Our first day Jorge woke us up at 5 AM for breakfast. Promptly at 6AM , German had us loaded and off to the dove fields. Our crew, plus Montana Matt & Tom, Pete, and Skip, the pilot for the Texas boys, all rode together. Today we were headed up into a mountain valley south and east of Obregon to hunt standing sorghum fields. Anticipation of the heavy gunning to come crackled thru the van like static electricity. Hugh was concerned with his shoulder and finger.

An hour and a half later we dropped over a low pass into a wide valley I had hunted last year with Pancho as my bird boy. Sure would like to have him again, 'cause he was on birds like a dog and never lost a one. Pretty quick we pulled off where the bird boys had set up stands and we dropped Skip off. I was next, and met Daniel, who was to be my bird boy for the day. He had set up my stand 50 yards off in the field, so we packed my gear over to the stand and I unlimbered my 20 Ga Beneli. Down here in Ole Mexico, there are no requirements for plugs, so I had removed mine, and loaded up 4 shells plus a floater.

As it turned out, Daniel spoke pretty good English. Even so, I got to practice my Spanish some with him, and he turned out to be a good tutor. Waiting for the birds to come off the roost, I told him about hunting the same area last year with Pancho and learned he was Pancho's brother.

Down the valley a half mile, some of the Texas boys opened up with a salvo, so we started watching for the early flying mourning doves [ welotas ] that would come zipping by at mach speed. Daniel quickly called "coming, coming" as a group of doves approached over the treetops right to left. I ups with the Beneli , swung smoothly past the first , and folded him in a spray of feathers. Great start. Now to just keep it up. No sooner did Daniel take off on his retrieve than a trio zipped by and I got a double. In 10 minutes I had 9 birds down without a miss. Looked like I was zeroed for the day, but then I got cocky, and was quickly humbled with a string of near.

By this time a steady rumble of shots continually echoed off the mountains, as everyone brought their escopetas into action on fast flying birds coming from all directions. I could hear Will hammering away just down the hill from me, and if he was shooting true to form, he was missing a lot. On our trip down in 2003, he had gotten so disgusted with his shooting, he gave his gun to his bird boy, Frog, to shoot while Will assumed the roll of bird boy.

A little after 8 AM the high flying palomas blancas [ whitewings] started their attack from on high, peeling off in mass formations to drop to tree level jigging and jagging into the sorghum. One of the hunters appropriately referred to them as those German doves, "Darten Fokers". They would come barreling at you at eye level and suddenly jink 15 ' to one side just as you pulled the trigger.

Suddenly doves were screaming in from 360 and we all were steadily popping caps right and left. I was hitting about 60% and had birds scattered all over the field and running Daniel ragged. As the birds changed flight patterns, I constantly moved to stay in the flight lanes and continued to keep Daniel on the move. He wanted to move all the gear each time I moved, but I told him all we needed was a constant supply of bullets.

Within a couple hours I had 50+ birds to hand and things slowed a bit. Will and Hugh walked over to visit and take a coke break and said they had had plenty of shooting. Turned out Ole Hugo, as the locals were calling Hugh, was a damn good shot. Pity some of that hadn't rubbed off on Will. Hugo was still complaining about his cut finger and aching shoulder, but it didn't slow his shooting down.

By 11 AM shooting had petered down to occasional and we started rounding up all our birds and gear to end the morning hunt. I collected 66 birds, Hugo had 50+, and Will had his usual 3 for 150. The Montana boys had been burning their barrels up, as had Pete and Skip. The Texas boys had had equally good shooting and quick calculations put the morning bag at over 800.

Loaded in the vans, we converged on an old ranch , where Jorge and the lodge crew had set up a lunch camp. Tony had his bar set up with fresh margaritas and cold beer. Carlitos had a big charcoal grill fired up cooking barbecued chicken, and comfortable cots had been laid out under a huge tree for the daily siesta.

After everybody margaritaed up, all the hunters nibbled on chips and salsa, while sharing tall tales and true of the morning hunt. Tony kept everybody's glass brimming and pretty quiklike nobody was feeling any pain. Jorge, German, and Jose started setting lunch plates out and we all quickly set to the table to gobble down a half chicken.

With full bellies we headed to the cots for a good laydown. I was 'bout asleep when I felt multiple creepy crawlies all over me. Bolting up, I found myself overrun with daddylonglegs!

That damn Will had stepped behind a tree to pee and had found a nest of thousands of them. Not one to miss a chance at a good joke, he scooped up a hatfull to dump on me. After ridding myself of the crawlies, I drifted off to a sound 2 hour siesta. Unfortunately, Hugo's finger and shoulder were bothering him and he couldn't sleep.

"Bout 2 PM we were all up, ready for the PM hunt. Loaded up, we headed to another field north of where we hunted in the AM. The Montana boys had foregone the siesta to take advantage of Tony's margaritas, and Tom in particular was well greased. He'd been fairly quiet up to now, but suddenly he was nonstop talk. Looked like he would be seeing doubles on every shot. German dropped us off with our respective bird boys and Daniel and I were set in the corner of the field in some shade.

Pretty quick the ball was opened with birds attacking from every quarter. I settled into a fairly steady fire and reload pattern, while Daniel stayed busy on retrieves. Montana Matt was hammering away two stands down from me and I saw him take a series of doubles. Montana Tom was just below me and I could hear him talking loudly to Trujillo, his bird boy, about going back to Montana with him. Next thing I knew, Trujillo had ripped Tom's shirt sleeve off, and at that distance I feared they were gonna have a go-round right there in the dove field. Then it became apparent Tom just wanted to get some sun on his arms.

Whitewings were wheeling by me left to right and versa vica, as well as appearing out of nowhere from the trees behind me. I kept up a steady stream of fire on just 'bout any lead you could ask for, still shooting about 50%. Meanwhile, downhill, Tom was teaching Trujillo how to "call" doves, screaming over and over, "Come on you muthers!". Then he had Trujillo doing it. Trujillo probably had not met such a crazy Gringo!

By 5, things had settled to not much, so German and Jose started the post hunt pickup for the long ride back to the estancia. After gathering up my gear and hopping in the van, we pulled down to collect Tom. He was raving about how good Trujillo was and how he wanted to take him back to Montana. By this time it was a good 3 hours since returning to the field, but Tom's buzz from margaritaville hadn't subsided. No wonder! After looking around his stand all I could see were empty Pacifico bottles. Dove boys are usually tipped $15-$20 per hunt, but when Tom tipped Trujillo, he peeled off 9 $10. Trujillo's eyes lit up wide and gladly accepted the generous offer. Turned out, Tom had no idea what he had tipped him.

Gathering up the others, it seemed everyone had been burning up the barrels. Calculating the afternoon bag, it looked like we had as many or more than the morning hunt. German set off for the lodge while we all tried to keep Tom supplied with Pacificos. In betwixt we had to listen to Hugo continually complaining about his finger and shoulder.

Jorge and Tony greeted us in the usual fashion with a handshake and a libation. Sipping a cool one we hit the chicken wings and dove breasts, then retired for a shower and change before dinner. Dinner as usual, was a Conchita Y Carlitos production extraordinaire! If you weren't careful, Frank would put 15 # on you in a tree day hunt. Jorge indicated during dinner, that the program for day 2 would be a 3:30 AM wake-up, with a 4 AM departure, for an all day ducking trip south and west of Navajo, about an hour and a half ride.

With that in mind Will, Hugo, and I hit it early, leaving the Montana boys to sit up drinking with the Texicans. Hugo had difficulty sleeping with the constant pain he was experiencing.