Stan's story about bag limits rings true for me also, "back in the day". I started my wingshooting in the early '60's tagging along with some older guys. One of them was Billy Dabbs, Jr. His dad, "Mr. Billy" as everyone knew him, was one of the finest fellows from my own Dad's age group that I ever knew.
He grew watermelons, selling them downtown, hunted and fished within 2 miles of the city limits. His exploits on the Chickasawhay River running trot lines were always talked about in the barbershop. Mr. Billy was our Little League organizer and umpire. He carried us around to our ballgames in the back of his stepside Chevrolet pickups he wore out on a pretty regular basis. He was rougher on a vehicle than anyone I've ever known. I've seen his pickup squatted to near the pavement loaded down with watermelons.
He loved "bird" hunting for Bobwhite quail and always had a couple of bird dogs, though I never got to go with him. I think he probably wore completely out two Win. Model 12's, that he treated like a shovel or axe, laying them in the bed of his pickup to rattle around with whatever else was back there. I always marveled at two things: those guns always worked, and the big 20-box case of Western "Xpert" #8's he had sitting in the truck bed, when it was all I could muster to buy a couple of boxes
But he was death on doves. He was a great baseball player as a boy and later as a young man in a local semi-pro league, and had superb hand-to-eye coordination, that carried over into his shotgunning. He would just snap shoot and the doves would fall. Watched him knock down doubles many, many times. I always tried to find a spot in the field away from him a ways, because he dang near got everything that came by. We all loved him.
JR
Last edited by John Roberts; 10/07/18 10:53 AM.
