The Owl

It’s 3am, and it’s dark. Only the lights from the city of Yuma, several miles to the south illuminate a portion of the sky.

I can hear my hunting partner Will moving about several yards to my left, shells rattling in one of the pouches hanging at his side. Something, a motion, a movement, a stirring draws my focus, I resolve the shape of a large barn owl sitting on a fence rail less than four feet to my right. As our eyes meet the Owl simply nods as if to say “’morning.” Off in the distance the lights of a farmhouse come on, followed by the sound of excited dogs barking, and with effortless motion the owl lifts from the fence and swoops to a spot several feet in front of me, sharp talons taking his prey. He turns back toward me and I can faintly hear his wings catch the air as he heads off into the pre-dawn sky.

It’s shortly after 4am as we spot a serpentine line of headlights break the horizon, Our competition, dozens of other hunters, descend upon what Will and I hoped would be our secret spot.

So begins the opening day of Dove Season in Yuma, Arizona.

As the morning sky grows bright the doves begin their flights through our field, mating pairs at first, followed by larger groups of dozens of birds. As they come into range the fist pop of a shotgun leads to more shots, and eventually to a sound not to dissimilar to the popcorn machine at your local movie theater. Hunters with experience, with time spent in the field or at the local trap, skeet or sporting clays range tend to drop the birds with ease as the concept of lead and follow through comes naturally. Others with less or no experience fill the air behind the doves with shot, but with help from others begin to catch on.

As I walk forward to pick up a downed bird my eye catches an older shooter. His long grey beard, attire, and shotgun speak to the number of years he has under his game belt. He stands from his stool with some difficulty and using his old Winchester Model 12 (action open) as a cane, walks over to a young boy, apparently his grandson standing alone against the backdrop of smoke trees.

(More story Here)

It’s now shortly after 7AM and Will and I have both limited. Our bags heavy and full of birds. We clean our take, say goodbye to new friends and turn my truck in the deep dirt and sand to head back to our hotel. As we navigate through the mass of other hunter’s vehicles and turn onto the farm road that brought us here I see the owl sitting on a fence post under the shade of a large smoke tree. Again, our eyes meet and he dips his head as if to say “good hunting today my friend.”