Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, January 10, 1994 TAG: 9401200298
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: B6 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: BILL COCHRAN OUTDOOR EDITOR
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
Claytor, along with hunting companions Franklin Hough Jr. and Carlos Hart, were flushing 10 to 15 coveys of birds a day, better than some Virginia hunters are seeing during an entire season.
What's more, when they return to the same area around the end of the month, the three Roanoke Valley sportsmen expect a replay of their earlier outing: big coveys of fat birds roaring out from beneath the noses of their staunch pointing dogs.
Where is this bird hunter's paradise, this trip back into the golden era of quail hunting?
It is a long haul from Roanoke, to be sure.
Texas.
It helps to have an airplane on this end of the trip, and a four-wheel drive waiting on the other end, along with permission to hunt private land, and a bankroll to pull it all off. There's more, too, said Claytor.
``You have to be half crazy to do it.''
Claytor, who has done well in the life insurance business, grew up in Bedford in the early '40s, a schoolboy during World War II.
``Virtually all of the men were in service or working in defense jobs in the cities,'' he said. ``There was no football, baseball or basketball simply because there were no coaches. Even if a high school could field a team, gas rationing eliminated transportation to other towns for games.''
That left a pool hall, a two-lane bowling alley and a modest movie theater.
But just beyond the bounds of small-town civilization were overgrown fields that held coveys of birds. When school was dismissed, Claytor would hop aboard his bike, an old Remington double barrel across the handlebars, and head for quail cover, a pointing dog trotting close behind.
``Within a two-mile radius of Bedford there were probably 25 to 30 coveys of birds.''
Out of that legacy came a life-long passion for quail hunting, something that has continued to burn in Claytor's veins, even though quail and quail hunting have fallen on hard times around Bedford and well beyond.
``It is just about a thing of the past,'' said Claytor.
When Virginia's quail population dwindled, there remained a stronghold of birds in the deep South, where seasons were long and bag limits liberal. Claytor traveled there, and watched those populations pretty well dry up, too. Many hunters simply gave up on the sport.
Changes in the Kingdom of the Bobwhite have been blamed on numerous things, on land being gobbled up by urbanization, cattle operations and pine plantations; on the use of agriculture chemicals; on weather patterns; even on cats.
Like most hunters, Claytor has his own pet theory: pellet fertilizer. He believes birds are choked when they pick it up for grit. He admits he lacks scientific research to back that up, but he figures his theory is about as valid as the next guy's.
``I have mentioned it to a couple of game biologists and they kinda smile and say, `That is an interesting theory.'''
Most anyone who has been around birds and bird hunting has heard the saying, ``If the cover is there the birds will be, too.'' Claytor questions that.
``This is absolutely not true. There is something more to it than that. If you talk to five people about it, you will get five different answers. All of them are speculation.''
On a 150-acre farm in Bedford County, Claytor has followed quail management practices recommended by agriculture and wildlife experts. Feed patches have been established, fence rows have been left brushy, chemicals have been avoided, cover and food producing shrubs have been planted. Still, quail are scarce.
``There is one covey of quail on this farm. The covey has about eight birds and of course can't be hunted.''
So a decade ago, when Claytor learned about a quail hunting paradise through a business associate, it pricked his interest, even through it was hundreds of miles away, in the Panhandle of Texas.
Claytor owned a plane, a Cessna 210, and had a friend willing to accompany him on that first trip. He removed two seats from the craft, loaded up dogs and gear and made an eight-hour flight to Lubbock, Texas.
``We had excellent hunting and immediately made plans for a return hunt,'' he said.
Now the venture is a twice-a-year event, with Claytor, and often Hough and Hart, going for two-week stays. Hough is the retired superintended of the Baptist Children's Home in Salem; Hart is an automobile dealer in Salem. All three men own hunting dogs.
``The dogs handle the flights very well,'' said Claytor. ``After all, they are bird dogs.''
The trip requires a refueling stop. Claytor will choose a small airport in Kentucky or Arkansas where the dogs can stretch their legs.
``It is really interesting to watch the expressions on the faces of the airport personnel when the hatches of the plane are opened and bird dogs pour out,'' he said.
The Texas hunting country is arid and unforgiving, with fields of low sage and cactus stretching to windbreaks of oaks, cottonwoods and mesquites. Much of it is in agriculture projects that keep it out of production. Four-wheel drives are required to maneuver sandy roads. Sand spurs and other prickly plants are so menacing in some areas that boots must be affixed to the dogs.
``Absolutely fantastic bird cover,'' said Claytor, who remembers occasions when as many as four coveys would be found within 100 yards.
Although you seldom see another bird hunter, or a posted sign, you earn the right to hunt through difficult contacts with landowners and sometimes leasing arrangements.
``The people who own the hunting rights look at them as sacred,'' said Claytor. ``The customary answer when you ask if you can hunt is, `No, I am saving this for my children.'''
Finding places in this sparsely populated region to rent four-wheel drives, to eat, to lodge, to house dogs adds to the challenge.
``This one county where we have hunted a good bit has a total population of 3,321 people,'' Claytor said. ``The county is enormous, bigger than Bedford County, and you are out there all by yourself. It took 10 years to get a toehold.''
Has Claytor every figured the cost of these capers?
``I wouldn't dare,'' he said.
Friends have suggested he is a fanatic.
``Often times they are golfers, so I've got them there,'' he said.
Claytor would like to hunt closer to home.
``I'd trade anything for a couple of good covey rises over my dogs,'' he said. But he doesn't expect the hill country of Virginia ever to have quail hunting similar to how it was in his boyhood days.
``It is a thing of the past. Aging quail hunters are dinosaur. There are just a few of us left.''
by CNB