Learning How to Hunt Quail, One Face Plant at a Time

This story appeared in the January 1973 issue of Outdoor Life.

Dempsey Cape and I were feeling for solid footing on a brushy hillside that angled into the swamp woods where we had heard wild turkeys fly up to roost the afternoon before. The dawn light was downright spooky, and then something seemed to explode as though I’d stepped on a land mine. The pieces were hurtling by us, and I jumped sideways, stumbled over a log, and went sprawling on in a ditch.

When I crawled up the clay bank and stood beside my hunting partner, he was shaking all over to keep from laughing out loud and scaring every turkey out of the swamp.

“Does a covey of quail always have that effect on you?” he asked in a whisper that was more gasps than words.

“Always,” I admitted.

And they do, even when I’m standing behind a brace of good quail dogs, fully prepared for the covey rise. I don’t always fall down and rub my nose in a muddy ditch, but my agitation is almost as great as what I felt when I faced a charging Kodiak bear in Alaska.

For more than half a century I’ve worn out boots in brier patches and pants in saddles and four-wheel-drive vehicles to follow quail dogs that ranged from potlicker to national champion. I’ve hunted bobwhites with every kind of partner from an old swamper who lived in a shack down by the bend of the river to wealthy plantation owners) and every one of those hunts had its own rewards.

I picked up encyclopedic quail lore, but I’m still amazed by some of the things I see and hear about. Only last season, I was discussing how elusive a covey of quail can be with Bill Etchells, the manager of a large Southern plantation. He told me that he once lost a sizable covey when it flew into a quarter-acre of worthless brush in the middle of a cultivated field. There was absolutely no way the birds could leave that thicket without being seen. After his Pointers had covered the patch thoroughly without scenting a bird, Bill’s curiosity got the better of him. The patch of brush was scheduled to be cleared anyway, so he set fire to it.

Not a single quail appeared awing or afoot. After the quarter-acre cooled, Etchells and his dog trainer searched the plot foot by foot, horrified by the thought that the experiment had become a holocaust for the quail, but there were no charred bodies or even a gopher hole into which the birds could have escaped.

“They simply vanished,” he told me, and many of their disappearing acts are equally inexplicable.

If you are curious and observant, you learn a little something new about bobwhites every time you hunt them. As a country boy who played hooky from work and school to enjoy the wild corners around the old home place, I was amazed to discover that quail exist in healthy numbers outside the South. There once was a time when the bobwhite was scarce on this continent. When the first settlers arrived, they found unbroken forests along the Atlantic seaboard. Later pioneers found these virgin hardwood forests extended beyond the Mississippi River to the beginning of the Great Plains. That uninterrupted wilderness was no place for quail, which need sunlit openings where wild fruits, berries, small seeds, and insects are produced in abundance. The Indians cleared some spots for cultivation, and these were likely sites for a covey or two. In those precolonial days — so say the people who delve into such things — quail were most plentiful westward where the forests began to run out, and in the open woodlands along the Gulf of Mexico.

Bobwhite populations began to boom when settlers cleared the land for crops and to harvest timber. That created ideal conditions for the birds. The coveys followed in the wake of what we know as civilization. Today the range of the true bobwhite quail is said to extend from eastern Massachusetts to western Wyoming, Colorado, New Mexico, and southward deep into Old Mexico. In recent years this bird has also been introduced in such far-Western states and provinces as Idaho, Washington, Oregon, and British Columbia, so that the bird’s present range covers most of the temperate regions on the North American Continent. But bobwhites still are most abundant and most quail hunting is still done in the Southern and Midwestern states.

An old goose hunter, who wouldn’t offend his own dignity by wasting powder at anything less than a honker, once told me, “A whole sackful of them little quail birds won’t make as much eatin’ as one middlin’ goose.”

“If it’s eatin’ you’re after,” I retorted, “steak comes cheaper.”

I’m sure there must be others who wonder what fascination a small reddish-brown bird weighing only six ounces or so holds for a few hundred thousand gunners. The answer is Mr. Bob himself. He has traits that make him, in the opinion of many, the greatest game bird. His stubby wings and powerful breast muscles get him off the ground at 35 miles per hour or more with a roar of wings that shakes the souls even of veteran hunters.

Bobwhites are smart too. Their tricks include sneaking away ahead of the pointing dogs and then getting up out of gun range. They dart behind a tree trunk for protection as they fly out of sight, or fly toward a saddlehorse or another hunter as you mount your gun. Sometimes Mr. Bob sets his wings as though planning to land but then goes out of sight over a little rise or behind a thicket, only to resume his flight for another hundred yards or more before coming down.

In flight, the flow of air is said to wash the scent out of his feathers, and when he settles down as a single bird after the covey rise, he’ll sometimes burrow under a clump of grass and compress his feathers to hold in what body scent remains so that the dogs can’t nose him. Being so well camouflaged, he’s safe unless the hunter actually stumbles over him or kicks him out of the grass, which isn’t likely.

A great attraction of the bobwhite is that the birds live in coveys, which may number up to 25 but average 12 to 15. The birds feed as a group, and when danger threatens, their natural inclination is to crouch tight against the ground and hold motionless to escape attention. They remain so until they are too closely pushed, and then jet off to a new address. Yet I’ve seen coveys so carefully concealed that hunters and dogs walked around or through them without flushing a single bob or hen. Sometimes they get up behind the hunter and wing toward the safety of a distant swamp or thicket. Often they hit the ground running and dart into the thickest cover.

Quail hunting is a team sport. The team consists of men and dogs-dogs trained for quail and nothing else, though sometimes a dog cannot resist the fascinating scents of deer, turkeys, land terrapins, or one of the small ground or grass sparrows that must smell much like a quail. In the parlance of quail men, these sparrows are known as “stink birds.” When a solid, conscientious bird dog makes that mistake and a sparrow flies up, he will often wag his tail sheepishly and grin at his master with a look that says as plain as words, “Sorry, Boss, but that one smelled so good I simply couldn’t tell the difference.”

The team may also include saddlehorses, though many hunters now use four-wheel-drive vehicles so that they can cover a lot of ground.

The covey is the goal. With the birds feeding and moving along, they are easier for the dogs to locate than any single. Most sportsmen prefer covey shooting since it gives them a chance to bag more than one bird on the rise. The air is of ten filled with birds, but a gunner must concentrate on only one at a time. Beginners often shoot into the middle of a covey, hoping that one or more will fall, but very few kills are made that way.

During one of my hunts, one man fired in the general direction of the birds on each covey rise, although we kept insisting that he pick out one quail and forget the others. Finally he did throw his gun to his shoulder and pointed it-without pulling the trigger-until the covey was out of range.

“Why didn’t you shoot one?” we asked.

“There weren’t any ones,” he told us with great firmness.

When coveys flare up and fly away, the birds may go in several directions and scatter out over half a mile. More often, they fly away as a scattered group and come to earth within yards or tens of yards of each other to become “singles.” Most hunters watch where the scattered bobs and hens go down and follow them up. Some claim that one quail makes an easier target than a whole bunch. With the scent air-washed out of the feathers, the single bird is often difficult to locate, even with good dogs. This covey-to-single shooting is one of the distinguishing characteristics of bobwhite hunting.

Every rural schoolboy in quail country knows that a covey is made up of families or portions of families, which may, however, have been joined by bobs or hens that were unsuccessful at mating or became separated from other coveys. Formation of the coveys usually starts in late summer or early fall, and a covey may include birds of several different age groups. Quail separated from their own groups do not hesitate to join other coveys. This interchange of individuals seems to be a continuous process until the birds break away for mating in the spring.

I learned a great deal about quail and quail hunting from Herbert Stoddard and Ed Komarek. Stoddard spent most of his adult life studying the bobwhite and wrote a voluminous report that appeared in his book, The Bobwhite Quail. Over many decades Ed Komarek was his associate and carried on the work after Stoddard died. He is still at it. I spent many a happy day afield with them.

“Each covey does have a definite range over which it feeds,” Stoddard once told me, “though boundaries are not well defined, and several feeding areas may overlap. Most coveys range within half a mile, though individual nomadic birds may be found miles from where they were banded.”

The mature covey remains together for several basic seasons. Mr. Bob is by nature gregarious, and this ensures both his safety and comfort. The more eyes there are in a covey, the less chance it has of being surprised by a hawk, fox, or other predator. The birds usually roost together on the ground. They form a neat little circle with tails in and heads out, and the tightness of the circle depends on the weather. It is loose when the temperature is mild and tight for warmth in cold weather. Usually no more than 12 or 15 birds roost together. If there are more in the covey, they may form another circle.

The covey leaves piles of droppings from which an experienced hunter can roughly determine covey size and how much the birds are using a given area. Many sportsmen base how closely they hunt an area on the number of roosts and droppings they find. I had one hunting partner who spent more time looking for quail roosts than he did watching his dogs.

When it comes off the roost around daylight, a bobwhite covey greets the day with loud cur-lee calls that can be heard for a long distance on a quiet morning. Unless the birds are flushed by a hawk or other predator, they start feeding near the roost site, and hunters who are astir early can locate coveys by those dawn calls. The average gunner, however, usually is afield from 8 o’clock until noon and from mid-afternoon until dusk. Generally Mr. Bob and family spend the midday hours taking a dust bath, or resting in a cool, shady spot.

They feed in late afternoon to fill their craws with sufficient food for the night. The food passes gradually from the craw down to the gizzard, to be ground up as needed. Their craws are normally empty by the morning. Some hunters prefer the late hours and say they can find more birds then. The birds may feed right up until dark, but a good sportsman stops shooting when the light grows too dim because there is a greater risk then of crippling birds and not recovering kills.

For a large part of the year Mr. Bob is a social, chivalrous fellow, attentive to his own family and affable with members of other coveys. When the weather begins to warm up in the spring he grows less cordial to other cockbirds, and at mating time this attitude develops into downright hostility. The males actually get into physical combats, but they are seldom serious. The cocks only run at one another with feathers puffed out and trade pecks around the head and neck. After a few rounds, the less aggressive bird turns and runs. The champ chases him a little way and then comes back to the hen-or hens, if he has not made his choice yet. These bouts help to establish the pecking order.

The mated birds are a devoted couple. They stay together for the remainder of the year and rear their brood. They are attentive parents. Although some pairs start earlier, the height of the nesting season runs through May, June, July, and August. Nests have been found as early as February and as late as November. If a nest is destroyed, the birds build another and repeat the effort to raise a brood. They may make as many as three or four attempts, each time with fewer eggs in the clutch. Even so, they may not be able to rear a brood.

Mr. Bob and his mate build on the ground. They scratch out a small, saucerlike depression in the earth, high on the sides, possibly for better drainage, and place a mattress of grass, pine needles, and similar vegetation on its bottom. The vegetation is built up and often extends into a roof that hides the incubating bird and may also protect it from the elements. The cover around the nest is not too dense, so that the incubating bird may move freely to and from the eggs.

The hen usually lays an egg each morning until the clutch numbers 14 or 15. During this time the pair remains together during the day, though Mr. Bob stays a few yards away when she lays. He is there to ensure her safety.

Incubation begins only when the clutch is complete. Even though the first egg may be laid two weeks before the last, none of the embryos start to develop until incubation begins, and all eggs hatch out within an hour or two of each other after 23 days.

It is not unusual for Bob to take over the job of incubation, though no one knows the reason for this except the quail. The incubating parent stays with it until the eggs are hatched.

With a special little tooth on its bill, the chick pips the shell and squirms out. The tooth is shed after a few days. The chicks dry quickly into buff-and-brown balls of down. Instead of being immobile and nest-fed like most birds, quail chicks can run with amazing speed within a few hours of hatching and quickly learn how to find their own food. They are, however, brooded for a few weeks, especially during periods of hot sunshine, rain, or cold. They live on soft-bodied insects, berries, and the tender parts of new leaves, and take on enough fine grit to help grind up the food in their gizzards.

Although it can fly a little at a much earlier age, the young bird has flight feathers at seven or eight weeks that enable it to fly far enough to discourage any terrestrial predator. The flight and body feathers protect against rain and cold, and the young quail begin to roost in the tight circle with their parents. They are on their way to full maturity.

The mortality rate from egg to year-old quail is so high that one wonders why the bobwhite hasn’t become an endangered species. Studies on one Southern plantation showed that only about 1,000 eggs hatched out of 2,500 laid. Chick mortality was around 30 percent, and subsequent loss from natural causes ran around 27 percent. Most studies show that the average life span of a quail is less than a year, though in captivity the bobwhite has been known to live seven or eight years.

Loss of birds results chiefly from natural causes, and every quail survey ever made shows that hunters shoot only a small percentage. Since limited food, predation, and other natural causes set the limit, and population in a given area never goes beyond that limit, birds that fall to guns would otherwise be lost to natural causes. As one manager of a large plantation, noted for its bobwhite shooting, told me, “Many more quail die of old age here than are taken by gunning.”

“If you want to kill quail,” an old-timer told me long years ago, “remember they like edge.”

“Edge?” I asked.

“Yup, that’s right. They don’t live in dense cover any more than they live on open land. They like edges with thick cover always close enough so they can duck in there and hide if anything gets after them.”

“But I’ve jumped birds down in the middle of the swamp,” I said.

“Sure,” he agreed, “but that happened after you or something else chased them into it. You’ll find most of ’em close to sunny patches where there are plenty of weed seeds and bugs, and nearby thick cover like a heavy brier patch, honeysuckle, or a hedgerow. Of course, you’ll find them in woods too, but the cover has to be thin enough to let the sun in so there’s food enough and the bobs can fly when a fox or something else comes by.”

Everyone in quail country is familiar with the ringing bob-white, bob-bob- white! that sounds as though the bird were bursting with the joy of living. But some biologists claim this call is actually a warning to all other males to stay away from chosen territory. Herbert Stoddard told me, though, that this call comes from unmated males and is given even in areas where nests are concentrated.

The vocabulary of a quail includes many calls. Every hunter is familiar with the cur-lee and cur-lee-he of birds in a scattered covey, and a slightly altered version of this call at dawn when the birds greet a new day. Then there’s the sharp note of alarm, and the distress calls, and the soft musical conversations that emanate from a feeding covey. A number of times I have heard quail talk. as the covey ran on the ground in front of hunters and dogs. I believe those notes are a discussion of what the birds should do to escape.

The word “enemy” annoys me when it’s applied to any form of wildlife. Enemy denotes malice or hostility, and of all God’s creatures, only man can truly be an enemy. A hawk or fox that kills a bobwhite doesn’t do it because he hates his prey but only because he is hungry. Biologists, game managers, and most of those who are in the business of providing top quail shooting now say that predators are a necessary balance in the scheme of things. Remove all hawks. owls, foxes, snakes, and others that prey on the bobwhite, and the land is suddenly overrun with rodents that break up the nests and eat the eggs and are also likely to eliminate a large portion of the food that sustains quail.

Komarek and Stoddard told me that the Cooper’s hawk, called the blue darter in the South, actually, helps to make Mr. Bob an exciting gamebird. If a bobwhite were to panic and flush whenever a blue darter came over, the bird would almost certainly end up the hawk’s stomach. So the birds crouch motionless to escape detection by the questing hawk and learn to avoid many forms of danger in this manner. That may be one reason they usually hold well to a pointing dog.

One plantation manager, who has been my hunting partner on many occasions, decided to use this information to hold coveys that did run ahead of his dogs and got up wild. He bought a hawk-imitating whistle, and the next time a covey began to run, he blew a mighty blast. The birds stopped running, crouched, and held to the point as quail are supposed to do. The hunters got shots.

On the next running covey he tried the whistle again, but it didn’t work.

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“I guess I blew the wrong hawk call the second time,” he told me with a chuckle. “The air was full of birds, and not only quail. As far as we could see, every crow, jaybird, and sparrow took off too.”

You really have to know what you’re doing when you hunt Mr. Bob.