Sporting Travel
At High Lonesome Ranch, after a few busy days of gunning birds and catching trout, you’ll probably need a vacation from your vacation.
Dinner at the High Lonesome Ranch in Debeque, Colorado, is typically served following a brief wine-tasting. Lucky for me, I arrived at the ranch just when a selection of cabernets, red zinfandels and merlots were being poured, each produced and bottled from one of the 18 Grand Junction-area vineyards.
While savoring a vintage wine, I learned that two men from a group of Texans had opted to hunt some fields of wheat, sudan grass and milo, where they gunned a mixed bag of pheasants, chukars and Huns, along with scaled and Gambel’s quail. Midway through a milo field one of the ranch’s pointers locked up, and as the hunters moved into position, three pheasants and a single quail flushed at the same time. A pheasant/quail double doesn’t happen all that often.
Their companions, meanwhile, headed to more rugged terrain covered in scraggly sagebrush where they pursued native sage grouse. But before the dogs found any grouse, they pointed two coveys of chukars and two of the gunners doubled on the hard-flying birds.
The stories continued when we sat down for dinner prepared by Chef Jordan Asher. He was an up-and coming chef in Houston when he decided to scrap big city life for the opportunity to refine the ranch’s culinary program. Asher favors locally grown ingredients, many of which are harvested from the ranch’sVictoryGarden. From wood-fired, cowboy ribeyes with red chili steak butter, to oak-roasted pheasant breast with habanero-peach chutney, Asher’s presentations are extraordinary.
I had timed my visit in October so I could run a full day of both hunting and fishing. Hunting season at the ranch runs from September 1-March 31, and the fishing is good through the end of November. The western slope of Colorado doesn’t get nearly as much snow as the rest of the state and December through February is a perfect time if you don’t get enough bird hunting during your local season.
My second choice would have been September. Afternoon temperatures can be quite warm, so the guides run their hunts in the morning and take clients fishing in the afternoon. The cooler morning temperatures make for better scenting conditions and the dogs don’t overheat. After lunch, an afternoon breeze typically shakes hoppers from the hay and grass into the water. There are so many hoppers that after a strong gust of wind the fish will start rising aggressively.
The Texans had filled up both the Guest House and Pond House, so I stayed in a cabin at the upper end of Dry Fork Valley. On my drive up the mesa I could see the cabin tucked into the mountainside where it overlooked three big ponds. With a trout pond in my front yard and a bull elk bugling in back, falling asleep was becoming increasingly difficult.
My wake-up call came in the form of high-pitched yelps from a flock of Merriam’s turkeys, and it wasn’t long before the sun’s yellow and purple hues washed over the valley. From the living room I could see a few trout rising, and despite my lack of sleep, I was tempted to sneak in a few casts before heading down to breakfast.
I made a strong pot of coffee, then sat back to survey my digs. The ranch staff refers to the authentic log cabin as the Homestead House, which I assumed was in honor of the original settlers. I doubt they had a three-bed/three-bath cabin with a full kitchen, dining room and living room, but I’m sure they enjoyed the stellar views of the valley and the mountains embracing it.
I finished my coffee and headed down a graded dirt road through a series of smaller valleys. Scattered throughout the nearly 300-square-mile ranch are wild horses, elk, mule deer and untold numbers of gamebirds. A woman named Marty Felix is the Jane Goodall of wild mustangs that still survive in the Book Cliff mountains. Her search for the horses – buckskins, paints and duns – began in 1969, and she didn’t find them until 1973.
The normally ten-minute ride to the ranch headquarters took me nearly a half-hour, mostly because I kept stopping to gaze at either the breathtaking scenery or the wildlife. At one point I watched a pair of bald eagles riding the air currents above the mountaintops. Then, rounding a sharp curve I came upon several brightly colored pheasants busily pecking for gravel.
Finally, I pulled up in front of the second pioneer homestead, complete with a long porch, hitching post and tin roof. I wondered what Aunt Linda had in store for breakfast. The Louisiana native can whip up a Southern breakfast of biscuits and gravy just as easy as she can make French toast, blueberry pancakes, homemade muffins and pastries, all from scratch, of course. Top off the wonderful breakfast with a cup of High Lonesome’s special-blend coffee and you’ll be set until lunch.
If you love to shoot clays like I do, a quick warm-up is definitely in order before your hunt, and the 5-stand course at High Lonesome is possibly the prettiest I’ve seen. The clays ranged from high-incomers launched from the top of the ridge to crossing pairs that exploded from the sagebrush. It’s a great combination of technical and hunting shots, and odds are that once you’ve shot a round, you’ll want to do it again.
We continued on to the Quail and Pheasant Walk, which replicates a walk-up hunt. A report double that broke to my right made me want to get the dogs and head straight to the bird fields, but we still had to shoot the Flurry. This series of high overhead shots is launched from a hilltop trap. Between 20 and 60 clays per minute come off the hill, just like a driven pheasant hunt. By the time you’re done with the Flurry, you’ll be as sharp as you’re going to get.
After lunch I joined Brett Arnold of High Lonesome Ranch Kennels, who drove me to the Schoolhouse Cover, just a stone’s throw from the breakfast table. The field comes by its name honestly as it’s situated by the remains of an old school.
Brett began working a pair of pointers named Cool and Parker When a pointer gets a snootful of feathers and locks up, it’s always a pretty sight. When a second one backs, it’s picture perfect. The two gundogs did exactly that, time after time.
As we stepped in front of Cool, two chukars flushed. I swung on the first bird and dropped him with the snow-capped mountains as a backdrop. Brett released Cool and he fetched up the dead bird, then went on point with the chukar still in his mouth. Parker repositioned and backed, and as I walked forward a cock pheasant erupted and I took him going straight away. Cool dropped the chukar and fetched the ringneck. All was good with the world.
We hunted a wide variety of bird cover that day – grassy fields, oak and aspen stands, and creek bottoms. Some of the bottomlands were open, but much of our shooting was in tight cover. The fall colors were just starting to pop, and if you didn’t snap-shoot quickly, then you’d wind up cussin’.
After my hunt I went back to the cabin for a shower. There was a good brown rising under a willow tree overhanging the pond and I couldn’t resist throwing a Goddard Caddis his way. When he rose to the fly, I thought of a comment I’d read in the guest book. Sandy Moret, permit angler extraordinaire and owner of Florida Keys Outfitters in Islamorada, had written: “Over-fished and over-fed to perfection.”
At breakfast the next morning, I sat down with Buzz Cox, my fishing guide and manager of the K-T Ranch, and he suggested we try a few of the 18 ponds scattered throughout the ranch, each with a different feel, but all addictive. There were plenty of blow-downs, weedbeds and overhangs to challenge even the most experienced angler.
My favorite was an O-shaped pond cut in half by a dirt bank. In mornings and evenings trout would move out of the darker water and into the shallows adjacent to the bank. These fish, mostly rainbows but some browns, were big, and when they rolled I could see the sun flashing off their sides. For a moment I thought they were bonefish.
While we were rigging up, Buzz spotted a big rainbow cruising the bank. “I think that’s a two-footer,” he said. “That’s a nice fish,” I agreed. “Yeah, but look at the brown just underneath him!”
I could easily see the brown’s kipe, a good indication of an old fish. He had broad shoulders laced with bright
red spots that looked as big as silver dollars. It’s tough to guesstimate a fish’s size when it’s underwater, but this brown looked all of 28, maybe even 30 inches.
I tied on a small bead-head damselfly nymph, waited for the brown to get ahead of the rainbow, then dropped the fly about four feet ahead of him. But it was the rainbow who darted ahead, picked up the nymph and headed for a fallen pine. The water was so clear I could see his every move, which enabled me to keep him out of the branches. About the time he came to hand, the big brown started to feed.
On my third day I was scheduled to fish the White River, about an hour away in Meeker, where I’d be staying at the High Lonesome’s sister property, the K-T. Situated a few hundred yards from the river, the K-T is an 1880’s ranch house that can accommodate eight anglers. Some say fall is the best time to visit Meeker and to fish the White because dramatic temperature changes cause a thick mist to rise from the water. More than a century ago the Ute Indians called this misty stretch the “Smoking Earth River.”
Lots of seeps in the fields made for perfect haying and grazing, but it was too wet to get a truck through. Instead, Buzz and guide Ted Relihan pulled up in a 4-wheeler to zip me to the river. It would have been enough to start fishing the White, for there were rising trout in nearly every feeding lane. Instead, we violated the “never leave fish to find fish” rule and waded past them. We hiked through a cottonwood grove for about 20 minutes before arriving at a medium-sized spring creek, where big browns and rainbows were drifting in and out of the watercress. Trout in the spring creek were big and bold. I suppose they knew winter was approaching and they were rising all across the surface to feed. When the wind gusted, hoppers would drop into the river, drift downstream a bit, and the trout would rise to eat them. The water was so slow-moving the trout would create big wakes as they inhaled the insects.
With all eyes on one huge brown and the pressure on, I got lucky and floated a good-enough cast into range. The brown veered away when it landed, but quickly came back and hit the fly like a percussionist crashes a cymbal.
Hooking fish was easy on this spring creek, but landing them . . . well, that was a different matter. The brown made a snook-like beeline for the weeds. If he got in them, I’d probably have so much lettuce on my leader that either the hook would come out or I’d break him off. I pulled as hard as I dared on the 6-pound tippet and gradually steered him into deeper water. He thrashed wildly on the surface, then turned and ripped right at me. I stepped backward to keep the hook in his mouth, but then he darted toward the bank where I couldn’t see him.
Ted called out the next series of moves: “Rod to the left, less pressure, rod up, more pressure.” It was like driving while blind, but soon enough we got the 26-inch fish in the net.
I didn’t know how I could possibly upstage a fight that dramatic, so we returned to the main river. There, I worked the foam-lines along back-eddies fringing small pools. I drifted a Stimulator in the faster riffles, with the aspens along the edge and the mountains behind. Soon, maybe only a month from now, it would all be frozen and cold. The trout would still feed, but not aggressively.
For now, I’d savor the green hayfields and listen to the geese honking as they landed in the winter rye. I’d catch a few more fish and then get ready for another day of bird hunting. I’d probably need a vacation from my vacation, but getting over-fished and over-fed? Add hot upland hunting and you get perfection. Just as Sandy Moret said.
Sporting Travel
Everyone loved Nottman’s house, and it is one that I will remember forever.
His house was traditionally tasteful but classically understated so that it wouldn’t raise an eyebrow. The appointments and accouterments were comfortable instead of lavish, and the setting on the river estuary near the ocean was wild and natural. It stood several miles from the quaint downtown and was civilized, to boot. The house was big, maybe close to l0,000 square feet, but no one cared in the least about the size.
Nottman was a sportsman, and the modest 1200 square-foot cottage across the Belgian block driveway from his house was his castle. The single-floor dwelling had weather-beaten cedar shakes and a hunter green tin roof. In the carport garage sat a fully restored 1981 Jeep Scrambler. A five-station sporting clays course lay off the path that connected the cottage to its deep water dock. Here, Nottman had a choice between a 23-foot Sea Craft, a slew of kayaks and a cat boat for gunk-holing around. The boats blocked the duck blind, but when the birds arrived in the late fall the hulls would be put up on blocks. The main house may have been his wife’s, but the cottage and the grounds were most certainly his.
While everyone was in awe of the exterior and the grounds, it was hard to separate that from the cottage’s exquisite interior. A mahogany gun cabinet stood in a corner next to the fly-tying table, and both of those areas were next to the rod racks. There were dozens of fly rods, fall-run surf rods, offshore standup rods, and some thick, trolling meat sticks. Leather couches and chairs stood en garde in front of a big-screen television which was next to the bar. A wood-burning fireplace took the chill off the air that inevitably leaked through the leaded-glass windows.
The writer John Ed Pearce once said, “Home is a place you grow up wanting to leave and grow old wanting to get back to.” When they’re young, sportsmen want to travel the world and see all that their sport has to offer. After a while they miss home, that simple place of being surrounded by favorite gear and like-minded souls.
Nottman created his own oasis, and if you’re industrious, you can, too. And while you’re looking for that perfect place, consider that some may already exist. Some version of a sporting community or fractional opportunity may be just the ticket. Walking out your front door to go fishing, riding, or shooting is what it’s all about, isn’t it?
South Carolina Sporting Life at Brays Island Plantation
The Brays Island homeowners are living what would seem to be a bygone reality–the pastoral pleasures of a leisure class of Southern plantation owners. The 5,500-acre private residential community features 3,500 acres set aside as a nature and hunting preserve. Remarkably, the land is virtually unchanged from its earlier days when Brays Island functioned as a working plantation.
Whenever they like, the 325 co-owners of Brays Island Plantation can walk from their front porches into a private sporting playground to hunt and fish, ride horses, paddle kayaks, play golf and swing through a round of sporting clays. A spirited match of tennis or a workout in the fitness center is set in the quiet scenery of oak trees and camellia gardens, early 1900s farm buildings of whitewashed brick, bluff-edged river views, and native woodlands of pine and palmetto. When you’re refreshed, stop by the elegant owner’s Inn for lunch.
The mix of natural beauty and diversity of activities creates Brays rare and strong appeal. Situated in the South Carolina Lowcountry between Charleston and Savannah, this combination of amenities and location makes Brays Island Plantation more than a gated sporting community. Brays is a haven for those who appreciate both nature and a host of outdoor sporting pursuits. In fact, it’s a way of life (www.QuailAtBrays.com, 866-320-1201).
Tropical Paradise at the East End of Grand Bahama: Deep Water Cay
Island life in the Tropics revolves around the tides, and at Deep Water Cay it has never been better. Since 1958, Deep Water Cay has played host to some of the most famous names in angling history. A multimillion dollar renovation has poised the Granddaddy of Bonefish Clubs for a bright and vibrant future.
The 2.1-square-mile land is home to a mixed-use club where homeowners, club members, and visiting anglers become reacquainted with life’s simplicity. Activities range from sight casting to bonefish and permit on 250-square miles of flats; offshore fishing for wahoo, tuna, and mahi-mahi; and reef fishing for a wide variety of species. Scuba dive the blue holes, hookah dive or snorkel the reefs. Spend the afternoon paddling the turquoise water in a kayak, or come about in one of the club Hobie Cats.
Once on the island, everything is a walk or a golf cart ride away. The executive chef prepares a variety of day-boat seafood in the breezy ambiance of the Member’s Lodge. The Welcome Center the epicenter of activities, perched next to the marina, the Tiki Bar, and the floating docks. Play a match of doubles tennis or a workout in the Fitness Center. An afternoon perched in a teak steamer chair by the Infinity Pool or on the private beach is a great idea, too. An outdoor massage while you listen only to the waves lapping against the shore is a terrific way to end the day.
There are a limited number of lots where homeowners can build cottages to suit as well as turn-key properties. Members and guests select from two- and four-bedroom houses, complete with all the amenities of home. Seven cottages are available for smaller groups, and all buildings are waterfront and offer spectacular sunrise and majestic sunset views.
Deep Water Cay is 100 miles east of West Palm Beach (www.deepwatercay.com, info@deepwatercay.com, 888-420-6202).
Belt, Montana’s The Ranches at Belt Creek
The Ranches at Belt Creek is an 800-acre residential ranch community that is the vision of Mark E. Hawn and his son, developer Mark Christopher Hawn. Ranch lots are available for purchase, and 200 acres are maintained for outdoor recreation by members, their families, and guests.
A full-time ranch manager and club concierge oversee all facets of the club. The heart of The Ranches at Belt Creek is the Sportsmen’s Club. Members, their families, and guests choose between various activities. Fly fishing, horseback riding, kayaking, big-game and bird hunting, sporting clays, golf, ATV excursions, and a range of winter activities.
What makes The Ranches at Belt Creek appealing for many is the complete freedom that the club offers. Fly fishing equipment, shotguns, horses, kayaks, ATVs, snowmobiles and associated gear is available for use. There is zero upkeep, insurance, and maintenance to be handled by members. Pick your activity, grab your gear, and go.
In addition to the seemingly endless adventures to be shared on site, homeowners and members are provided with exclusive access to the Hawn’s family ranch. The 6,500 acres are located some ten minutes up the road from the residential ranch community. Big-game hunters particularly like the ranch because of its large populations of deer, elk, bear, turkey, and mountain lion. Bird hunters favor Montana for the pheasant, sharp-tail grouse, Hungarian partridge, sage grouse, ruffed grouse, blue grouse, and chukar partridge. Flyrodders like the nearly eight miles of Belt Creek that winds through the land and offers outstanding trout fishing. For more information contact The Ranches at Belt Creek at www.ranchesatbeltcreek.com.
Montana’s Bitteroot River: A Fractional Ownership Opportunity
Rather than buy and appoint a home onMontana’s Bitterroot River, why not buy in to an existing, fully appointed home? Windermere Real Estate is offering two of three shares in a turn-key, 2,300-square-foot ranch-style home. An opportunity like this is oriented for serious fly fishermen or for folks who are looking for a family retreat. The three-bedroom, two-bathroom home was completely remodeled and landscaped in 2009. Two of the bedrooms are master suites with private baths. A gazebo and hot tub are on the property, and the house won the 2009 Parade of Homes Award.
The main draw is walking out your back door to access 150 feet of private river frontage. For anglers who want to cover more water or to head to some of the other famous trout rivers in Montana there are two different boats parked on a trailer in the yard. The first is a Clacka-Craft Low Profile Drift Boat, and for streams with rocks and strainers there is an NRS Rubber Raft. Two vehicles are available for use: a Ford Excursion and a 450 GL Mercedes.
For someone who loves the Missoula area and wants to be done with the hassles and get on with the fishing, a fractional opportunity may be the very best bet. Anne Jablonski at Windermere Real Estate (www.movemontana.com, 406-546-5816) can make it happen.
Sporting Travel
Quail Hunting is a treasured tradition in the Red Hills
Somewhere between the morning mist rising from the lake at False Dawn and the skeins of Spanish moss drooping from the cypress trees is a space of air where the quail fly hard. When a covey erupts from the broomstraw not far from a staunch pointer’s nose, the birds waste no time in making their escape. If they can slip past the bicolor lespedeza that favors the moisture in the draws, then they’ll sail past the slash and loblolly pines, finding safe haven near the bigger pines and live oaks. Not much will hassle them there, certainly not a pack of pointers and setters or a pair of bird hunters. When the commotion caused by the shooting entourage passes, they’ll come out of hiding and resume feeding. Bobwhite quail are a staple in the Red Hills region of South Georgia and North Florida. They always have been and my guess is they always will be.
February 16th was a vastly different day for me. I exchanged a Bay State winter sea duck hunt in my back yard for a mixed bag of quail, bass and bream at northernFlorida’s Honey Lake Plantation Resort and Spa. Instead of slip-sliding on the ice in my driveway as I hooked my truck to the boat trailer, I was enjoying a light breeze and 60-degree weather. The similarity is that I had awakened well before dawn, waiting on my friends to awaken at a more civilized hour. That time delay made my pacing around the Hunting Lodge living room akin to a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. It’s a character trait that has been passed down to me, and it occurs only on days that begin with fishing or hunting.
I had time to kill and so I grabbed my camera and went for a walk. There was a winding boardwalk along 80-acre Honey Lake. The walkway zigged and zagged along the shore of what looked like a great bass lake. Steam rising from the surface reminded me of a cup of black coffee in my layout boat back home. I was in shirt -sleeves here, and just when I wished for that cup of coffee, I heard a loud boil erupt at the edge of some lily pads. It didn’t leave a dainty ring like a trout sipping a mayfly. It was a bulge of water made by a huge fish. The motion was deliberate, pre-meditated and perfectly orchestrated. I watched for a good 15 minutes but never saw another boil quite like it. That I did not was probably a good thing, or I would have missed breakfast and our morning hunt.
The morning light, a beautiful blend of pinks, blues and purples, illuminated the woods and waters, just as it has for more than a century.
The resort’s story began in 1896 when Melville Hanna of Cleveland, Ohio, purchased Pebble Hill Plantation in Thomasville, Georgia to escape the harsh mid-western winters. The Hanna family, among others, transformed old cotton plantations into magnificent winter retreats. They established a rich sporting legacy of quail, turkey and deer hunting, and equestrian activities galore. Golf and tennis were also introduced in the region, and an active social season finnly estabhshed the Red Hills as a premier winter destination for sporting families.
Over time, Hanna’s granddaughter, Elisabeth Pansy Ireland Poe, inherited Pebble Hill. An avid sportswoman, Miss Pansy created Honey Lake Plantation primarily for quail hunting and horseback riding. Before long the plantation was included in the prestigious Georgia-Florida Field Trial map. (Other marquee properties include Dixie, Pinckney Hill, Pinion Point and Avalon.)
Land that was home to Apalachee and Seminole Indians was soon hosting a veritable who’s-who of sporting dignitaries, including President William McKinley, Cornelius Vanderbilt, B.F. Goodrich and Alexander Graham Bell (who knew Bell was a hunter?). Whitneys, Mellons and Archibalds were frequent visitors, and notable sporting artists such as Ogden Pleissner and A. Lassell Ripley painted oils and watercolors after their morning hunts. In fact, the hunter featured in Ripley’s Turkey Shooting is none other than Pansy Poe who also commissioned the notable Clifton Sheppard to paint the museum-quality mural, Honey Lake Seminoles, which adorns nearly the entire upper wall in the Gathering Hall. Legend has it that following JFK’s assassination, Jackie Kennedy was secreted in the little cottage on the secluded shore of Honey Lake.
More recently, entrepreneur Bob Williamson expanded on the plantation’s rich outdoor legacy and created a not-to-be-missed sporting venue. Williamson’s remarkable life story (which he chronicles in his fascinating book, Miracle on Luckie Street) brought him in search of a plantation that would preserve an exquisite piece of land. Over a three-year period Williamson visited nearly three-dozen plantations, none of which resonated with him. But the first time that he toured Honey Lake Plantation, he knew he was home.
Bob Williamson’s original goal was to preserve and enhance the plantation’s grounds and waters. Entrepreneurs are seldom at rest, and little by little he began to expand upon the property’s rich sporting traditions.
Williamson brought in his son Jon to oversee the operation and to manage the wide array of sporting opportunities that now include hunting for quail, turkey, waterfowl and deer, horseback riding, fishing for trophy bass and bream, and kayaking. By adding a full resort and spa with conference center, the Williamsons now have a world-class venue that spares no detail when it comes to business, pleasure, or a combination of the two. In recent times, Honey Lake Plantation has served as a backdrop for weddings, celebrity sporting competitions and special culinary events.
A stately gate marks the entrance to the Gathering Hall, the plantation’s epicenter. To the left is the Equestrian Center, a newly built lodge overlooking a stable that’s home to a number of Tennessee walkers. Close by are two ponds, each chock-full of largemouth bass and big bream.
On that February morning I noticed the little lakeside chapel across the road bathed in golden sunlight. Bob Williamson transported the chapel’s iron bell and exquisite stained glass windows piece-by-piece to the plantation.
As I stood in the circular driveway by the Gathering Hall, a hunting vehicle rolled up, the likes of which I’d never seen on a quail plantation. It had a long front hood followed by a bench seat that staged up to a platform with four leather executive chairs. Underneath it all was a Suburban chassis and a Chevy 350 engine. There were two dog boxes in the bow and six more in the stem. Driven by hunt-master Rick Almarode, the vehicle contained a half-dozen English pointers and setters and a pair of English cockers.
Responding to my inquiring look, Rick said, “It’s called a Bird Buggy. We had it custom made. Check this out.”
Much of the buggy was self-explanatory style and comfort, with the captain’s chairs up high, coolers full of water and soft drinks, and bench seats, but there was a flip top on each side of the hood.
“Custom gun racks, velvet lined, protected by the steel lid,” he noted. “They’ll keep your shotguns safe from the bumps and clean from the dust.”
”What does one of these rigs cost?” I asked.
”You don’t want to know.”
There are other vehicles for carrying shooters through the quail courses at Honey Lake Plantation. Bird Buggy #2 is a custom-developed trailer pulled behind a Jeep and there are several Polaris six-wheelers, much like the de facto buggies on most plantations. A traditional option is to hunt on horseback and there is no finer Red Hills mount than a Tennessee walker. The horses are cool and calm, easy gated and demure in the line of fire. Ride in a vehicle or follow the dogs on horseback, take your pick.
During our stay we enjoyed the company of some truly interesting sportsmen. One was Steve Bartkowski, the former Atlanta Falcon quarterback. I remember the 197 4-75 pro draft like it was yesterday. I was in middle school playing linebacker and slot back when Bartkowski was drafted number one over Walter Payton. Seeing Bart walk down the front steps of the Gathering Hall wearing an orange vest and carrying a 20-gauge Beretta was about as much of a stunner for me then as it was when he beat out Sweetness back in the draft.
Another special guest was Bob Svetich, the former Pittsburg Pirate baseballer. My uncle lived in Pittsburg, and I remembered Bob and his twin brother Ron from the old Three Rivers Stadium days. Svetich now owns a company in Colorado called The Outdoor Group. His brother is a coach for the Colorado Rockies.
Sporting Classics Publisher Chuck Wechsler and Advertising Director Brian Raley had driven down from South Carolina with their vehicle loaded to the gills with fishing and hunting gear. Brian had brought his sweet little Brittany to complete some of the dog’s early training, and I was eager to see him work.
Rounding out the group were Richard Jordan, president of the Christian Sportsman’s Alliance; singer/songwriter Wayne Galloway; and Robbie Payne from Horizon Software in Atlanta. Robbie has an impeccable knowledge of sporting literature and can quote passages like a pastor references Bible verses. Michael Williamson, Bob’s second son, a software entrepreneur and an outstanding sportsman, played host to Bart’s group. It was about as interesting a team of men all pulled together for a walk in the woods as I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.
Bob Williamson stopped by to greet us before our hunt. Bob is a turkey-hunting fanatic, and with the upcoming season and a number of hunters already booked in, he was getting a jump-start on scouting.
“I heard a number of really good gobblers this morning,” he said. “‘I’m a little nervous about the mild winter combined with the early spring, and hope the season doesn’t kick off too soon.” (As it turned out, Bob didn’t need to worry because a number of 20-plus-pound birds were harvested in March.)
Running our hunt were guides and dog trainers Ed and Sheila Hart. The Harts manage the plantation kennels, and field trial enthusiasts will instantly recognize their names from the winners’ circles. Ed and Sheila are sticklers for developing top-notch dogs. If part of your reason for quail hunting is watching the bird dogs, then you’ll be in for quite a show.
Chuck, Brian and I loaded up in the Bird Buggy, with Ed and Sheila out ahead on horseback. Whenever the dogs pointed, Ed would raise his orange hat. Some things don’t need to be said twice, and not once did he need to repeat the movement.
A morning covey rise is one of the best ways to start the day, and we had our first point in a mix of loblollies and milo. A covey of some 15 birds rocketed out of the grass, followed by a few shots and a few birds.
“There was a genuine hat-blower right around here the other day,” Ed said.
“A hat-blower?”
”Yes sir,” he said. “A hat-blower is when we get two or three normal coveys that sort of merge together. Instead of a dozen or so birds we’ll see forty or fifty. The breeze coming from all of their wings can blow the hat off your head! I hope we see one of them this morning.”
“Me too.”
We followed up some of the singles and doubles, walking at a leisurely pace around a stand of pines and over to a planting of Egyptian wheat, wiregrass, lovegrass, broomsedge and Johnson grass. Oats, clover and soybeans rounded out the mix.
A setter pointed and a single bird went up and flew straightaway. There were a few shots and the bird continued flying away.
“A lollipop,” Ed said. “They’re the easiest shot in the book. A straight, going-away single. No explosion like you’d find in a covey rise … no confusion caused by birds flying across shooting lanes … and no trees to cloud your vision. Just a single bird flying away with no cover. It’s so easy that most hunters consider it a gimme and miss. Just last week there was a shooter who doubled a few times with a .410 and then whiffed on two lollipops. That’s how it goes sometimes.
“But y’ all shouldn’t worry. There’ll be more birds … many more in fact. You can trust me on that.”
Ed was right, and our morning hunt was filled with fast-flying birds in a variety of picturesque coverts.
After lunch, we stood on the veranda in the back of the Gathering Hall mulling over our afternoon plans. One option was to follow up our spectacular morning with quail, quail and more quail. Option two was to grab a case of shells and break some clays at the expertly manicured skeet, trap and 5-Stand courses. Option three was an afternoon duck hunt. Because of the warm winter along the Atlantic Flyway, ducks numbers were a little low for the Williamsons’ liking, but that’s more indicative of the high standards they’ve set for the plantation. There were lots of teal and woodies in the shallow-water ponds rimmed with soybeans and com, but the usual influx of ringnecks, baldpate, blue bills and redheads had yet to arrive.
As we gazed over the waters of Lake Hayhaylala, we suddenly saw a boil even bigger than the one I’d seen at first light, That did it! Quickly we gathered up our fishing gear and made plans to try several different ponds.
The water had warmed up to an absolutely perfect temperature, and while there were good bass and big bream breaking the surface, there were even more a foot or two below.
Honey Lake is best fished from the plantations Carolina Skiff, a shallow-draft boat that’s maneuverable yet stable. Lakes Obo, Hooking Bull and Hayhaylala can be fished from shore or by kayak. Angling aficionados instantly recognize the clusters of lily pads and flooded timber as meccas for bass and bream.
I fished with Bob Svetich and made a critical mistake. Bob made a cast while I was rigging up and instantly hooked up. I offered to release his plate-sized bream. He hooked up on his next cast, and then the next, and before you know it a bunch of time went by with me releasing his fish.
“You’re on your own now, pal,” I said and walked away. In short order I was having similar success on bream and bass.
Later that afternoon we met up with Chuck and Brian at Lake Obo. Chuck claimed that he’d hooked an astonishing 37 big bluegills on 37 casts, all from the same spot on a grassy bank, and Brian backed up his friend’s boast. Meanwhile, Bart put the ball in the end zone with 13 pounds of bass spread out across two fish.
A bright blue sky and outstanding fishing, what’s better than that? Ending the day with a culinary masterpiece and a good night’s sleep in amazingly comfortable guest suites, that’s what.
William Mann is the plantation’s executive chef, and if you’re not careful, his three decades of culinary experience will put a bulge in your waistline. He calls his style Plantation Elegant, which means a new twist to favorite Southern classics. Breakfast ranges from eggs any-style to omelets or French toast. At lunch, a pulled pork BBQ sandwich, southern fried chicken or a gourmet elk burger are a few options. And for dinner, by a bone-in filet mignon, andouille-stuffed chicken, lamb chops with a pomegranate reduction and smashed turnips, or an herb-roasted pork loin with roasted apples.
Chef Mann is a firm believer in the “direct -from-the-farm-to-table” concept, so guests will enjoy some of the freshest foods available. Quail, venison and fish are harvested as are five types of lettuce, two varieties of greens, vegetables like squash, carrots, turnips, potatoes and broccoli. A plethora of spices are homegrown as well, and eggs are gathered daily from the Honey Lake chicken coop. And we haven’t even talked about the delicacies coming from the smokehouse or his dessert menu.
After dinner, it’s off to socialize some more before bedtime. We stayed at the 3,600-square-foot Honey Lake Lodge, which has five luxury guest rooms, each with king-sized beds and private baths.
Bob Williamson designed every building himself, and he spared no details in the process. Heartwood pine floors and gorgeous cypress walls were milled from fallen trees on the plantation. The full kitchen, breakfast counter, wet bar, leather couches and fireplace add enough space and atmosphere for sports to end a perfect day in comfort.
There are other lodging options as well, including the 24-bedroom Equestrian Lodge in addition to Five Pines and Two Oaks Cottages, which offer two suites, each with private baths and a shared living room. And if you’re looking to tie into the Honey Lake Plantation tmdition, then stay at the Pansy Poe Cottage where Jackie Kennedy once stayed.
If you have an opportunity to walk along the quaint streets in Thomasville or around the energetic Florida State University in Tallahassee, you’re likely to find yourself thinking about things unrelated to quaint stores or cheering fans at an FSU home game. It might be the boil of a bucketmouth bass, a hat-blower of seemingly endless numbers of quail or the lollipop that you missed. When that happens, you can smile for you’ve just become part of the Red Hills legacy.
This article orignally appeared in the September/October 2012 edition of Sporting Classics.
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