Since I was about five years old, the fall has absolutely kept me in a state of excitement. My father started taking me with him on his weekly quail hunts at that age. I would walk as far as my skinny legs could go, and he would carry me for as far as he could, and then he would leave me in a dry wash or creek bed (there is no more water in the Texas Panhandle than there is in central Kansas…) and he would make a 30 minute hunt and come back to get me. I always remember that he carried water for us, and we would sit in that spot for a while and have adult conversations about all kinds of things. When I got old enough to play ball on Friday night (he was the team doc my entire grade and high school) we would still hunt quail on Saturday and Sunday afternoons, and were still having those conversations until I graduated from high school. He had pointers, and as best I can recall they were not well behaved and flushed lots of birds. We always collected enough for my mother and grandmother to create fabulous meals. Today, if you asked me to eat only one bird the rest of my life—it would be quail. I am thrilled to report that we have a larger quail population this year than I can recall since moving here in 1990.
Deer hunting didn’t really exist in the Panhandle in my youth. There just weren’t that many around. We would go to New Mexico and hunt mule deer with friends. My father was brutal with automobiles. I can recall him driving up on top of a mesa one year where there were no roads, and he ripped out the brake lines. We came down that mesa in a hurry and rolled up to the Schaffer’s home just after dark. It cost us a day of hunting to get them replaced. He said “cars are just transportation—go where you need to…” I was a lot more careful with my 1957 Chevy than he ever was with any vehicle. I think I might have inherited some of that philosophy—my vehicle today doesn’t stay very clean and has a happy group of scratches on the sides from my activities. I smile and remember him when I look at this “transportation” vehicle—he would just grin.
There were two Whooping Cranes at Quivira this week and one of the premier goose hunters in Barton County saw a Whooper flying with a group of Sandhills. I’m sure we will start getting more reports as this migration progresses. The Birders are showing up in coordination with the arrival of all these birds. There are lots of Franklin gulls, Avocets, and some pips and squeaks of the Sandpiper family. Geese and Cranes are showing up, and it is worth a trip to the Bottoms to look at the ducks that are here. More will be coming—I think the star of this show is the immature Northern Shovelers. It will be fun to watch them mature and blossom into one of the more beautiful birds in our marsh. There are lots of them, and you can’t miss that big beak. The sounds of the cranes and White-fronted geese going over me in the early morning still stop me in my tracks.
Pheasant and quail seasons are almost here. Football playoffs are starting. Archery deer season is going. The rut is in its early stage—drive carefully at dusk and dawn. Duck season is picking up and we have visitors enjoying the seasons.
Remember your fathers at this wonderful time. We lost a great father here in Hoisington this week—it crushed our community. Honor and love yours while you can—nothing is for certain.
Doc