On a warm December day in southern New England our hosts radioed CO each of the twelve stands, positioned like the hours on a clock around a central tiered tower, ensuring we were poised in anticipation. At 210 feet above the low, rolling terrain, the tower we now faced is the tallest of its kind in New England. At the sound of the horn, we loaded our guns, over and under, or side by side, quickly returning our focus to die skies.
Even perhaps the most highly skilled, experienced, and confident gunner can-not avoid a sense of nervousness born with a new hunt on such remarkable topography as The Preserve at Boulder Hills in Rhode Island’s Wyoming Township encompasses. Bright sun had lifted above tall evergreens and thin birch. Tufts of green grasses pushed up from scrips of shallow earth somehow wedged into clefts on rough granite features. Everything seemed to glisten. A tall sign indicated our position at stand
A father and daughter moment enjoying beautiful afternoon in the field.
Number nine, a nod to the fine English peg tradition. We waited, braced behind a wall of pine, maple, and oak logs stacked high as my shoulders. This cool morning pulled light sap from their ends, presenting a sweet scent to mix in an atmosphere of fine leather and gun oil. Curvaceous cedars, now hew into rough, split-rail fences, drew borders where fields and forest converge, providing a place for excited retrievers standing at the ready alongside their handlers. The shooter to my left and I listened, eyes to the blue sky, waiting for the sound of the hunter, horn. The gun that was provided for me was beautiful and shot true. The balance and long barrel were perfect for the high shots.
Members at The Preserve enjoy spotting clays before pheasants am it/eased from a 210 foot tower. All engaged as the flurry of birds flew overhead. Chairman, Paul Mihailides, takes aim at his target during a Christmas European tower hunt.
The Preserve at Boulder Hills enjoys a unique relationship with Famars di Abbiatico and Salvinelli, renowned makers of distinctive Best guns produced in limited numbers by generations of master Italian craftsmen. Just holding a FAMARS is a special experience. Raising the gleaming, polished, exotically figured Turkish walnut stock to sit at your shoulder, letting your eye run a line down the barrel, length to the bead, tracing a finger over the intricate scroll-work, opening the breech, all these are great pleasures. On some, details might seem more efficient than those found on more ornate guns, no less intricate or deep, yet somehow modest in their complexity. The simple, patented, removable single trigger mechanism is fitted into several models, like the Excalibur over and under with its demiblock barrels and compact action.
Masterfully carved into the hills, the 15th hole plays down to a table-top green that feeds well-hit shots into the center approaching the flag. The surrounds fall off sharply at the front and on the right. Bunkers built into the natural rock faces, behind the green, give this picture its natural frame. Wonderful cover for upland birds in the fall.
The sky filled with birds as the dogs grew more restless shifting their weight on layers of old oak-leaf skeletons, wagging their tails, happy to share in our perfect moment.
Our shots were fast and true. Thumbs pushed unlocking levers. Opened with calculated snaps, yellow and red cartridges rocketed free, charges spent, each outracing the momentary burst of nitro charge, leaving us enveloped in the favored and magical smell of gunpowder.
Us, the dogs were anxious. We arched back just slightly to sweep our sights and cover more sky, learning timing, angles, and height. The shot presentation was unlike anything I had experienced; the birds soared higher than I had ever seen. I am an avid wing shooter and this is the type of European hunt everyone should experience. The great sounds of shotguns firing and friends applauding, surrounded us, echoing over the high rough pitch of cackling roosters all around. For a moment it was quiet; we took a breath, and glanced over the wall to take it all in.
On hand command and then again on a whistle, retrievers of various breeds bounded through high grasses and acres of duff and rocky ledge to retrieve