Across the river into SC, the dove season starts today. Here on the west side of the river in Georgia, we await the Glorious First Saturday of September, Noon To Be Exact. At that time, my buddies and I will try to guess the time the dove will return from the neighboring pines to fill craws on the sunflower seeds that have fallen from the down-turned flowers. We will always guess too early and begin the Dove Hunter Steam Roast in the sun with temps in the 90's with matching humidity. The birds will come in droves and we'll drift out of the field toward the shade of ancient pecan trees to start the post hunt exaggerations of how few shells it took to bag the limit. I wish I could start next Saturday with the Ideal you depict with the solitary dove. That's a lovely gun.
No doubt Steve will have some trouble bagging his limit of doves, as he won't WAIT for them to alight–gotta try and shoot them flyin'!!! (Ahem!) But WHAT a great series of photos–it IS all about the JOURNEY, isn't it? Regarding one photo in pertickyuler–that 3rd one from the top, black-and-white photo on the right, with Steve and the grouse on his lap, from his possesive expression in that pic, I believe if the photographer had gotten any closer to take it, he/she woulda got BIT! Just sayin'…..L.B.
Lots of grace and beauty there.
Steve, I always enjoy seeing the photo of your dad, the Black Duck and his M21. Gil
Proof enough, among other things, that THIS apple didn't fall too far from that tree…
That little Manufrance was pretty but for some reason I couldn't hit a barn with it while standing inside. That first dove of the season was jumped like a quail out of an arroyo on Lee's.