By TONY KINTON • Photography by RORY DOYLE
The Southern Tradition of Quail Hunting is alive and well in Tallahatchie County
Cal and I bonded rather quickly. The inauguration of this linking took flight during my first trip to Trout Valley Quail Preserve just outside Charleston, Mississippi, and even before the dogs were cast we had each exhibited some penchant for class. Said display was evidenced by the uncasing of A-5 shotguns, mine a 20 and his that reverenced Sweet 16. Both used rigorously, yet both solidly functional. Belgium birthed, these perfected products were conceived in that fertile mind of John Moses Browning. Instruments and concepts that would stand alone in exclusivity. There have been others similar, but none sibling-close kin of the Belgium.
Accelerating with great haste on that grand day, bonding didn’t stop with shotguns. By the time an exquisite little Brittany named Moonshine became static at the encounter of olfactory bliss a third time, Cal and I were talking Faulkner. Wendell Berry, as well. Quoting him as we walked: Now, surely, I am getting old, for my memory of myself as a young man seems now complete, as a story told. The young man leaps and lands on an old man’s legs.” I provided the greater credence to those words, for I was old even back then. Birds flushed, A-5s sang harmony, and we nodded our respect and admiration for the quail.
And oh, the quail! A grand little bird. The “Gentleman’s Bird” he is often labeled. There is truth in that name, but its poetic word picture has aged, faded, has become unfamiliar. What once was no longer is, reasons why varied and numerous, some falling into the category of conjecture rather than fact. But for whatever reasons, quail have fallen on hard times, the irrefutable proclamation from both country folk and citified practitioners heard from as far back as the 1950s. It—that proclamation—was a woeful moan. Quail were declining.
An early member of the Baby Boomer Fraternity, I began quail exploits during embryonic years of the 1960s. Seemed then that pea-patch, fence-row, ditch-bank quail were as ubiquitous as tattered overalls and rubber boots. These were the glory days—as I saw them. The old folks countered. Still, I was satisfied. I basked in the glow. Then, my life was suddenly destroyed. Not destruction as I initially perceived but certainly change. College and graduate school drew me from my country comfort zone, but I eventually walked away with shiny diplomas. Big cities beckoned. I went to work. Quail hunting was not part of the job.
Years passed. I became restless, homesick I suppose. And thanks to the words of Sherwood Anderson, I elected to go back to my “postage stamp of native soil.” It, that 1979 move, proved a wise decision.
But quail weren’t waiting my return. The old places were new, broken into smaller blocks and carpeted with pine plantations or manicured landscapes and showing nary a sprig of broom sedge. Minus pea patches, too. After wriggling from the fetal position that I often assumed during bouts of remorse over what I concluded was a general declination of things held dear, I began exploring what to me and to the area was a new entity, an entity that has improved with knowledge and experience and has become a bright spot in the quail arena. This entity I reference is the shooting preserve, the focus of my initial meeting with Cal Trout.
The shooting preserve can be difficult to understand and can be rejected with no clear knowledge of what it is. Admittedly, a preserve does not contain wild-raised birds, but the truly solid preserves—the ones you should visit—do maintain habitat common to this bird. And birds that are released onto those properties are flight conditioned and savvy. Rare it is on such properties to encounter quail that disappoint when they flush. That flurry of wings and hastened flight are satisfying, thrilling, and nerve-wracking to both the novice and veteran.
While I have no system by which to verify a particular tale’s veracity, the old folks told of an occasional hunter their age, said hunter not fully adroit in quail fields. His worn single barrel lacking, our neophyte went to the hardware store and bought a Model 12. He had likely enjoyed a fair-to-middling crop that year. This new owner joined his chapped-hand comrades one glorious morning.
Seems one of those boisterous and abundant coveys was immediately present, stretching and preening and chittering among their consorts and heading away from that rear-to-rear formation in which they spent the night and were now puttering around for breakfast. The dogs caught up. That new owner of the Model 12 joined two, both more schooled than he, and when the covey burst upward, five shots rang. Three from an A-5 and two from a Smith side-by-side. The Model 12’s owner stood dumbfounded. “I missed.” Then, a deeper truth emerged.
When the ruckus started with that intoxicating flush, our man had pressed the slide release rather than the safety. Summarily, he shucked one shell from the chamber and two from the magazine, never once denting a primer. Those onlookers pointed out this infraction; he denied. But proof said otherwise. There, just off his boot toe on the right side, lay three perfectly good paper-hulled No. 8s. Or so the story goes.
The seasoned birds at Trout Valley Quail provide a setting in which such stories are lived out every day.
Trout Valley Quail grew from tragedy. A visit to the website outlines this and affords the visitor an in-depth look at life and healing. There, under the Back Story tab, you’ll find a great deal of information regarding the history of Trout Valley. It’s a worthwhile read. There Trout opens with a bold statement: “In many ways, quail hunting in North Mississippi saved my life. This is not hyperbole. I mean, the act of hunting with friends and family, the responsibility of caring for and tending to the land and habitat game birds call home, as well as the dogs we use to pursue them was the perfect prescription for what ailed me back in 2007.”
This story is poignant. And now, after fifteen years of Trout Valley Quail being in operation, the story is growing, developing, far from over. Visitors, both first-timers and repeats, come from a great many locales. Trout notes, “Over the years, we’ve developed a community of bird hunters from Alaska to Great Britain; Orlando to New York; New Mexico to right here at home.” Trout soon found he needed a way to keep in touch and share stories with this expanding community.
Another tab on the site is Standing Point. It contain’s his newsletter and podcast: Standing Point: Stories from Americans Afield. There, Cal writes: “For over a decade, I have been quail hunting Mississippi, but I’ve hunted all other game native to this area all my life. Throughout the years, I have tried to pay attention and learn all that I am capable of learning from wingshooters, young and old. It is in the spirit of sharing what I have heard, learned, and seen that I thought to develop Standing Point.
“[It] is far more than stories. Or strategies. Or information. It’s my way of creating a community for those who look at life through lenses colored by dogs, flushes, and most importantly, the people closest to them”
A trip to Trout Valley Quail is one of intrigue. So is a “trip” to the website troutvalleyquail.com.
Recently, the Rotary Clubs of Hernando and Charleston asked him to speak at their weekly meetings. While there, Cal presented insight into quail loss and the validity of preserves:
“The argument you hear from people who study this [quail loss] for a living is simple, straightforward, and in my estimation, the most meritorious argument. It may be summed up in a single sentence, paraphrasing Wendell Berry: ‘No creature is viable outside its enveloping life support system.’
“We can offer quail a life support system by raising them in captivity. While this does preserve them, it is not in the self-sustaining way we would all prefer, having thoroughly destroyed their natural habitat concurrent to introduction of non-native predator species across much of the Bobwhite Belt. Not to mention a parasitic problem we are just beginning to uncover. The problem, then, is one of flora and fauna… things seen and unseen.”
Well said. And he goes on to highlight some of the values and joys of a preserve hunt:
“And so we also get to do probably my favorite thing, [and that is] take children who have never seen a bird dog work or a covey flush on their first hunt. I can’t explain the thrill I get watching men show their grandchildren the great sport of their youth. It may be the highlight of my year every time it happens, and it normally happens several times a year.”
Referencing Trout Valley Quail and his hope for what comes next, Cal says, “Remaining rooted in the past, we are branching out into the future to preserve and provide the habitat for people’s best memories of days afield.”
To ensure the happiness of his customers and build for the ensuing seasons, he’s developed a staff in which he takes great pride. “Our partnerships are strategic in nature. A former employee on Trout Valley Farm, Gary Lee Cashaw, and his wife, Ida Mae, clean birds and have helped keep customers coming back with the quality of the finished product they take home.
“With our guides, Brannon Kirby is a high-level crappie guide and owns Franklin Fishing Tours. Karla Greer and Mary Francis Mangum are both professional dog trainers, Karla with Rolling Thunder Kennels and Mary Francis with Mangum K9 Services. Those two women can walk you into the ground, clean your birds, and train your bird dog. Eddy Taylor of Taylor Kennels guides for us as well sometimes. He is a multi-generational all-age field trial trainer who trained and campaigned the Purina 2022 Gundog for the year. So if you’re an outdoorsman, a wing shooter, an angler—a man, woman, or child, we have something for you. I try to offer guides who operate as value-added corollary to Trout Valley Quail.”
So now this young man who once leaped and landed on old man’s legs shall close his part with a thank you to Cal—for his words and his bird dogs and his Trout Valley Quail. I shall, as I have countless times, visit again. And I’ll finish this story with his final thoughts on Preserves:
“So what is a quail preserve preserving? Birds, bird dogs, fine table fare, refined country camaraderie, the landscape itself, an entire language and culture that encapsulates all of it?
“Yes, all of that. But perhaps most importantly, it preserves the possibility and context for people to get outside and enjoy a sport upon the face of God’s creation, which in turn increases our concern for all the rest of His work.”
