Doves Amidst The Wall Of Lead

“Just once,” I wheedled Dylan. “We’ve never tried it before. There ain’t any other option. And it’s what’s known as an adventure.”

Probably should have left off that last statement, because he’s heard it all his life. And our “adventures” sometimes tend to turn out not so sporty…

Here’s the deal: I had never been to a wide-open, public-land dove shoot. And since this son and I been pretty much joined at the hip since he was able to walk, neither has he. But I had been riding by this field that was just about the most impressive I had ever seen, and an ache came over me about shooting over it.

Little did I know how many others were afflicted with that same ache.

The first clue was the line of trucks. And trucks. And more trucks. And cars. And SUVs.

“Yeah, but the property is 226 acres…”

He was not impressed; gave me the eye roll.

“First low bird, get your plucking tools out,” came the caustic comment.

The second was the sign: No Shooting In Parking Lot.

Because you KNOW that at SOME time, SOME idiot(s)…

“OK, I realize that a cluster of rednecks pulled up, hopped into the pickup bed and started blasting,” I joked(?). “But after all, these are our people!”

I thought at the time…

Of one thing there was no doubt: the birds were here. The popping was loud and constant. We walked out of the parking lot (birds whirling overhead), loaded and I knocked one down before taking 10 steps. Kid of maybe eight darted out, scooped him up and ran back to dad. Maybe a single No. 8 cracked the crown…

In this upper end, folks were so stacked in that I couldn’t tell if they were hunting or playing poker. So we headed southeast; besides, it sounded like Custer was still surrounded down there. And this is where we discovered… The Wall Of Lead!

Trust me, I’ve seen things in a field, boys. Been doing this for a heap of decades. But 13 shooters in a 25-yard span, standing shoulder to shoulder and blasting away at the same bird?

That was a new one.

For us, dove shooting was out; entertainment time had arrived. On with the show!

Between blasts, the jabber sounded like Black Friday morning 10 seconds before the mall doors are unlocked. Dylan, who has my sense of humor, was grinning from ear to ear as he glanced my way, shook his head and took a knee to settle in for the proceedings.

We had wandered over to within 70 yards, hunkering down with a friendly trio of guys from Warner Robins. They were as amazed as we, and had already come up with that perfect moniker.

“They got this corner covered, and at least two guys are down there in the trees blasting away at anything that tries to light, sending it back up here. Whatever—and I do mean whatever—flies this way runs into a wall of lead.”

Truth told, I wasn’t brave enough to saunter over for an interview. Not that I could have understood a word of what they were saying anyway. Could an interpreter have been scrounged up though, it would have been nice to pick up a couple of new recipes to add to my outdoor file.

Beak Burritos, maybe; Feet and Feathers Fajitas; Tailhole Tacos. Strictly vegetarian; meat’s been blown to Alabama.

While the Wall Of Lead was the main attraction, there was at least a sideshow or two. Like watching 400 folks hit the dirt every time “LOW BIRD” sang out.

Or my personal favorite: the jet version of the remote control airplane.

Seems there’s a following of these RC kits, and I get it: you gotta have airspace. But… right next to a public dove field? Opening day? A hundred yards from The Wall Of Lead???

Plus, you drove right by 14 roadside truck lots to get there!

Chalk it up to a deep-down mean streak if you will, but I can’t TELL you how badly I kept wishing for that plane to get just the LEAST bit off course and buzz over those trees…

Possibly the most amazing part of the whole show came when the clock struck 11. Shooters seemingly evaporated. The field went from hundreds of shots a minute to complete silence. A hunter could now set up anywhere he wished.

No clue why; never saw a badge.

We left not too long after that, happily with birds in hand. Whole ones. And I figgered a few figgers fer ye.

Of the 226 total acres, the planted field contains 74. At 7:15, there were over 150 trucks on the roadsides and in the parking lots. At two hunters a truck…

So we get a call, instructing us to hustle back toward paradisiacal south Georgia—for a dove shoot.

Maybe I got a little spoiled, but I kinda missed the morning’s goofy entertainment in this one. Although I must admit that the birds put on some real shows.

Mid-week brings another set of invitations—and first-evers.

Like sitting in a corn field, receiving a trail cam text of a huge Okefenokee bear—then looking across the field into a neighboring peanut field and spotting… a bear! Totally ignoring our shotgun blasts…

Two days later, I’m walking to pick up my last bird when someone calls, “Coming at you, coming at you.” I look up, then something on the ground catches my eye. Twenty yards away, a coyote races right past me. Well, almost… 

Order your copy of Daryl Gay’s books, “Rabbit Stompin’ And Other Homegrown Safari Tactics,” $19.95 plus $3 S&H and “Life On the Back Page,” $14.95 plus $3 S&H from www.darylgay.com or 16 Press, 219 Brookwood Drive, Dublin, GA, 31021.