QUAIL SHOOTING IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA. 



E. L. HEDDERLY. 



Saturday, October ist, dawned clear and 

 cool, so I went into the low hills Northwest 

 of town after quails. I knew they were there 

 for I had seen them when out after other 

 game. I took my 12 gauge gun and 30 U. M. 

 C. shells loaded with 38 grains of Dupont 

 smokeless powder. Twenty of them were 

 loaded with 1% ounce No. 8 chilled shot, 

 and the rest with i l /% ounce 6. I have better 

 success with shells I load myself than with 

 the factory goods. I have put 350 pellets of 

 No. 8 into a 30 inch circle at 40 yards, pene- 

 tration 34 inch of pine; and 250 No. 6, pene- 

 tration Y& inch. I have a peculiar way of 

 loading that I keep to myself; but if any 

 one reader of Recreation cares to try it, I 

 will tell him what I know about it, if he will 

 write me. Dupont smokeless powder fills 

 the bill perfectly. 



The 8 miles was soon covered as the road 

 is a good one, and my wheel runs easily. 

 Leaving my impedimenta at the house of a 

 farmer, I started out, and had just entered 

 an old barley field, when 2 quails rose, both 

 of which I missed. 



After marking them down, as they topped 

 the hill, I went on, when another rose, offer- 

 ing the snappiest kind of a snap-shot. The 

 charge of No. 8 was too much for him, how- 

 ever, and he dropped. I went to where he 

 fell, and picked him up. He was 35 yards 

 away and was killed dead. He had 25 or 30 

 shot in him. That is one trouble with this 

 kind of shooting. At one shot you want 

 a pair of cylinder barrels. The next bird 

 may be 60 yards from you before you get an 

 open shot. 



I went a few steps when another bird got 

 up, some 40 yards away; but the left barrel 

 of my gun makes a fair offer for a quail at 

 any distance less than 50 yards, and occa- 

 sionally will stop them much farther. This 

 one fell at about 45 yards, with a pair of bad 

 wings. I saw her start to run, and made a 

 break for her, but soon saw that I must give 

 her the other barrel. She went into the 

 game bag. It was 15 or 20 minutes before I 

 got another chance, and this was a pair. 

 One rose to the right, the other to the left — 

 a cock and a hen. I killed both, went after 

 the hen, and found her dead. I then went 

 for the other but after hunting nearly half an 

 hour, had to give it up. He must have been 

 only winged, though I found feathers where 

 he struck. If any winged bird can run faster, 

 or hide better than a valley quail, I don't 

 know what it is. You must remember I had 

 no dog, and whatever people tell you about 

 the impossibility of hunting these birds with 

 a dog, if you have a good one, by all means 

 take him. A good retriever is necessary in 

 their pursuit, and you can generally find 

 them in country where a dog can work on 



them. They don't like prickly pear any bet- 

 ter than any other animal or bird, and when 

 hunted a little will lay to a dog very well, 

 though not as well as Bob White. I could 

 have had more shots, and recovered more 

 lost birds if I had had a dog that would trail 

 the birds. 



I left the place with regret for I hate to kill 

 or wound any bird or animal, and not get it. 



Over the next ridge I started another 

 quail, which fell dead, plunging into a chap- 

 arral bush, and remaining suspended on a 

 branch. As I picked him up another one 

 rose, and fell to the left barrel. I got my 

 eyes off him when I reached up to the one 

 hanging in the bush. I went to the place 

 where he fell, and found a few feathers. Half 

 an hour more, and another wounded bird 

 was left on the field. If you get your eyes 

 off the spot where one falls, it is a long hunt, 

 and the chances against your ever finding 

 him. 



Going on I started another, and missed the 

 first shot by snapping too quick. He went 

 behind a chaparral. By the time I could 

 get out of line, he was out of range and go- 

 ing like a teal duck. If any upland bird can 

 fly faster than a California quail I would like 

 to see it. Any man who has hunted these 

 quails will agree with me that they fly faster, 

 and are harder to hit than the Bob White. 

 The valley bird seems to be under full speed 

 as soon as he leaves the ground. 



Another bird rose as I neared the top of 

 the next ridge, and fell dead a few yards over 

 the top. The feathers flew as from a torn 

 pillow and the bird simply collapsed. I took 

 my eyes off the spot on top of the hill, and 

 never found him. The next hill had a pair 

 of them, which got up about a minute apart, 

 the second one rising as I picked up the 

 first. Both went into the game bag. The 

 next hill I crossed showed up a sage rabbit, 

 who didn't get out of sight quite soon 

 enough to escape. They are good eating, 

 and intermediate in size between a big squir- 

 rel and an Eastern cottontail. So far I had 

 killed 8 quail in about a dozen shots, which 

 is better than I usually do. 



I lunched and started out about 3 o'clock, 

 mentally patting myself on the back, and had 

 not gone 50 yards, when one rose, made a 

 sharp turn to the left, and straightened out 

 her course, as I shot a foot or 2 behind her. 

 The hill top prevented my getting another 

 shot. Near the top of it another rose, and 

 started over the crest. I was way over him, 

 for he commenced to descend as I pulled 

 the trigger. Another miss. I did not get an- 

 other shot for an hour. It was now feeding 

 time, so I went onto a barley field. I killed 

 4 here and, as the sun went down, I started 

 for home. 



510 



