As a kid growing up in the Ozarks I didn't have much for wing shooting opportunities. I read about pass shooting and wing shooting in the outdoor magazines but other than the quail I occasionally stumbled into while stomping out rabbits on the farm, or the one or two decent days of dove hunting I might see if the fields were just right in September, all I could do was dream and wish. Once in a great while I'd jump shoot a wood duck on the creek behind the house. Mostly it was rabbits and squirrels for me.
I guess I'd been rambling about it around dad too much and one day he said "C'mon..." and I jumped in the truck with him. First thing we did was go to town where dad bought more shotgun shells than I'd ever seen him buy. He sure had my curiosity up as we took the 8 or 10 boxes of dove loads to the truck. It wasn't dove season so I had no clue what Pop had in mind. Next, we went up in the front field where a power line cut across the property. Dad stopped the truck and got the chainsaw out and began cutting up some smallish scrub trees. Then we cleared out a spot snugged up on the creek bank just to the side of the power line. Dad instructed me where and how to pile the brush and it dawned on me we were building a blind. A blind? Dad wouldn't crack and tell me why, just said "tomorrow evening you'll know."
School seemed like torture the next day, I couldn't wait to get home. I got my chores done first thing and waited impatiently for dad to get home from work. As soon as supper was over dad said to get my camo coat and hat. When I came out of my room Pop had his camo on and his Bowning Auto Five Light Twelve. Oh boy! We walked up the field to the new blind we had built and settled onto the log sections we had placed in there for seats. Pop loaded up the A5 and tipped his head to the sky. STARLINGS! Flocks that numbered into the hundreds, probably thousands, were streaming through the break in the overhead cover created by the power line. The nasty black birds were headed somewhere to rain crap down on whatever unfortunate thing was under their roost. The Auto Five flew to dads shoulder, a swing and "bang!" and I watched a starling fold like a cheap seat. After the gun was empty I quickly noticed a big grin on dads face and he loaded up again. Dad handed me his shotgun and began giving me instructions on target focus, swing and follow through. Now this was some kinda fun!
We would make it rain starlings as long as their flights lasted for the birds migratory season. I had to try to scoop up as many as possible and pile them up in a certain spot where dad knew he could pick off the fox or coyote that might investigate the carcasses. I think it was about 350 yards to the bait pile from the barn gate and dad surely loved his .243! Scavengers didn't share dad's enthusiasm for the 80 grain soft points. Did that for years on the farm. Great memories...