By John E. Lee

The trip begins at a private hanger in Birmingham, Alabama. The host of this trip is Howard Tinney. However, I am the guest of one of his friends, Jack Lyle. Please understand that I am in no way trying to hurt these guys feelings, but neither one of them, or myself for that matter, are petite guys, and we all are going to be boarding a King Air bound for McAllen, Texas. Personally, I am a fan of the King Air for no other reason than if the engines die you (the pilot) can glide it to the ground, or so I am told. However, I am thinking how much can one small plane hold. Therefore, I ease over to "Chuckie", the pilot, and he assures me that under military specifications we are not over loaded. This did not give me comfort since this was not a military exercise, but instead, a white wing dove hunt to San Fernando Valley, Mexico.

This trip was a result of Howard winning a big buck contest in Texas. Howard likes hunting in Texas, and therefore, on our arrival in McAllen, we were met by several ranch owners to discuss the prospect of Howard leasing a ranch for the following hunting season. I use this only as a point of reference because what transpires next is truly one of the highlights of the trip. The rancher's father travels with a group of Yucatan Indians between Mexico and Texas to farm during the year. We were invited back to the ranch for a dinner prepared by the Indians and a afternoon of dove hunting.

ove hunting in Mexico is not like dove hunting in a lot of other countries in that you rent your shotgun from the host upon your arrival. Therefore, the rancher proceeded to round up shotguns and shells for the group. Mark's Outdoors would be horrified to know what we were given to shoot doves. One example was a break open thumb cocked survival weapon with a top barrel that held a 223 caliber rifle cartridge and a bottom barrel that held a 12 gauge shotgun shell. Jack was very adept at shooting the gun even though he wore most of the skin off his thumb.

Once the gear was gathered and the food was purchased for dinner that night, we were placed out in the scrub brush by a stock tank under some mesquite trees and told that around 5:00 p.m. the dove would boil in there for watering. I can not tell you what time of the year this takes place because I am not sure it was even dove season, and to do so might incriminate myself. However, I will tell you it was at least 100 degrees in the shade of those oaks, and 5:00 p.m. was several hours away. Furthermore, this was the last place I expected anything short of a sidewinder to reside. I

was hot and thirsty, and I felt like this was the Texas version of a snipe hunt. Also, my game bag was a Publix's plastic grocery sack, and Jack's camouflage was a blue pin stripe button down. What a sight when coupled with the hardware we were sporting! Sure enough at 5:00 p.m. sharp, although I was certain it was a mirage from the heat, those babies boiled in like General Grant to Richmond. Holy Cow we were in the mix. I am talking they overran our position. I can not tell you how many we killed because I am not sure what the limit is in Texas, but my Publix's sack definitely came in handy. It ended at dark, and the action was long and furious. That night at the ranch in the heat and with the salsa even hotter, we ate mesquite grilled fajitas (and I ain't talking the Chili's restaurant version either), and we all drank jug wine until our heads hurt.

Day two found us heading into Mexico in an air conditioned bus and drinking plenty of Cerveza. I do not know if Jack Kerouac ever made it to the San Fernando Valley, but I wish he could have seen the group in front of the bus because it would probably explain the reason he died from alcoholism. They were from a grocery business in Georgia, and one of them, I kid you not, had cut the sleeves off a camouflage tee shirt and was smoking a White Owl. He was the kind of guy that gets drunk and starts to pretend that he can speak Spanish, and hell his friends believe it.

Two hours and one body cavity search later, we are on the grounds of the Las Palomas lodge being met by a Mariachi band and margaritas. We were taken to our room, where I changed into a pair of cotton Filson field pants with the wax cotton brush guard front, Filson shooting shirt, and Russell Moccasins (I have to state this or my article will not be published by Mark's Outdoors). Once dressed, we assembled in front of the gun room for the issuance of a Beretta 390 silver mallard in 12 gauge and Golden Eagle shotgun shells in 7 1/2 shot size. Please understand that after two previous trips to Argentina, I am a 20 gauge aficionado for dove in large quantities. However, what I learned rather quickly was that the white wing dove is not your average dove. He possesses the speed of a Saber jet and has the armor plating of a battleship. A high brass 3 dram equivalent shot shell and a 1 1/8 ounce of shot charge is not enough. In other words, they can take a beating.

We were in the field by 3:00 p.m. in the sweltering heat with our guns firing away. Unlike Argentina, the birds fly at very specific times of the day, and the shooting is fast and furious for about three hours in the early morning and three hours in the afternoon. The birds this afternoon were shot over a harvested field and always shot near water. I estimate eighty something dove fell to my 390 that afternoon, or more specifically, 82 dove were retrieved by my bird boy. The dinner that evening consisted of classic Mexican cuisine. A good dose of Prevacid should accompany any Third World outing.

I awoke the next morning and realized it was my birthday. Birthday in Mexico while hunting white wing dove - life is good. The morning hunt started around 7:00 a.m. and the temperature was a cool 85 degrees. I shot next to my good friend Marc Angle that morning, and we had some of the finest pass shooting imaginable. We were strung out down a dirt road on a hill top and were shooting the birds as they moved off the roast. They came in on us in groups of eight to fifteen, and the birds were on you so quick that a premounted gun was the norm for setting up. You just did not know where they were going to fly out of the thick brush. This became a mixed bag hunt where both white wing and mourning dove were shot. This time my bird boy retrieved 68 dove from Marc's pile of doves. Heck, it was my birthday!

We returned around 10:00 a.m. to a band of marauders serving up a nasty lime green concoction. A dip in the pool was warranted, because the temperature was starting to climb to the hundred degree mark. This is definitely where things got bad. The lodge has seats in the pool next to a bar. Everybody, including the boys from Georgia, began participating in a poolside party. I believe at some point in time I began to speak Spanish. You know it turns bad when you switch to beer to keep from drowning. Did I mention to you that it was my birthday? When it came time to get ready to shoot birds, two of the Georgia boys got out of the pool, and literally without the equilibrium of the water to keep them balanced, they collapsed. I did not see them again until the ride home the next day.

The hunt that afternoon was along the edge of a canyon basin, and it was 100% white wing shooting. Even though the desire to wear light hunting clothes is strong as a result of the heat, please understand everything has a thorn on it. The pants should be briar busting type pants, similar to the kind used in quail hunting. These birds tended to be higher this afternoon, therefore I used my Briley "goose hunting choke" which has a modified type restriction. I also learned from shooting in Argentina that a nice pair of shooting gloves made by Browning would be warranted in this situation. I shot next to Jack and Marc, and because the birds were flying high there was ample opportunity to shoot the other guys bird. Therefore, the competition was fierce.

The days events had left me exhausted. Therefore while the group was down eating at the diner, I retired to the room early for a shower and shave. The bathroom had swinging saloon type doors, and while I was in there in only my birthday suit the whole gang, including the band, the dancers, housekeeping, and a chef, walked in to sing me Happy Birthday and to have me blow out the candles on a cake. Ordinarily, this would have been received without much trouble from me, but standing around naked while people speak in a language you do not understand is bothersome to a man's ego. You know what I am saying?

The next and final morning placed us in a large grain field shooting a more traditional type dove hunt. The hunting was excellent, but sometimes they moved us around the field to keep the action flowing. Once again, we were placed on the bus and sent back across the border with frozen dove in hand. Viva Mexico!
JEL3