If you read about my first dove hunt of the season, than you’d know that it was a large failure; we came across few birds, although I shot decently well. I was committed to at least one solid outing before the 2 week season came to a close. I spent many hours brainstorming ideas, but came up empty handed for spots to hunt. The Game and Fish Department claims that there are 10 million less birds this year, or about 30% less than last year; you can’t tell me that this isn’t going to affect hunter success, although the overall general congregation to suburban and rural areas by doves will be seemingly the same. This is key, I believe, to finding a good dove spot this year; don’t try to find flyways in the middle of nowhere, but try to find flyways that offer corridors to significant roosting or feeding sights for doves. Don’t get me wrong, however, a person can still be successful if they find a random, highly used flyway.
I was confronted by a friend of mine to go and try a spot that intersects an urbanized area and a canal, of which provides both water and roosting sights. This was exactly what I was looking for, and figured we would have significant success.
We left for our hunting excursion at a dark 0500 in the morning, all in attempt to race the sun’s rays and heat. After nearly an hour of driving, we arrived to our destination – an odd combination of what seemed to be a creosote flat with gravel, of which was sidelined by a canal that contained large palo verdes, graythorn, and a few mesquites. The birds flew around us as we prepared ourselves, taunting us with our shell-less shotguns.
We quickly got our stuff around and started firing at the feather missiles. Unlike my previous outing, I was shooting absolutely horrible. My 20 gauge just didn’t want to find the mark, and it was obviously not my fault for shooting so poorly. The score of birds between the three of us was me: 0, them 5 and 3.
I changed my position to try to be more conducive to better shot positions, as the birds seemed to have an overall dominant flight path. Suddenly, my shooting was unbelievable. My Remington finally began to hit the mark, and I couldn’t miss. Within only a few minutes, the score of birds was me: 9, them 7 and 4.
But the action slowed, and my fire dwindled. I went from being the Matt Quigley of the dove hunting realm to a sheer peasant with a smooth-bored 3” musket. You could have thrown a 6’ beach ball right in front of my face and I would have missed. The score of birds was now me: 11, and them 15 and 14.
This is where the story ends. I couldn’t hit another bird for the rest of the outing, and the sun continued to get hotter and hotter. We decided to call it a day, and a successful day is what I would call it. Between the 3 of us, we harvested 40 birds, which is not bad at all.
Don’t worry, I have multiple dove recipes coming at you soon, both of which I am EXTREMELY excited about. Like seriously, I’m excited.