Theophilus Nash Buckingham was, to use a once popular term, a gunnerman for the ages. Virtually all his long life was devoted to wingshooting and bird dogs, and the hallmark of his efforts as a writer was an uncanny knack of transporting his reader to golden field of broom sedge bustling with bobwhites, to views of stylish pointers etched against a mid-South sunset, or to firesides where, in his words, “supper was a delicious memory.”

I had heard rumors of an exceptional wing-shooting destination, a quail lodge offering sport that was second to none……Tradition pervades every aspect of Pine Hill life. Each hunt is conducted from horseback and mule-drawn wagon with the huntmaster following the dogs and leading the hunt party. As we pack our guns into leather saddle scabbards and wagon gun boxes, I am reminded that Southern quail hunting is steeped in tradition.

Over my shoulder, I’m carrying a Browning over-and-under 2-gauge shotgun, walking a typical Western sagebrush draw with a dry creek bottom meandering through it. As I hunt alone with two dogs, it is not long before a trickle of water gets my attention. Because valley quail like woody cover, it just makes sense to investigate the water source.

A well-worn cattle trail with patches of cheatgrass strung along each side is an open invitation that leads to a spongy seep. A tangle of buffalo berry bushes, scrub chokecherry brush and other hardwoods squeeze the narrow draw. Wild blackberry vines climb, finger-like, along deep crevices up the hillside. I stop to listen for valley quail calling…