The 19th Annual Quail Unlimited Chevrolet Celebrity Quail Hunt

The covey bursts upward and outward, releasing small-supercharged bundles of brown-and-white feathers that seem to go everywhere. Hall and Grant get off good shots, and as the dogs are released to fetch deadfalls, Grant turns and says, with a big smile, "That was amazing."

Now in its 19th year, the Quail Unlimited Chevrolet Celebrity Quail Hunt brings quail hunters and corporate supporters to Albany, Georgia, for two days of bird hunting, fellowship and enjoyment of the great outdoors. The area surrounding Albany, Georgia, as well as the community itself, comes alive each year with support for Quail Unlimited and its annual fund-raising event. The partnership and cooperation developed between the two entities has been a major factor in making this fund-raiser the most prestigious of its kind, and that cooperation is one reason the event has been able to raise substantial amounts of money for habitat preservation and research.

Quail Unlimited executive vice president Rocky Evans said, "We could never accomplish an undertaking of this magnitude without the complete support of this community. Every member of Quail Unlimited is indebted to the citizens of Albany for all that they do for us."

Indeed, all one had to do to experience the depth of support from the citizens of Albany was hitch a ride in one of the Suburbans lined up to ferry hunters to and from the civic center. The drivers, all local volunteers, were proud to support Quail Unlimited. "This is a really special event," one told me, "and I'm really happy to help out, especially when I see people I've met before." That feeling carried over to the participants as well. More than one mentioned the Celebrity Hunt felt like a reunion. One hunter told me, "I love coming down here. I get to see old friends and help out a terrific organization."

Just before the official Thursday night kickoff of the event, the Landowners' Appreciation Dinner, sponsored by Chevrolet (the official vehicle of Quail Unlimited) and Outback Steakhouse, at the Albany James H. Gray, Sr. Civic Center, I wandered over to the QU hospitality suite where I met two bid hunters, Ish Garcia of San Antonio, Texas, and Norbert Bednorz of Muenster, Texas. This was Garcia's third Celebrity Hunt, and he was telling Bednorz, who was in Albany for the first time, that he was in store for a great experience. "You've never seen anything like it. Where else can you have so much fun and do something positive for a great organization?" he said.

At breakfast the next morning, hunters eagerly looked to the board for their assignments. Then they jumped into one of the fleet of brand-new white Suburbans graciously provided by Chevrolet, the official vehicle of Quail Unlimited. The drivers are Quail Unlimited volunteers, each of whom made a stop to pick up boxes of Winchester shells, the official ammunition of Quail Unlimited, before heading out to the plantations.

I ended up hunting with Doug Johnson, quarterback for the Tennessee Titans, and Keith Henry and Kurt Gibbons of Coca-Cola (the official soft drink of Quail Unlimited).

We hunted Samara Plantation and enjoyed pen-raised birds that flew very well. As we walked into the well-appointed and comfortable house, we were greeted by Harold Ivey, who welcomed us warmly and offered each of us a fresh cup of coffee. Though the sky was blue, the morning was chilly. The hot coffee and the inviting fire in the living room were very welcome.

"I think you'll all enjoy yourselves today," Ivey said. "Justin, your dog handler, will take good care of you, and I think you'll enjoy the hunting and the scenery." When we filed out to meet Justin, he said, "Some of you may expect to ride until the dogs point, but here we prefer to get out and walk behind the dogs. We'll put two men down at a time. That sound okay to you?"

We all nodded in agreement and hopped up on the wagons. Just before we headed out to the pine bottoms, Henry produced a battered leather hunting hat that obviously had weathered many seasons. Instantly, the hat drew raucous comments, which Henry fended off with low-key, good-natured Southern charm.

That's hunting. The bonds it creates means that within 10 minutes of meeting a fellow hunter, you're giving him grief as if you've known him for 20 years. Out in the field, Henry and his hat left the wagon trailed by a cackling chorus, which quieted down when he started hitting quail. Funny how good shooting always silences the peanut gallery. When he got back to the wagon, no one said a word about that hat. Henry just smiled as he put his over/under back in the rack.

Lunch was a special treat - fried quail and gallons of sweet tea. We were so stuffed we could hardly walk, so we drank another cup of coffee and sat around the table enjoying classic Southern hospitality. Then we went back out to walk off lunch and enjoy another session of great dog work.

Friday night's dinner - the Honky Tonk Tailgate Party - was sponsored by Budweiser, the official beer of Quail Unlimited. For grace, country singer Gary Morris performed an a cappella version of the great hymn, "Amazing Grace." His soulful rendition awed the audience and afterward, you could see people turning to their neighbors, and saying, "Do you believe that? What a voice! It was beautiful!"

Right after dinner, as I was admiring a vintage Suburban on display, I was joined by John Middlebrook, General Motors Vice President Global Sales, Service and Marketing Operations. Middlebrook, a long-time supporter of Quail Unlimited, looked at the truck and said, "That's some vehicle, isn't it?"

I nodded in agreement; the Suburban's been steaming along for nearly 70 years. "You know, we support Quail Unlimited because it works so hard at habitat restoration. It's a quality organization." That is probably why so many other organizations - Bass Pro Shops, Browning, Club Car, the National Fish and Wildlife Foundation, the National Rifle Association, NestlŽ Purina PetCare, Realtree, the USDA Forest Service and Winchester - have decided to support the work of Quail Unlimited by becoming Corporate Partners in Conservation.

At this point, country musician Daryle Singletary strides on stage. He kicks off an energetic set that gets the crowd tapping its feet. "Too Much Fun," which contains the lyric, "No matter what they say I've done, well, we ain't never had too much fun!" strikes a resounding chord with the audience. I hear a bunch of "you bets!" when he sings the line.

The next morning I found that I was paired with Travis Hall and Hewitt Grant, and we would be hunting at Flint River Farms. When we first met Tommy Bridges and Bob Redfern, they said we'd be hunting wild birds rather than released birds, information that was both exciting and intimidating.

"These birds won't hold for you," Bridges said. To which Redfern added, "We're going to find out real quick who is the best shot!"

Well, I found out real quick it wasn't me. But I did learn that all the practice I spent at high house for the past few months had paid off. But hunting has a way of humbling you, in a most public way. Just when you think you've got the game under control, you miss an easy straightway shot at a follow-up single, naturally in front of everyone else. We've all been there and there isn't a hole deep enough to hide in.

"How did that bird fly through that pattern?" you mumble to yourself as you walk back. "Maybe because you missed?" comes the reply, to which everyone laughs. And then there was Richard, a friend of Bridges, who had volunteered to drive one of the wagons. He greeted each returning hunter with a large plastic bag for hulls. After you deposited the hulls, he'd heft the bag and say, "I think we got a whole lot more hulls than birds, boys."

More laughter. And pretty soon you realize that you've been smiling all morning. You're not cooped up in a cubicle in some office building, meeting a difficult client, or sitting through yet another meeting on why the company's newly purchased software won't let you access e-mail. No, you're outdoors, breathing real air, watching a brace of dogs beat their tails to the wind. Somebody is telling a story and is about to deliver the punch line when you notice the dogs getting birdy. You pick up the pace and your heart skips a beat.

Nope, false alarm. The dogs go back to coursing the cover, the storyteller resumes his tale, and your heart throttles back - until the dogs lock on a point so hard you know it's the real thing. And all the while you're smiling!