Charlane

It’s quail season in Georgia and, though I haven’t been out yet this year, the little bobwhites are some special birds to hunt and eat. Last year two of our best friends, Mark and Laura Miller, invited us to hunt down in South Georgia at Chuck Leavell’s farm, Charlane Plantation. 

Chuck has always been one of my favorite musicians, starting with his early days as pianist for the Allman Brothers Band and the jazz rock quartet Sea Level. Since the 90’s, he’s plied his trade as the keyboardist and musical director for the Rolling Stones, and filled in on everyone’s records from The Black Crowes to Eric Clapton. His work on Clapton’s Unplugged is some darn fine piano playing in a career of some of the best rock piano ever recorded.

We drive down from Atlanta on an almost balmy January day, and follow the GPS on to a narrow side road, pine trees horizon to horizon. Chuck is also a serious tree farmer, two time Georgia Tree Farmer of the Year and, along with his lovely wife Rose Lane, was selected as National Outstanding Tree Farmers of the Year in 1999. Rose Lane’s family has been on this land since 1792, and Charlane today is built on the foundation of sustainable agriculture. And world class quail hunting.

A half mile or so down the board flat sandy lane there’s a white Ford pickup sitting at the fork, and Chuck waves and hangs his head out the window.

“Y’all looking for Charlane? Welcome! Follow me.” 

Chuck and Rose Lane have over four thousand acres here and it’s a good drive back to the main house and newly built lodge, all constructed of Charlane grown Georgia yellow pine. Everyone is waiting, three of my best friends from high school, along with wives and significant others. A writer friend Kim Crawford. And we’re just in time for lunch. 

After hunting, eating is my favorite part of these trips, and the Leavell’s chef, Evelyn, has set a splendid Southern table. Served up family style, the long table groans under the weight of fried quail, pork chops, mashed potatoes with gravy, field peas, creamed corn, coleslaw, green beans, cornbread and biscuits. Plenty of sweet tea to wash it down. We eat more than our fill, and catch up on the latest, everyone excited about the afternoon hunting. A perfect lunch.

After settling into our quarters and a short rest, we gather back outside for a pre-hunt meeting. Chuck gives us the lay of the land, hands out ammunition, spells out some rules.

“You shoot a person (by accident of course,) we’ll get them to the hospital. However, try not to do that.”

“You shoot a dog, it’s five thousand dollars.”

There’s an array of vintage Jeeps and we split up, each Jeep with two hunters, a guide and dogs. Then we drive out to different areas of the property to find some birds.

Hunting with good dogs is one of the finer aspects of quail hunting. Our guide, Jessie, has brought three, an English Setter, a handsome young Pointer he is training, and a small red mutt Spaniel mix. Naturally the smartest one of the bunch. Out of the Jeep and into the pine studded underbrush, the dogs set to work, and within two minutes are pointing some likely bushes. My buddy Webb and I move closer and ten birds take to the air, flying in all directions.

Johnna has given me a CZ 20 gauge O/U for Christmas and this is the first time I’ve shot it. Such a sweet little shotgun, it shoots exactly where I point it and, almost immediately I have two new best friends. The shotgun. And the little spaniel bringing bobwhites back to the Jeep as fast her stubby legs can carry her.

Working these few acres, we have our limit in a couple of hours and drive back to the lodge, winter sun going down and temperature cooling off. Everyone is lounging around the lodge fireplace and Chuck and Rose Lane stop by for happy hour. After a a drink and some socializing, Chuck volunteers to play some tunes on his Yamaha grand. Cool. 

Per request, he rips through some Sea Level, then segues into an Allman Brothers medley, ending with the famous solo from Dickey Betts’ Jessica. Then, in a nod to the Stones, a haunting rendition of Wild Horses.

It goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyway. Eight of us lolling around Chuck Leavell’s grand piano watching him play is an experience I don’t expect to have again. Transcendental. Long after Chuck and Rose Lane take their leave and walk back home for the night, we’re sitting around the fire not quite believing what we just heard.

The next morning Evelyn has cooked a breakfast fit for a Southern king. Thick cut bacon and country ham, eggs, home fries, grits, and baked apples. Biscuits with both white and red eye gravy. Steaming fresh coffee to jump start the day. High quality delicious fuel for another day’s hunt. 

We load up the Jeep and drive off to a different part of the property, searching for those magical little quail. It’s hilly here and some of the pines have been harvested, leaving open patches of ground with thick piles of brush. Birds love this habitat. They don’t nest in trees anyway and feel safe snuggled into the brush piles. 

But the dogs are single minded. These are work dogs, not your typical household pets, and they go about their business with intensity. It’s what they do, beautiful to watch, and adrenaline spikes when covey after covey explode from the bushes. Working these ridges and fields, I’ve never had better hunting, and the weather has been perfect, rising into the 60’s in the afternoon. In the middle of winter. 

After another soul satisfying supper from Evelyn’s kitchen, Chuck and Rose Lane join us again to hang out, talk, and enjoy more of Chuck’s impeccable playing. Low key, wonderful companions, they’re a pleasure to be around. Chuck’s stories about touring with the Allmans and the Stones are both self-deprecating and highly entertaining, punctuated with plenty of laughter.  Another memorable evening with a fun group.

Everyone packs up the next morning after breakfast, milling around the vehicles saying our goodbyes. We’ve made some new friends here, along with reconnecting with some of my oldest and best friends. The hunting has been fabulous, and everyone leaves with bags of cleaned and packed quail in their coolers. I’m meal planning already, and over the next month will cook it fried, grilled, and sauteed with an asian style gravy. The little birds are versatile, and it all works well. Hard to pick a favorite.

Driving out the sandy road to the highway, through the tall Georgia pines, you can see why the Leavell’s love this country, the flat pastures, cornfields, dirt farms and plantations. Slow flowing meandering creeks. Because it’s home, they never tire of the land, the food, or the people, and….well….wild horses couldn’t drag them away.