ga 
Double Barrel Shotgun (Bottom of Image)

***

My alarm went off long before I was ready for it to do so. Even so, that annoying chime provided the nudge I needed to climb out of bed and head out to the dove field. All week long I felt the anticipation building as the days leading up to opening day seemed to drag by. The day broke clear, calm, and already warm long before the sun came up and as I loaded my gear into the back of my Jeep I could see the first blush of dawn filtering through the trees. My last chore before heading out was to fix a cup of coffee which provided a much needed boost to my already elevated sense of anticipation by reducing the sleepy fog that annoyed my first few moments of the morning.

Kentucky has some odd key points to their hunting regulations one of which I have not been able to grasp the reason for. That is on opening day of Dove season, legal shooting time is 11:00am. I suppose they have their reasons for such a rule, but it mattered little for I was heading out early to a location I had used a couple of years before. It is public land and a designated Dove Field often planted with various crops of sunflowers, millet, and other natural food sources dove tend to flock into.The reason for my early start was to hopefully get there early enough to stake out a good shady spot before the anticipated crowds began to filter in. What I discovered almost threw a wrench into my plans.

As I pulled off the back road onto the access road I was surprised to discover the area closed to the public and preserved for a controlled special draw Mentor Hunt provided by the wildlife department for the first 4 days or so of the season. My plans were almost circumvented, but I was not far from another location I had used in the past so I decided to drive over there just to check out the possibilities. Turned out to be a good idea for unknown to me, the state had created another dove field in that area. I  discovered the reason they did so, was in conjunction with a special draw Mentor Hunt to provide some relief from the hunting pressure on that first location, but there was a catch.

This new location is also a designated wetlands area and so the regulations require that hunters use non-toxic shot (no lead shot allowed) like steel or bismuth shot. All I had on me was the traditional Dove/Field nbr 8 loads with lead pellets. To make a long story short, I ended up driving all the way home and grabbed the only steel shot I had which were 20+ year old high brass nbr 4 duck loads. Somewhat of overkill for dove, but that was all I had. Actually they proved more of a handicap simply because nbr 4's simply do not have as many pellets, about half, thus reducing the odds of hitting a small flying missile like a dove with his afterburner kicked in. They are better suited for larger birds like ducks.

Thusly prepared, I returned to the dove field well ahead of the legal shooting time and setup within a shady area on the eastern side of the field. As it turned out, I proved myself worthy of being known as the world's worst wingshot. Even so, I thoroughly enjoyed the day pulling out around 2:30pm when the heat of the day began to rise into the near intolerable range and the shooting action tapered off. I met and talked to several other hunters and probably prevented several of them from potentially getting fined for they too knew not of the steel shot regulation and had to scramble to obtain some before shooting time. All in all, it was a great opening day of the hunting season, a day which stirred back into life many memories of dove hunts from my past.

Those many September 1st opening days from years past in Oklahoma have become some of the best memories. My good friends Ralph and Rocky, along with my brother Ken would converge at Rocky's place before sunrise and then head out to the location we simply called  'Out at Morris' for a morning of fast paced shooting action. When the sun got up high in the sky and the temperatures climbed even higher, we'd pull out for a mid-day break and then head back out there later that evening until sundown. Seems I was a much better shot back then and would often limit out or at least approach a daily limit. I really miss that old Stevens Model 311 16ga Double Barrel shotgun for it was a sweet shooting dove and quail gun (see the image above). The sights. The sounds. The aroma of dew-wet field grass. The anticipation. The excitement. Then, all the around the campfire stories those mornings provided are priceless pieces of my personal history. They are some of the best 'Beyond the Campfire' moments and too many of them I have missed in recent years. 

Being well into my retirement years provides me with ample time to once again enjoy such moments. Even so, I have failed to do so way more often than I should have. Plus, those early morning rises. The hotter than tolerable late summer heat waves. And the lack of being able to hit the proverbial broadside of a red barn, has dampened my enthusiasm somewhat, but not eliminated it. Making this most recent outing has rekindled to some degree that enthusiasm, and I do plan on getting out another time or two this season...after I obtain a couple of boxes of field and dove load nbr 8's steel shot shotgun shells. 

Under The Stars

 A long, hard day had passed behind me as I had canoed about eighteen miles traveling from near the upper end of Barren River Lake toward the lower end. I was pretty tired and as I contemplated setting up camp for day two, the idea of stretching out my tarp  and arranging all my night gear grew less appealing as the day progressed toward evening. The weather was fine with no rain in the forecast and the air was dry. Daytime temps hovered in the mid to upper 80's but the nighttime temps would fall toward the lower 70's maybe even as low as the upper 60's. My planned location for my second day camp was probably the lesser of three places on the lake I often stealth camped, yet it did provide for an isolated and scenic view toward the west and best of all, this location offered a nice gravel beach perfect for sleeping out under the stars. 

It took all of about three minutes to set up my sleeping arrangements to do so; a ground cloth, sleeping pad, and bedroll, and I was ready to go. I spent the late afternoon watching the sun lower itself behind a distant ridge and shortly after it disappeared, stars came to life, slowly at first until the sky grew darker. Upon doing so, the clear night air revealed thousands of stars dancing across the heavens. Just above the western horizon, a sliver of moon hovered casting barely enough glow to silhouette the far ridge line against the slightly brighter sky.

I stretched out on top of my bedoll, a simple heavy flannel blanket stitched together to form a long tube which was more than adequate for this time of year, late summer, and propped my arms behind my head along with a rolled up hoodie for a pillow. For the longest time, I just quietly lay there watching the sky slowly arch across the heavens. That sliver of moon eventually dropped behind the far ridgeline and the night became even darker and the stars grew ever more brighter. The milkyway haze arched about me, its dim but well defined nature casting an eerie glow across the night.

As the evening progressed, a bright light suddenly appeared in the sky rapidly moving from the southeast. It grew brighter for a few moments before just as suddenly it disappeared. Later investigation revealed what I had seen was the International Space Station as it passed over this part of the world.

Well into the evening, my tiredness caught up with me and I, without even knowing it, closed my eyes and began to drift off to sleep still laying on top of the bedroll.  It must have been deep into the night before the chill began to infiltrate and I slid inside of the bedroll. When I awoke, a light fog drifted across a somber lake and the sky barely revealed the approaching dawn. A few birds were greeting the morning along with a few fish as they jumped just off shore. 

Fully awake by then, I simply watched the morning unfold around me. A few clouds drifted across the sky and what few remaining visible stars blinked a final farewell to the night.  Eventually, I climbed out of my bedroll and paddled my canoe a short distance away from the bank to watch the sun rise above the eastern treeline. When it did, that fog began to glow with a golden hue. It was a good morning.

I fixed a quick breakfast, reloaded my canoe, and shoved off to finish my three day end-to-end canoe adventure of Barren River Lake.

Sleeping out under the stars is possibly one of the greatest joys of canoe camping, or any camping as far as that goes. This particular attempt proved itself one of the finest and rewarding. Too quickly do we often believe we must cocoon ourselves inside a tent or even under a tarp often preventing us from witnessing one of the natural worlds greatest nightly events; a dark night sky filled with stars. On this particular evening, I chose wisely and allowed nature at her finest to reveal a part of herself I too have missed so often.