Zimo: Birds plentiful in town, but walk on the wild side yields nothing | Pete Zimowsky's columns | Idaho Statesman
Rain was coming down fairly heavily as we made our way along the banks of the Snake River looking for quail.
The dogs were happy criss-crossing through the thick Russian olive trees and tangled brush, but they weren’t picking up any scent.
The rain-soaked brush and grass saturated my hunting pants and boots. My hat weighed an extra half pound because of the rain.
But that didn’t matter. What better place to be on a rainy day than working the dogs along the river?
I was surprised not to kick up quail because I usually see birds in the river bottom lands, which are bordered by sagebrush and cheatgrass.
I thought the rain would hold the quail tight, so they wouldn’t flush way out. Shots would be easier.
I guess they’re just like us and want to hunker down when the weather is bad. They’re not crazy about flying in a rainstorm.
Huh! Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not a single bird in a 2-mile walk along the river.
That’s hunting. Where’d they go? The good thing about the hunt was that we got to scout new public lands along the river and also looked for waterfowl.
The number of ducks was pretty skimpy, too. And we didn’t see any geese, which was another surprise.
On the drive home, we had to endure the frustration of passing hundreds of geese on a golf course in Boise.
By the time I got to the house, the frustration grew even more as we flushed about 20 quail in the driveway.
What’s wrong with this picture? You drive 120 miles round-trip to shoot quail, don’t see any, and then have to watch dozens of them in town looking at you within rock-throwing distance.
There seem to be more game birds in town than in some of the wildest places along the Snake River.
Can you blame them? There’s no shooting in town and probably more food. Geese love grazing on golf course and park lawns.
I hear more honking from geese along the Greenbelt on my bicycle commute to work than in some of my prime hunting grounds 70 miles away.
I get closer to mallards on my bike in Julia Davis Park than I do in my drift boat on the Snake River.
I see a lot more big bucks on a stroll on the outskirts of a Foothills neighborhood than on deer hunts 160 miles away.
It’s crazy. But what the heck, I’ll be out on the river again hoping to get a few shots.
GETTING SPLATTERED
Last month I wrote a column about cowpies and wanted stories from readers. I’ve gotten a few so far.
Here is one from Stuart Robertson:
“Your article on the hazard of cowpies (Oct. 10) jogged my memory of a cowpie incident that occurred back in the mid-70s.
“A group of us were riding motorcycles in the Foothills heading for Stack Rock.
“We stopped for a few minutes (amongst a great many fresh droppings).
“I was not paying much attention as one of the other riders positioned his knobby rear tire in a large cowpie on my right side.
“I heard his engine rev, he dumped the clutch, and I was immediately covered from helmet to boot with really smelly green goo.
“I have yet to get even with him.”
Pete Zimowsky: 377-6445
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