Quail hunting back then was a rarity for him. As a youth in Iowa, he ran beagles and coon dogs, and in 1981 won the UKC World Hunt Championship of coon hunting. The sixty-four-year-old Miller brought to a land of salt breezes and oyster roasts a legendary résumé he forged over decades of field trials. A “shared plantation” among its owners, it devotes more than 5,000 of its acres to hunting, shooting, fishing, golf, and equestrian sports, and keeps a kennel with thirty-six bird dogs that are available to members and their guests, along with seven guides. Trainer Scott Miller watches his pupil at work.īrays Island is a private sporting community on the Pocotaligo River, 5,500 acres of tidal creek and riverfront, wild woods, and manicured bird-hunting fields about sixty miles southwest of Charleston. “There’s our lesson for today,” Miller said, a grin pushing up the corners of a thick mustache. We were beaten by the bird, fair and square. My hunting partner, Fred Childs, Tieka’s owner, was caught flat-footed, as well. My back was half turned, my shotgun dangling loose in my hand. He tapped Tieka to release the dog, and the Brittany took a halting, you-sure-about-this half step when a single bobwhite quail launched from the brush, clawing for blue. “That must have been it,” Miller figured, nearly talking to himself. “Nothing,” he muttered, then walked two more steps in front of the dog before a tiny winter-brown sparrow leaped from its deep burrow in the bunchgrass. We could have seen a june bug hiding in there. Scott Miller swept the brush twice with battered and dusty snake boots. We’d given up on the point, despite Tieka’s staunch figure in the broomsedge, at a field corner near the cut sorghum, unwavering in her commitment.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |