Pine Ridge: Home of the Luckiest Bird in South Alabama
Lewis Creek Shooting School 11.08.12
There’s something about the way I grew up that says you must clean your plate and make everything finish at the same time. This plate was working out just fine. I had one bite of country-style steak, a bite of mashed potatoes with just enough gravy, a fork full of cabbage and one piece of corn bread still on the plate. I cleaned the plate off and pushed the last of the cornbread into my mouth, perfectly finishing the meal. There was only one problem. I wanted more.
It’s a problem I often have when the food’s really good, one I always had when my Mama was still alive and she cooked for me. I simply couldn’t stop because the food was so good. I’d eat the first plate, go back for more and end up stuffing myself until I was miserable. I was determined not to do this tonight at Pine Ridge.
My wife Cherie and I were on a cross-country hunting and fishing trip and Pine Ridge in Clayton, Alabama was our first stop. We rolled in at about 7:30 and found owner Mike Spurlock, guide, Buster Brown, and cooks, Liz and Sallie, standing proudly behind the kind of southern down home feast I grew up on. We sat down and, while it was tough, I resisted the temptation to make myself miserable. Pine Ridge offers deer, turkey, and quail hunting on two tracts of rolling hills of pine and wiregrass.
Cherie and I love quail hunting over good dogs and Pine Ridge proved the perfect balance as a great hunt and a comfortable lodge without being ostentatious. Built on top of the highest ridge around from pines harvested off the property, the lodge walls are lined with deer from the farm and Mike’s African and North American big game trophies. Comfortable as the lodge was and great as the food was, the trip was about bird hunting.
The next morning, it was a little warm but the dogs were sharp and Cherie showed me the how-to on the first flush. She put her little Parker on the bird before I could get my gun up and had a bird up on me within minutes of getting started. The pine fields around Clayton are bird hunting heaven, with rolling fields of pines dotting the natural grasses. Mike explained there were freshly planted birds, leftover birds, and a few wild coveys where we were hunting.
On the next flush, I wasted both barrels without cutting a feather and Cherie got a little cocky as she sometimes does. As the dogs found more birds, it was my turn to shine and I bagged four birds with the next four shots while Cherie jinxed herself. For me, this was quail hunting as it is supposed to be: perfect habitat, great dogs working and the fun that comes from spending a day with my wife and best friend and Buster and Mike; two guys who love the outdoors, dogs, and guns as much as I do.
When Cherie missed, we ribbed her and when she connected we bragged on her. We watched the dogs work, remembered other hunts, and laughed at each other’s stories as only folks with a lot in common can do. Those who’ve never enjoyed shooting little brown buzz bombs over quivering bird dogs in perfect southern cover have missed one of the finest things in life.
The Luckiest Bird in South Alabama
Late in the hunt, we found a group of birds alongside the trail on a small ridge. We collected two or three of the birds but we knew one had found refuge under a pine stump refusing to fly when the others flushed. Picking up the shot birds and going after a couple of singles carried us away from this refugee but eventually we worked our way back to him. Cowboy, the pointer, located him and locked up solid. I walked in to kick him out from under the stump and clump of weeds he was holed up in while Cherie was at the ready. I kicked him out and he flew a few yards across the road and dropped back down just across the trail. Cowboy moved in and pointed him again. This time, he flew only a little further and dropped down at the foot of a fallen pine log.
Undaunted, Cowboy advanced again and pointed the short flying but evasive quail. I could see he was a rooster as I moved in to kick him out again. This time, he flew like a rocket, long and strong, putting a pine between him and Cherie but offering me a perfect shot. I had a clear shot and I intended to end this foolishness. When my gun came into my line of sight to shoot him, I noticed the lever on the gun way over to the right. My gun wasn’t closed all the way and I couldn’t shoot. He flew to the top of the next little ridge and set back down.
I swear, Cowboy gave us a dirty look. We headed off after him again and this time he again thwarted Cherie with the pine tree trick but offered me a perfect shot. I lined his butt up with the front bead and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. I checked the safety. It was off. I lined up on him again and pulled the trigger again. Nothing happened. I nearly bent the trigger on my gun but it wouldn’t shoot.
Cherie was laughing. “What happened, why didn’t you shoot?”
“I don’t know; my gun wouldn’t go off.” I took the shells out and checked the gun. The trigger pulled and the gun snapped just as it was supposed to. I did it two or three times to be sure. My Fox 16 was made in 1923 and had never malfunctioned while I’ve owned it. I still have no idea what happened.
The next time Cowboy pointed this devil bird, I was certain I would end this madness. It had gotten personal. I kicked him out again; he flushed and made a beeline down the ravine, I fired two shots and he continued unscathed to land at the exposed roots of a blown down pine tree. I didn’t look but this time, I’m sure Cowboy stuck his tongue out at me.
I’m not superstitious. I don’t believe in fate. I don’t think there’s such a thing as mystical/immortal quail but I gave up. “Leave him where he is,” I announced “I’m not wasting any more walking or shotgun shells on him. He’s the luckiest bird in south Alabama.”
The fact is, I think I was beginning to think he was immortal. The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. At lunch at the Dime Store Café over hot dogs, I announced my suspicions, “Buster, that bird will probably be hanging around that stump when all of us are dead and gone.” Buster didn’t disagree.
Dick Jones is an award winning outdoor writer and a member of the Southeastern Outdoor Press Association Board of Directors. He writes for four North Carolina Newspapers as well as regional and national magazines. He’s hunted and fished most of his life but shooting has been his passion. He’s a former High Master, Distinguished Rifleman, and AAA class pistol shooter. He holds four Dogs of War Medals for Team Marksmanship as shooter, captain and coach. He ran the North Carolina High Power Rifle Team for six years and the junior team two years after that. Within the last year, he’s competed in shotgun, rifle and pistol events including the National Defense Match and the Bianchi Cup. He’ll be shooting the Bianchi, the NDM, the National High Power Rifle Championship, The Rock Castle AR15.com Three Gun Championship and an undetermined sniper match this shooting season.
He lives in High Point, North Carolina with his wife Cherie who’s also an outdoor writer and the 2006 and 2011 Northeast Side by Side Women’s Shotgun Champion. Both Dick and Cherie are NRA pistol, rifle, and shotgun instructors and own Lewis Creek Shooting School.
