Sunday, September 16, 2001

The season for dove

David Sikes/Caller-Times

The sun sets at the end of a soggy opening day of dove hunting in the Central Zone. Hunting was good, despite double-digit rainfall on many fields north of Interstate 10.

NEW BRAUNFELS - Concentric ripples on a small stock tank reflected overcast skies as the first doves of a newborn season swung sweet and low into range.
   I fired once and missed.
   Here we go again.
   A more carefully placed 20-gauge blast tumbled the bird onto a muddy bank. I later learned that one of my hunting partners, Mike Gantt, had shot precisely at the moment I had squeezed the trigger. Neither of us knew the other had fired.

Photo courtesy of Texas Parks and Wildlife

White-winged dove numbers are solid in urban areas throughout Texas. But mourning doves still comprise the bulk of most bags.

   But I was first to start after the downed bird so it went into my bag. And there was no argument. Age has its privileges, even though I'm only a couple of years older.Team shooting became commonplace that day, with many follow-up shots coming from down the line, after hunt mates emptied their chambers at fleet-winged targets. No one had spent much time at the skeet range prior to the hunt. The lack of practice was more evident in some than in others.
   And so for the next two days the sky was as full of lead as it was with excuses, mock exasperation and playful jabs aimed at each other's shoddy marksmanship. It's all part of opening day tradition, typically practiced in crop fields and pastures by some 400,000 Texas hunters each September.

David Sikes/Caller-Times

Mitch Williams had no trouble bagging his limit of doves each day of opening weekend.

   No doubt, recent rains resulted in fewer hunters taking to the field this opening day. But we would not be denied. Our group had hunted in showers before and probably will again. Many of the best dove fields just north of Interstate 10 hadn't seen significant rainfall for a dove season opener in eight years.
   Can't say that about the last several Septembers in the Rio Grande Valley or the South Zone.
   Some will find humor in the fact that about eight years had passed since I last hunted the Central Zone opener. Especially when they consider that a few months back, we made a fateful decision to forego the special whitewing season in the Rio Grande Valley this year in favor of dove patches near New Braunfels. Both seasons opened Sept. 1, with a two-bird difference in daily bag limits.

David Sikes/Caller-Times

Kelly Gantt breasts his birds after a day in the field.

   The daily bag limit during the short whitewing season in the valley is 10, while hunters can take 12 birds in the Central and South Zones.
   Either way, my wingshooting tradition of humiliation would remain intact. But unless I ran out of ammo, I figured my chances of bagging a 12-bird limit heavy with whitewings in Central Texas would be good, while I enjoyed the camaraderie of old friends.
   I was half right.
   Besides and despite opinions that the white-winged dove is a filthy menace to agriculture that threatens to overtake the habitat of its cousin, the mourning dove, my buddies and I still relish wasting shells on the larger and somewhat less erratic flyers.
   My ever-present optimism waned a little the farther north I got from Corpus Christi. The blinding rain didn't let up until I reached the Carrollton exit on my way to what I'd hoped would be greener if not dryer pastures.
   I know I'm delusional.

David Sikes/Caller-Times

The air was muggy, but the atmosphere was friendly for Sharpstown High School buddies, Jack Brown and Kelly Gantt.

   Along the way were swollen creeks and gushing ditches that flowed southward, signaling heavy rainfall ahead. Ironically, my hunting partners had gone to some trouble to secure the coveted front tank on a small Guadalupe County cattle ranch, where we'd be hunting. I had to smile as I approached a soggy San Antonio, knowing that every creek bed, depression, draw and hoof print would be filled with water, negating the advantage of staking out the pond.
   Without a central watering hole, flight patterns could be unpredictable and birds would likely be scattered. But through the windows of my pickup, I could see doves flying below each infrequent patch of clear sky, giving me hope that the rain hadn't pushed all the birds into dryer parts of Texas, if any existed.
   Boosting hopes even further were endless squadrons of high-flying whitewings that passed over the home of my hunting partner Kelly Gantt, Mike's older brother, a few miles from our dove patch.
   But once in the field Saturday morning, visions of dense flocks of no-nonsense flyers faded into gray, even though the first kamikaze bird we bagged had bleached shoulders.
   It was a fluke.
   Where had all the whitewings gone?
   Upwards of 1 million white-winged doves call San Antonio and surrounding Bexar County home. I figured the fringes of this urban area would hold birds as well.
   That's why I was there.
   Should we have scouted the field ahead?
   Turns out whitewings are among the most regimented of fowl. You could set a watch by their flights to feed, water and roost. If they are here today, they will be here tomorrow.
   Research being conducted on the social habits of doves in the Rio Grande Valley suggests that whitewings are like honeybees. Each new generation within a social group is imprinted with a roadmap, which tells them when and where to fly.
   Mourning doves are less predictable, and usually more evasive.
   Apparently, Casa de Gantt was under a traditional whitewing flyway. The skies over our dove patch, not so much so.
   We already know white-winged doves tend to concentrate more in cities, much like their relatives, the common pigeon. And lately, biologists have learned that on any given day only about 25 percent of the San Antonio natives fly outside the 1604 Loop around the city.
   Guess we were outside the loop, in more ways than one.
   Thankfully, we saw plenty mourning doves - the ratio of bagged birds was about 10 whitewings to 100 mourning doves - which don't always adhere to a popular theory on birds and weather.
   Jay Roberson, wildlife program leader at Texas Parks & Wildlife, suggested that major weather fronts stimulate upland migratory birds to flee up to 100 miles in all directions, with most flying east, west and south.
   But 60 percent of the doves we see in the field are local birds. And 75 percent of the doves taken in the first two weeks of hunting season are locally produced.
   Most others are early season birds from states just north of Texas. Most of these are young doves from an early hatch or non-breeding adults, Roberson said.
   Also affecting bird movement and hunting success are the lower temperatures that accompany rain. Cooler weather substantially reduces the birds' dependency on water. Unlike humans, if doves aren't thirsty they don't drink. Doves tend to hunker down in juniper, mesquite and oak trees, waiting out storms.
   If you're looking for a silver lining, Roberson predicts that recent rains should produce enough seed and standing water to hold migratory birds longer in the South and Central Zones this season.
   That should pay off for hunters taking advantage of the season extension. Of course, with food and water everywhere, they might be scattered.
   The first split of the South Zone season runs from Sept. 21 through Nov. 4.
   See you in the field.
   Oh, one more thing; Kelly Gantt added insult to humiliation this trip by downing a triple, three birds with three rapid shots.
   No telling how many times I'll hear about this.
  
  
  

Talk about fishing in the Coastal Bend