Kimbroughs were undoubtedly having their own misgivings. After all, they were
coming a couple of thousand miles on what must have seemed like a pretty wild
hunch. I wondered what image they had of Oregonians. Maybe they figured Rob and
I would be a couple of shaggy nature freaks who lived on carrot juice and
In reality, Rob
is a Shakespeare scholar, and a serious and accomplished bird hunter, too. He
learned the sport from his father-in-law, a Wisconsinite who has trained
national field-trial champion Labradors, and Rob knows as well as anyone how
tough mountain quail can be. When I asked him how he felt about what I'd gotten
him into, I was surprised at his confidence.
their birds," he said. "It's been a pretty good year for them."
know. I've been out there, too," I said. "But you know how it is. You
can catch fish in the same pool every day for a year and a half, but the first
time you take somebody there, nothing happens—except a hunger strike."
them back by the old cabin," he said. "It's the best place around.
Paddy's doing a good job these days, both pointing and retrieving. They'll get
their birds. No problem at all."
"By the way,
how did Kimbrough sound when you talked to him?"
reasonable. He said he thinks they're in good enough shape."
"He told me
that, too. I still can't believe two guys would come that far to shoot a few
quail. How rich do you figure they are?"
"When I asked
whether they cared how much their motel room cost, he said it didn't matter
much, that they weren't 'exactly at the bottom of the totem pole.' That's all I
said. "I'll pick them up at the airport. That way, if we don't get any
birds, you're the one who'll have to drive them back. Did they say what they
looked like? What if they're not wearing cowboy hats?"