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S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S • 157 dogs plied their trade. And we followed. Covey after covey broke to my side only to fall to the dainty little double. Hardly a bird chanced to even break the imaginary centerline between his firing lane and mine. I was living high and Art was just catching the scraps. And the score began to mount in my favor It didn't take long before we both figured out who was going to end up doing the bragging, and I could see him thinkin' hard about how to save face. "You know, that wagers don't count if there's a foul, don'tcha"? "What ARE you talking about, Second Best Shooter? There ain't no foul here!" "There damn sure is! It's against the rules to inject politics into any sportin' wager, an' I'm callin' foul!" "Have you lost your mind? What damn rules? And what damn politics?" "Well, it's as clear as the nose on your wrinkled old face! You cleverly duped me into letting you take the starboard side, all the time knowing that it's an election year and this far south, EVERYTHING swings to the right!" And John Denver crossed my mind. "Hey, its good to be back home again." n We spent a couple of the most exquisite, beautiful days that life could allow, just old friends lollygagging around. We took a few birds, of course, but mostly we just enjoyed our time with each other at Wynfield. Duncan found an ancient Native American scraper in the middle of one of the plantation roads. Art and I stumbled upon some small fossils in shards of broken rock as we walked behind when the others were shooting. Great times! Just spent in the perfection of the art of living. On the last day, the Grants had to head for home, leaving just Art and me to shoot. We started a little late, on account of rain, and Art wasted no time putting me on notice. "I don't want to hear any BS about vision! You'll find no mercy here, old man. You shoot 'em or you don't. That's all that matters." "Sounds to me, like a challenge has been issued." "Consider it what you wish," he countered. "I'm just sayin', ther'll be no quarter given nor asked. Whoever has the most birds at quittin' time has braggin' rights 'til we do it again." "You realize that it'll be next year?" "I do, indeed," he snorted. "You think you can stand it that long? If you do, then you're on! I'll even grant you your favored left flank!" And so we began to shoot in earnest. The IF yOU WANT TO GO To book your own bird hunt, call (229) 889-0193 or visit wynfieldplantation.com. The author's 28-bore C.E. Lewis hammer gun added a touch of class to his hunt at Wynfield Plantation. Above: Duncan Grant swings on a bird with his 16-gauge Parker VH. Opposite: His son, George, moves in behind Doc, a high-tailed pointer, and Gus, a veteran English setter.