by John Jefferson

I probably won’t score with a shotgun like the late Gene Hill did. Nor may I EVER even approach his ability to make you feel like you were there, following a dog, shooting birds on frosty mornings. But I wonder if he savored the sport any bit more at all than I do. When It comes to doves or quail or teal, I’ve done the time and banked the memories.

THE WINCHESTER MODEL 12 SHOTGUN in 16-gauge mentioned in the article was finally traded for the similar piece pictured, but one with a modified choke — a much better choice for doves and quail. I refinished the stock and think of my grandfather every time I hunt with it. And hunting with your best friend, also pictured, adds another dimension of memories. (Photo by John Jefferson)


Mr. Hill probably felt disappointed when he fell short of breaking 25 clay birds on the skeet range. I still relish the day I busted 17. I can hold my own with a pistol or a rifle, but at wing shooting with a shotgun, I seem to have a learning disability. Oh, I have had days afield the memories of which comfort me late at night following days that emphasized my inadequacies, but generally speaking, I never earned a merit badge shooting a shotgun.

I do recall one day when I was a rookie getting a try-out with the major leaguers. I had been invited to hunt doves near Mason, Texas with three law school classmates who were experienced hunters. I could tell that from our conversations at the Texas Tea House, a law students’ hang out in the early ‘60s. I was excited about getting invited to hunt with them, but a little intimidated.

They dropped me off at the edge of a freshly cut milo field and pointed me toward a mesquite tree that offered a smidgin of shade. I trudged across the field, not realizing they were still watching me. One yelled, “Above you, John!”

I looked up and saw a lone dove flying fast way above me. I was shooting my grandfathers’ old Model 12 Winchester 16-gauge pump shotgun with a full choke. I threw the gun up to my shoulder and squeezed the trigger. The dove collapsed in mid-flight and fell to the ground. Someone yelled, “Nice shot!” Then, I heard somebody say, “I figured he was a good shot, but I didn’t expect THAT good a shot”.

But that was my last hooray of the day. I was the last one to get a limit of doves — and the limit was only twelve, back then. I didn’t understand much about shotgun chokes and only later realized that a full choke held the shot pattern too tightly for normal dove shooting. It was better suited for ducks and geese at longer ranges.

It had helped me make the Hail Mary shot crossing the field earlier but was a hindrance the rest of the afternoon. A modified choke would have worked better.

Those hunting partners painfully outshot me. One even said he was afraid the doves were going to peck my eyes out as close as they flew to me. Gene Hill would have sighed and looked the other way. But I’ll guarantee ya, nobody has enjoyed it more.

Dove hunting is somewhat like love –experience helps, but you don’t have be an expert to enjoy it!

JJ