SOUTHERN SAFARI

GEORGIA BOBWHITES AT FISHING CREEK FARMS

- By Nate Kennedy

In the middle of December, 65- and 70-degree days are a welcomed shock to the system of any Northwoods hunter. On the tail end of a 12-degree weekend, hunting ruffed grouse and diver ducks in the St. Lawrence Valley, my plane touched down in the winter warmth of Atlanta, Georgia.

Ernie Foster had invited me on a Southern safari of sorts, hunting bobwhite quail at Fishing Creek Farms. The day before the trip, I stowed my frozen waders, put up my icy decoys and temporarily traded my tired orange Orvis vest for a clean dress shirt and a travel bag.

I daydreamed as I headed South, eager for the change of pace. I’d spent the last four seasons learning as much as possible about ruffed grouse hunting. All I’d known of bobwhite quail I’d learned from Jimmy Buffet and Robert Ruark. As for the locale, I might as well have been headed for Mars. I’d never seen Georgia — never smelled it, tasted it or heard its sounds.

I arrived late in the evening and met Ernie at the rental car. We pointed our headlights east toward Union Point, and after putting the bright city lights behind us, we checked into a hotel to get some rest.

The next morning we had a proper breakfast at Waffle House, a staple of any Southern adventure. It was Ernie’s first trip to Waffle House, which struck me. He was introducing me to quail. It was the least I could do to introduce him to the lingo and charm of another American institution. He’s a “smothered, covered and capped” man if you’re wondering. Fueled with plenty of coffee and hash browns, we drove on toward Fishing Creek.