Born July 10, 1910, in Braggs, Ala., John S. Gates scaled the heights in the bird dog training profession during a career that began in the 1930s. When John Gates retired from actively handling dogs in top flight competitions in 1964, he had won more championship titles with more dogs than any professional handler in the history of field trials. 

John S. Gates began his unparalleled career like many another budding professional trainer, with early success coming with young dogs. He developed stellar puppies and some carried on as Derby winners, but most of these precocious juveniles failed to achieve all-age success. It was time for re-evaluation of his methods. After studying the procedures of successful trainers and adapting his own effective techniques, John’s pupils began to appear in the winners’ circle with regularity. His first important placement was with Flying Bullet in the 1935 running of the All-America Club’s Open All-Age at Brownville, Tenn. He placed his first Quail Futurity winner in the 1937 running, getting third, and that same winner won the National Championship for John Gates in 1940. The dog was Lester’s Enjoy’s Wahoo and what could have been more fitting than for the same dog and John S. Gates to be voted into the Field Trial Hall of Fame in 1960.

National Champion Lester's Enjoy's Wahoo

John S. Gates came into his own in the 1950s and his name and the names of his many winning dogs were on the lips of all field trialers, for they consistently occupied the winners’ circle. The versatility of the Gates technique was evidenced by the fact that the Georgia professional not only compiled a list of impressive wins with dogs brought on by himself from puppyhood, but he was also successful in winning titular honors with veteran campaigners that were added to his string after being well along in age. The Gates technique or trademark was a bold, wide-ranging, independent and indefatigable performer, including some real he-dogs with bullish temperaments, but he also won with the Dresden China type.

John Gates competed successfully in the endurance stakes, handling the winners of the National Championship twice, the National Free-For-All four times and the National Derby Championship three times. His National Championships were Lester’s Enjoy’s Wahoo and War Storm and his Free-For-All champions were Medallion in 1957 and 1958, Storm Trooper and War Storm.

It is not possible to compress into space available a list of the many winners John Gates handled. It would include a roster of great ones. John always had a special place in his heart for Lester’s Enjoy’s Wahoo, as did his wife, Maxine, for she always thought old “Wah” was the prettiest moving that ever laid a spoor across a quail field. The Leesburg pro thought highly of Greenwood Bill, a phenomenal bird dog which won a great deal of money to enrich  the Gates exchequer. Safari had to be one of his all-time favorites—“Judy” was indeed a John Gates creation, and she set the world’s record of ten open championships. Her adaptability as well as her amazing ability to orient herself is attested by the success she achieved after John Rex took her over from his father. “It took a year or more for her to really become familiar with me,” said John Rex, “but she surely was an outstanding individual.”

Satilla Wahoo Pete, Medallion and many others benefited from the John Gates genius. Remarkably, many of the outstanding performers became prominent as producers as well. Evidently John Gates could divine the spark of greatness in the dogs he developed, not only as performers but as producers as well. Medallion was a dog that tested all of John Gates’ resourcefulness. Many still talk about the titanic three-hour struggle of Medallion and Palamonium (Clyde Morton) in the Free-For-All finals of 1957. 

John Gates was objective about dogs. He could see hallmark of class in others. When Clyde Morton fell ill during the 1960 Free-For-All, owner Jimmy Hinton handled Palamonium in the finals. “Sam” was at his finest, but disappeared at an abrupt turn. John Gates appreciated it as much as anyone. He said: “I’d have given $500 of my own money to handle Palamonium in the three-hours.” That was how he reacted to a great dog capable of inspirational performance.

Not only was John S. Gates renowned for his famous winning field trial dogs, he was also known for his development of top scouts and also other handlers, for the quality of the assistants he trained and brought to a measure of fame. Loran (Peck) Kelly, his scout, who preceded him in death, is remembered for his outstanding scouting excellence. When “Peck” Kelley lost his life in an auto accident, a young John Rex took over scouting. He was no rousing success immediately as he patterned  his efforts after the way Peck had managed things, but when he developed his own techniques, his skills became dominant.

When surgery precluded John S. Gates from continuing to handle from horseback, John Rex, tutored and polished took over. It was at once recognizable that handling rather than scouting, was his forte. John Rex was an almost instant success. He developed skills, poise, presence, showmanship to rival the salad days of his father. And no one was more proud than John S. Gates.

Indeed, John S. Gates steeped his entire family with his profound knowledge of dogs and their breeding, their characteristics, temperament and behavior, and each proved a knowledgeable student, deeply interested in breeding and performance records. John frequently said how happy he was that Sheila, his daughter, showed so much enthusiasm—“She’ll be a great breeder,” he averred. “She has the ability to select the proper brood matron to nick with the right stud dog.”

There are those who contend that selecting a puppy at a very early age is a gamble, but the Gates family seems endowed with ESP; they make it a science.

It is a close knit family, gracious, respectful, proper in the finest of traditions. What greater honor can be paid to the memory of a man than to be loved and honored by his family as well as by his fellowmen.

John S. and Maxine Gates, Philema, Georgia

Champion Medallion

The great prairie champion, Susan Peters

Champion War Storm

John S. and John Rex Gates with Champion Paladin's Royal Flush.

Peck Kelley loading dogs at the Gates camp, Broomhill, Manitoba.

Dr. I. J. Hammond (owner), John S. Gates and John Rex Gates (handler) with Oklahoma Flush, winner of the 1967 American Field Quail Futurity. 

Robin Gates and son, Hunter Gates, Broomhill, Manitoba, 2008.

Reprinted courtesy of the American Field Publishing.

Southeast of Sedgefield Plantation’s manor house is a memorial heralding an extraordinary gun dog Hall of Fame. The roll of honor is a celebration of immortals: Paladin, Rapid Transit, Ariel, Luminary, Timbuctoo, Superlette ....dogs that won the National Championship, the Free-For-All, the National Derby.

These champions and others of equal stature were trained and handled by Clyde Morton who won eleven National titles with seven dogs.

At another cemetery a mile away lies Wrapup, Spats, and Allure. Together they won two Nationals, one National Derby and seven Free-For-Alls. These wins were posted by Billy Morton (no relation to Clyde).

The legend of this Alberta, Alabama kennel runs through the initial owner A. G. C. Sage, on to the present Jimmy Hinton of Tuscaloosa, who together had the two Mortons train for them plus the initial helmsman J. L. Holloway.

Now all this is stunningly impressive and more than a little complicated to recount. Yet my emphasis here is not on the above named men, nor the dogs. No. There is a silent, inconspicuous thread that runs through the fabric of these data, and these laurels. A part of Sedgefields as sure as the winding lane to the manor house, the great white-painted barn and the continual call of bobwhite on the hills and in the hollows is a slightly stooped, fluidly moving, soft-spoken, hands-in-pockets, 73-year-old Negro man named Ben (Man) Rand, Jr., who has put his touch of magic, his life and his sagacity on all but two of the National champions cited above and has not only hand-reared and partly trained all other dogs on the Honor Roll, but scouted each of them to their championships as well.

In all of American gun dog history I can recall no man who has figured into the making of so many champions  as has Man Rand. He is, then, in my opinion, one of the most notable gun dog men America has ever produced.

I wait for Man in the barn on a sawhorse with a saddle blanket for padding. When Man joins me he brings a red nylon tape check cord snapped to his star pupil, Alluring, who has just  won the National Free-For-All Championship and ran in the Nationals. Her trainer, Billy Morton, probably Man’s greatest fan and along with Jimmy Hinton, his most devoted friend, enters the barn and finds a perch. Jimmy Hinton joins us to lean on the stairs to the loft. We all start talking in the hallway of the great barn.

Man rode scout when Mr. Clyde won nine of his eleven National Championships. For Billy Morton, Man has scouted two more National champs. But before Clyde Morton died, he told Man, “I’ll always be two Nationals ahead of you.” Now the two are tied. Man wanted one more win—TO WIN! He must win, he says, he must win...and his voice trails off, as he looks off to the distance and takes a shallow breath.

Ben Rand Jr., was born on Sedgefield Plantation in 1917. His father worked there; he was one of the men who, shovel by shovel, built the hill on which the manor house sits. When Man was about eight, he was told to sit at a gate with a switch and let the wagon horses in but “whoop,” as he says it, the bird dogs or field trial horses from getting out. Man sat there for years as the plantation was built.

Louis Holloway, Mr. Sage's first dog trainer, took a liking to the slight lad (Man says he’s 5’7” and weighs 145 pounds) and used to ride up to the clapboard and galvanized roof plantation schoolhouse and hiss for the boy to slip out. As Holloway would distract the teacher in talk, Man would slink to the offside of the horse and climb up under Holloway's hunting coat, then the trainer would say out loud, ‘Well I got to be goin’ down yonder...”

Later with the bird dogs down and running, young Man Rand would put his bare feet in Mr. Holloway’s coat pockets and cling to the man’s neck as they soared over the grounds. Then when a dog struck point, Holloway would leap to earth to work the dog at wing and shot while Man walked the horse forward.

Later Man was given puppies to walk, to introduce to man and land and bird. Later still, he was training from womb to tomb. The dogs won like no other kennel of dogs ever won. And the owners and trainers would pose for the photographers with Man and dog and be handed their silver trophies and step to the limelight while Man and dog melted into the background to sit on the horse-drawn wagon, or later, inside the cab of a pickup truck. And as the record of wins grew, the owners and trainers and dogs were all voted into the Field Trial Hall of Fame. And the silent, out-of-sight Negro scout with the magic voice  and hands that did to bird dogs what master sculptors do to clay would begin that next Monday morning with his feed pans and his cooing voice and his soft hands to groom, and form, and love the dogs to more wins, still.

I don’t know for sure, but I think as common reason would have anyone think, that Man has stood and waited for some part of sixty years for a writer to show up, and put the ink on him, to tell you, the reader, of the endless days of whispering to dogs the ambitions he bore, the frustrations he endured, the never-ending hope that one day he, too, could receive and hang (that which he as much as any man who has ever lived has earned) a Field Trial Hall of Fame scroll on his scanty cabin wall.

If gun dogdom won’t vote him in, his dogs would. Dogs who knew the scout’s voice and touch before they ever saw daylight, who sat with him in the barn with the buck, who walked the fields on ropes, who later cast to hell and gone with the frail Negro man riding a tornado of a horse so no dog ever evaded him.

Billy Morton sums it all up for me in one statement. He says, “Mr. Clyde didn’t like Ariel because he wouldn’t do anything in training. He would only perk up at a field trial with the horses around and all the excitement. Yet, this is the only dog that ever won the National Championship three times and Man Rand trained him.

There are Hall-of-Famers who did less.

Or as Hinton, the boss, says, “Man just learned to think like a dog...he can ride up over the top of a hill and nine times out of ten look it over and say if I was a dog I’d go this way. He’s always right.”

More than a hundred years have passed since the first field trial was run in America. Since that time the stalwarts of the game have elected professional trainers, their patrons, gun dog writers, noted gun dog breeders, landed gentry, seasoned amateurs, and other devotees to the Field Trial Hall of Fame.

As an elector to that august body, not only does Man Rand get my vote but I call upon my fellow electors to cast their ballots for this humble scout as well.

I know for Man this is a backdoor hope, something not granted—not even considered—for his likes before. But the America of my pride has always awarded merit. May pride shine now.

Man Rand was elected into the Field Trial Hall of Fame the following year, 1991.

He scouted 13 National Champions, 19 National Free-For-All Champions, 10 American Field Quail Futurity winners and 11 National Derby Champions. These statistics do not take into account the many other placements Clyde Morton won on the Canadian prairies handling dogs for A.G.C. Sage.

Man with Allure

1971 National Free-For-All Championship—Wrapup, the Winner is on the left with Ben Rand Jr., fabled scout for Clyde Morton, and Oklahoma Flush, close contender, with Tommy Long, scout. Standing, John Rex Gates, left, handler of Flush, and Billy Morton, handler of Wrapup.

Having seen so many great dogs and having been associated with so many important champions, which five did Man like best? Ariel was his number one, followed by Luminary, Palamonium, Wrapup and Allure.

Man's all-time favorite dog was three time National Championship winner, Ariel.

Allure

Man in front of the Sedgefield's manor house with Champion Alluring.

BenManRandJr.HOF.pdf

Reprinted with permission from The American Field.

Through the years I have been fortunate to witness some great races on the Canadian prairies. The prairies are a measurement of a dog who must be able to run them to the extreme if he or she is to be called an “all-age” contender. Whether it be the prairies of Mortlach, Stoughton, or Broomhill, the requirements are the same. One would like to see a great race rewarded, but that is not always the case when there is an absence of bird work. Such was the case in September 2006 during the running of the Pelican Open contested in Broomhill, Manitoba.

Lester’s Absolute handled by Colvin Davis was loosed in the rough pasture east of the Davis camp to begin the sixth brace of the stake. Heavy rain and wind had caused a two-hour delay and the threat of more rain was evident as dark clouds rolled across the prairie sky. Absolute wasted no time in going to the likely places in the rough pasture. Finding no game in the pasture, he crossed over into the Gervin alfalfa field. He was putting distance between himself and Colvin. He stayed on the north line in the alfalfa field and was last seen nearing the boundary road as Colvin entered the alfalfa field. Colvin stayed the course as he turned toward the Forsythe stubble field. Rip (Absolute) began to exhibit his training and desire to stay with Colvin because, although at a great distance, he turned on his own toward the front. He stayed on the east field edges as he took in the Forsythe and Tillbury fields. The distance between boundary roads here is one mile. Rip was consistently three quarters of a mile from Colvin. The course turned back west at the boundary road, but Rip held the line and continued southward. Normally the scout would have been dispatched, but the distance was much too great. Colvin continued to ride at his normal pace and “sing” to Rip. We watched as Rip neared the next boundary road and were amazed when he turned at the road. He was literally over a mile from his handler when he passed the distant farm headquarters without stopping. Rip continued to stay at this distance for the remainder of his bid, but he was never out of contact with Colvin. He crossed into the Gervin property and was seen working the shelterbelts as he headed toward Broomhill. Time was called as Colvin topped the rise in the alfalfa field. Rip was not in sight, but then he was spotted along the abandoned railroad roadbed still running hard almost a mile to the front. During the brace he had consistently stayed to the front at a range of three quarters of a mile and at times reaching a mile.  

Rip did not place in this trial; there were other dogs with acceptable races and bird work, but he laid down one of the greatest all-age prairie races that has ever been run. It was a race that will be forever etched into the memories of all who saw it.

Lester's Absolute, 2006, Broomhill, Manitoba

Colvin & Mazie Davis, Lester's Absolute, 2006, Broomhill, Manitoba

William Smith during a coffee break judging the 2007 Manitoba Championship in Broomhill. Also pictured, Canadian Vizsla trainer/handler John Reid, Randy Anderson, Ben Adams (judge), Mazie Davis and Hunter Gates.

Lester's Absolute, 2007

I guess my favorite field trial bitch of all time was Stanton’s Victory. Her kennel name, of course was “Vicky”!!!

The first time I saw Vicky as an all-age performer was at the Continental Championship in 1955.

A freak “Blue Norther” misdirected from Texas and Oklahoma eastward to Georgia blew in at the Georgia-Florida border, about 30 miles east of Tallahassee, where we were running.

I was thirty years old and I had never seen sleet and hominy snow that far south. It was about January 24th, and the system just invaded, with winds over 25 miles an hour. You could tell, because the broom sedge was bending almost horizontal to the ground.

Judge Dick Dumas was into his handy slicker suit in a flash. Dr. Earl Miles, from Brooklyn, donned his parka and drew the string tight. I had no rain suit.

But Stanton’s Victory and one-eyed Howard Kirk, who had walked iron, cared not one whit for the inclemency.

Mrs. Livingston’s quail greeted the storm with glee and paraded out to meet Vicky.

She pointed first at some budding plum bushes. That’s how warm it had been. She had ‘em right in front of her, and Howard showed the birds. About nine minutes later, and I could see her pink-frosted tipped tail now, trembling and high.

Now it sleeted and visibility was bad—for everyone except Howard Kirk and Vicky. Howard picked his leather and ruberoid hat off of his bald head a third time and the little ice granules showered and bounced off his pate as he rode to a hilltop.

I was soaked and shivering and I cannot remember whether the other dog had been taken up or not. But, for one reason or another, as soon as he had Vicky away from that last find, Howard drifted back behind Judge Dumas to Dr. Earl Miles, reached over, and drew the drawstring bowknot loose from Dr. Miles slicker-parka top, and hollered in his ear:

“Tha’ll due respect. Doc Miles, you cannot see nothin’ through that consti-pated lil hole, now!!! Come on up here, throw that parka back and watch this bitch... Cause she’s dam sure winning this champeeenship!!!”

As we finished that brace, and Howard rubbed Vicky down, Mrs. Eleanor Livingston, owner of Dixie Plantation, sent her horse trainer in a jeep to get me. He wasn’t ever solicitous of anyone’s discomfort, left to his own designs and decisions.

“Mrs. Livingston says you get down and get to a dry warm place,” he said sternly. “You ain’t dressed for this.” I hadn’t noticed that my windbreaker and vest were soaked through. My old newsman’s fedora was soppy like a rag. Only my behind was dry. Well...damp.

“Okay, J. B.,” I said. “She’s got more sense than all of us. This field trial is over, anyway...”

And it was. But here’s a sequel.

A shooting dog entrepreneur tried all spring and summer to buy Vicky from her owner, Mr. Mitchell. This man from up east had enough money to burn up a snow packed woolly mammoth, but he balked within a few dollars of Mr. Mitchell’s asking price.

Howard Kirk told John S. Gates what was happening, and hinted that Gates had “some owner, certainly” who could step in and snatch up the great young bitch. “If I can’t keep her, I hope you can get her,” Kirk reportedly said.

On the anniversary of Vicky’s miraculous performance, John Gates turned her loose at Dixie Plantation in the Continental again. This year it was 80 degrees in the shade in January, and it hadn’t rained between Monticello, Florida and Quitman, Georgia in five weeks.

Vicky swept away independently and had three finds in the first 40 minutes, all perfect. Then she was gone for a while. I don’t remember just how long, but it was nearly 15 minutes, and she was a front running, showy field trial performer, and this was extremely uncharacteristic.

She came back from the left side of the course, and had three more finds—one on which she was found straight ahead and to the right under a live oak, near pickup time, the 110-minute mark.

She won the Championship for the second consecutive year.

But, for the time she was gone, she had been, mistakenly, collared and locked in the Quail Lodge kennel by another dog trainer. And, she was released by another pro, who hastily interceded and directed her back to her handler, Gates and the horse gallery.

I always wondered who the zealous fellow was and who the good Samaritan was. About two months before he died, John told me who the trainer was who returned Vicky to the field trial in time to keep her from being disqualified. It was Bill Conlin, a classically educated architect who was smitten with pointers and setters and trained professionally for the “eastern circuit” and attended some Southern trials and trained in Canada. He and I were always very close, I thought. We were drawn to one another and discussed many things outside Birdogdom. But he never told me who put Vicky up.

Just four years later, a great old Hall-of-Famer, Ed Farrior, won his last championship at the Continental with Crossmoke, a white an orange pointer bitch, whose last find was so far away, that Mr. Farrior didn’t get there for four minutes. Prior to that, the large gallery and both judges took at least three minutes to get to the live oak copse where John Gates sat on his horse, hat raised. He had called point for Mr. Farrior and remained there, protecting the bitch and her “find”, until judges and handler could get there.

In doing so, he neglected his own brag dog, Medallion, which was soon lost out of judgment. Mr. Farrior and Crossmoke won the title, of course. I can remember one dog trainer in that gallery, Winfred Campbell, crying... Huge tears rolling down his cheeks. I remember thinking at the time. “Yeah, that’s really unselfish of John but isn’t Winfred overreacting?”

Then, on April 11, 2005, I have corroboration of an aged suspicion, born on that desert-like day of Crossmoke’s triumph at Dixie.

A witness has unloaded on me: It was Mr. Farrior who, believing she was lost and out of judgment, mistakenly placed Vicky in the kennel in 1956, and John Gates repaid him with gallantry.

Stanton's Victory

Howard Kirk

John S. Gates and Bill Allen

Ed Farrior

John S. Gates

In the early eighties I attended the National Amateur Quail Championship when it ran at Inola, Oklahoma. I was just starting to cut my teeth in the horseback game and wanted to watch some of the best dogs in the country. The lineup of dogs included White Knight’s Button handled by his owner, Jack Fiveash, Judge Lee West’s string of Barshoe dogs, and many other greats who were on the circuit at that time. There were more trucks that had the look of a Uhaul than there were pickups and the big horse trailers we see today. These trucks where customized with dog crates and a large area for the horses who were walked up a steep ramp into the back of the truck.

The performance that I have referred to many times as the best All-Age performance that I have ever seen was Addition’s Go Boy handled by his owner, Mr. Pete Frierson. Go Boy broke away, disappearing over the far-off horizon. Before long, point was called by his scout and, following a long ride to get to the dog, a large covey of quail was flushed. Go Boy was released again, made another far-flung cast and as far as you could see ahead, the dog was pointing again. After another long ride, we moved in on the motionless dog and a large group of prairie chickens lifted! This may had been around the 45 minute mark. Yet again the dog reached for more country and the call of point came from the scout. The dog’s style was perfect. As Mr. Frierson moved in to flush the birds, they lifted and went over the dog’s head. He turned and marked their flight, taking about one too many steps causing him to be disqualified...but the performance was unbelievable. It may have been THE ONE that headed me in the direction to the All-Age game as a breeder, amateur handler and now as a professional All-Age trainer. 

That year, The National Amateur Quail Championship was won by the great El Sauz Doll. The prior year, Addition’s Go Boy and Pete Frierson won runner-up laurels in the same event held at the Blackwater River State Forest near Munson, Florida in which Charlie Jackson’s pointer “Nitch” was named winner.

In 1988, Addition’s Go Boy did finally win the prestigious National Amateur Quail Championship handled by Pete Frierson’s able assistant, Jerry Black. Reporter Linda Hunt wrote:

“Addition’s Go Boy, puissant ten-year-old white and liver pointer male has captured the 71st renewal of the National Amateur Quail Championship, the flagship event of the Amateur Field Trial Clubs of America. The celebrated veteran, owned by Mr. and Mrs. Pete Frierson of Clinton, Mississippi, was handled by Jerry Black in the 90 minute challenge during which he logged four finds to emerge victorious in a field of 46.”

The running was contested over the fabulous Chinkapin Farm of E. L. (Ted) Baker near Lake City, Florida. (commencing March 7)

In October, only months later in the same year, “Buddy” won the 56th running of the National Amateur Pheasant Championship at Killdeer Plains. Reporter H.O. Price wrote:

“What is left to write about a dog which has already won eight championships outright and has been runner-up in fourteen other championship events?...

“...it is the redoubtable Addition’s Go Boy, the white and liver pointer — soul-of-consistency — has become ten years of age, despite which, in the period since the color insert (1987 American Field Christmas Edition) appeared he has won two of the four majorest National Championships sponsored by the AFTCA...”

Champion Addition’s Go Boy was inducted into the Field Trial Hall of Fame in 1990. Here is the write-up: AdditionsGoBoy_HOF_1990.pdf

Photo and excerpt courtesy of The American Field

I had the privilege of being asked to judge the Continental Championship in 2002. The performance of Barshoe Esquire, handled by Andy Daugherty, will always stick in my mind as one of the greatest all-age performances on wild birds that I have witnessed. Esquire ran in the first brace in the morning, which is usually good for wild birds, so my judging partner, Dale Bush, and I were already looking forward to a good heat and Esquire showed us that it would be by pointing his first covey at about 5 minutes. The dog had an uncanny way of staying to the front. Every time we thought he was gone, he was either on point or showed up front. I recall having him a long way to the front on one occasion and then after making a turn on the course, not seeing him again until point was called by the scout, Colvin Davis, in the same area I last saw him take the front. He had a woodcock find and handled it perfectly. His bracemate was picked up so Andy had the course to himself after less than an hour of the 1 hour 50 minute heat. I remember Andy gathering Esquire up just at the right time once as we rode into a tight turn through heavy cover. Dale and I were very thankful for Andy’s foresight to get him through that difficult part of the course as he was really running hard. He could have easily been lost there.

As soon as we got out of that area, Andy let him roll again and out of site he went. As you might guess we were a bit uneasy about him doing this now. To this point Esquire had shown us all the qualities we were hoping to see for a champion in this trial. As we continued, low and behold there he stood, high and tight on yet another covey of birds, his fourth out on a limb find! He just kept getting stronger and reaching farther and Andy just going along like it was just another workout. Dale and I got really nervous when we did not see the dog at about 1 hour 25 minutes after making a huge cast to the right near some really thick woods. Andy called and called to no avail and then went in search of him along with Colvin. We got on a hill trying to hear the call of POINT. Finally after a lapse of 10 minutes, which seemed like eternity, the called came from out front, which shook the trees. We and the gallery rode like we were at Churchill Downs to get to the magnificent statue of a dog standing down in a gulley with high head and tail. Andy got off, flushed his birds and asked how much time was left! I cannot remember exactly but I know it was less than ten minutes and we told him so. He turned Esquire loose and never hesitated to send him on. When he got to the end of a long cast rounding a field we called time and I believe it was about a minute or two ahead of the 1 hour 50 minute mark but we could not stand another suspenseful time hunting him up on point again. He had great 5 finds and a true all-age race.

2002_ContinentalReport_BE.pdf

Championship Winners. In foreground, from left: Barshoe Esquire with Colvin Davis and Miller’s Southern Pride with Scott Beeler. Standing: John Finlayson, Dale Bush, judge; Andy Daugherty, John Rex Gates, Sharleen Daugherty, Sherry Ebert, judge; Hanna Miller, Julie Miller, Rick Furney, Peter Miller, Chip McEwan, Sonny Reed and Joe Milligan.

Courtesy of The American Field Publishing

Flaming Star, 6 1/2-year-old white and orange setter dog owned by Mrs. G. Gunby Jordan of Columbus, Ga., handled by Herman Smith, turned in a sterling performance in 95 degree heat to capture the revived Saskatchewan Chicken Championship. Star rendered an hour of distinction, delivered in oven-like heat, just two degrees shy of the all-time high for September 4 in the Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan area. Star had two great finds in a ground devouring effort.

The revival of the Saskatchewan Open Chicken Championship was on a high note and despite almost record-breaking temperatures, well conditioned contenders made stout bids for the prized crown. Flaming Star’s triumph will be hailed by setter fans everywhere. Many have been awaiting such a victory by the stylish longhair and to have him achieve the distinction under weather that would seem to wilt even the stoutest of heart brings an extra measure of gratification.

As has been said, the thermometer showed 95 degrees and what little breeze there was seemed only to worsen matters. But the gritty setter paid no attention to the heat and ran without a letup for the full hour, just as hard driving at the finish as when he started. He negotiated his country well, his casts were huge and directed intelligently to promising cover. He used the wind advantageously when he neared objectives.

Flaming Star’s first find was outstanding. It came as a result of a swing from a barren rise where he had completed a huge forward cast. Star, slanted across the gallery, well forward and headed for a pocket of bluffs; he did not show and a scout was dispatched to find the lofty setter on an inspirational point. The work was flawless. Sent on towards another series of bluffs perhaps an eighth of a mile ahead, he rounded the upwind edge and pointed again, handling more chickens perfectly. Star, for the remainder of the hour, ran to the limits of the course, finishing strongly over a far rise.

Runner-Up: Homerun Johnny. Flaming Star’s superlative first find provided the wee margin he needed to take the title.

Judges: Delmar Smith, Edmond, OK and John Criswell, Ada, OK

Reporter: David A. Fletcher. Photo and excerpt courtesy of The American Field

I remember the first time I ever worked dogs with Colvin Davis up there in that big country around Broomhill. I stated that it was the furthest I had ever seen a dog fade from sight, to which Colvin replied:

“There's no edge to lean on to build a dog a heart.”

The familiar, capsule description of the all-age, attributed to old-time trainer Jim Avent, declares that he (or she) is a dedicated hunter of upland game birds which ‘runs off—but not quite.’ The all-age dog is a free spirit and fills up all the available country (plus a little) in a bold an sometimes reckless manner, yet ultimately acknowledges the control exerted by his handler and courses to the front in such a pattern as to maintain periodic, suitable contact with the handler. The really intelligent and accomplished all-age dog exhibits the knack of “showing” at strategic, distant, forward points on the course during the progress of his heat. He may frequently pass from view, only to show again after a lapse of time, or to be discovered by the handler or scout pointing game.

The all-age dog should incorporate the direction of the wind and the lay of the land in his hunting effort, enabling him to range to the fringe of contact with his handler. He must possess a superior nose, allowing him to hunt from objective to objective at a very fast pace. In an ideal all-age performance there is little or no time for extended probing or rechecking of coverts.

A successful all-age dog is not a straight line runner. Despite his speed, power and extended range, he must be hunting as he goes. He must take the edges and apply his superior olfactory powers to pick up vagrant scents that might lead to discovery of game.

The all-age dog should exude animation and happiness with the task at hand. He should display loftiness of head and tail in his gait, maintaining this appearance in cover and on bare ground, despite traveling with the utmost speed and drive. He must not be deterred by punishment meted out by cover and weather.

No matter how far flung and well executed the casts – no matter how beautiful and powerful the stride – no matter how lofty and animated the carriage – no matter how strong and indefatigable the heart – this running machine must have foremost in mind the discovery and near perfect handling of game. He should stand proud, rigid and intense on his birds, showing confidence that he has them pegged exactly, and in front. Quite often he must maintain this posture for many minutes, and remember his training, before handler or scout discovers him on point. He should be fearless at the approach of handler and the field trial party, and he should maintain keen interest, intensity, upright posture and good style while handler flushes and the shot is fired. If birds cannot be flushed and relocation is required, he should proceed when released with dash and determination to search out and pin running birds, exhibiting powers of nose that take him straight to the quarry.

The all-age dog must voluntarily and cheerfully back on sight a brace mate on rigid point. However, the judges should attempt to see the backing situation through the eyes of the moving dog, taking into account the less acute eyesight of the dog and the possible interference of cover, terrain and background as he approaches the scene. The approaching dog should get the benefit of any doubt about his ability to see clearly the pointing dog. In an all-age performance, a back should be accomplished if the opportunity presents itself and the brace mate is in the vicinity, but a race should not be interrupted and a dog returned from a distant cast in order to achieve a back.

In an all-age dog, stamina is a watchword. Regardless of whether the heat is a half-hour or three hours, prime consideration should be given to the competitor which can convincingly finish the allotted time with range and speed undiminished. Emphasis should also be placed on the dog's ability to find and handle game in all parts of the heat, but particularly in the latter stages when fatigue may take its toll on olfactory powers.

The date of Luminary’s win will be officially recorded as of Tuesday morning, March 10, 1942. But in the opinion of many who braved as adverse a bird-finding day as ever faced a brace of dogs, the magnificently conditioned, courageous Luminary drove through to victory on opening morning of the trials, Wednesday, February 25. Scheduled to start on Monday, the 23rd, rain, snow and sleet held up proceedings for two days. Wednesday arrived with brickbat underfoot and dull, aching cold.

It was a prospect to strike terror to any handler’s heart, the kind of going from which 95% percent of all bird hunters would recoil. But, like the play, a field trial must go on, and handlers like Clyde Morton and Dewey English, with Luminary and that splendid animal, Freebooter, in charge respectively, faced the issue with fortitude. Such men know the game and shoot fair. Loving their dogs, they have faith in and respect their courage. We have watched field trials a long, long time, and here was the call to raw courage. The dogs were ordered on.

For two mornings the handlers had been given starting option. Morton and English are not the type to blink. The gallery wound its way across drab, winter stricken terrain. Freebooter scored first, handling well a bevy racked up in a thicket-head. Made a swell job of it, too, and English’s gun spoke. It was eight minutes before Morton, between the first and second roads, was sighted waving his hat.

A wild ride and there stood Luminary, embedded in high sedge and sapling stalks. Failing to dislodge game, Morton ordered him on. The barrel-chested, lithe-hipped pointer made short work of the relocation chore. Clyde’s gun evened up the score, and Luminary departed thence. But again it was the worthy Freebooter who tallied, on top of a sedge pine knoll. He had ’em too, and just like the rulebook said...

They exchanged right and lefts, so to speak, on single-bird points from that find. Honors were about even and gun manners perfect. Then Luminary really began to go about his business. After a sweep that took him to the country’s utmost bird rims, he was found in the field marking an hour and a half on the course. At Morton’s command the dog did a perfect job of pile-driving relocation. Then he “sold out” far to the right and was not located until several minutes later.

The gallery had long since swung past the creek corner in which the dog was found on a shelf above a high ditch. Birds boiled from about him. Thrown on, he spurted past the crowd. Two hours were off his chest. Freebooter, though tiring, struck gamely. Riding close behind Morton, we were privileged to see Luminary in a surprise contact evoking considerable discussion among those who could not possibly have seen exactly what happened in this case. The dog, coming full tilt off a slope and up through some sparse woods into a mud-floored washout below us, caught scent and literally swirled in putting on the brakes.

We had ridden over to the very brink, not only because we saw Luminary coming in, but because we had seen birds moved from that basin before. And this time we saw the birds scramming off the floor of the place. Morton’s cry of warning wasn’t needed. No dog on earth could have stopped more suddenly or been less open to censure.

And around the corner, several hundred yards away, came another incident that set tongues wagging. Luminary, plunging through a grassy depression alongside the gallery, struck scent. Morton, up ahead, instantly assumed control and was off his horse and hurrying down the ledge, out front. Luminary’s birds were moving swiftly away from there. They ran up a red-earth bank and zoomed almost in Morton’s face.

Again Luminary checked out under a full head of steam. His two next finds, accompanied by a corking Freebooter location, came on the two last broad turns of the course. They were masterpieces of relocation, deft approaches, any step of which might have spelled disaster. The last one especially will linger long in the memories of those so fortunate as to witness it. Striking his quarry while on the far side of a wide, shallow depression, Luminary waited impressively until Morton threshed out the brush heaps between his dog and the excited gallery. Then he ordered on.

Luminary darted up the rim of the sink, crossed it and, literally ablaze with crafty discernment, charged along within twenty feet of the horses. He flung himself at a reef of straw and high-headed seemed to shout, “Here they are!” And they were too. When we passed into the last open spaces of the heat’s end, Morton’s whistles was scarcely needed to reach the winging Luminary. He struck the end of the course under all valves and chased down by proud scouts.

Just then some sunshine struggled through the cold murk. We stooped down with Morton and examined the dog’s pads. They were scuffed, and his toenails were a bit shaky at the moorings. Freebooter was also game to the end; and your correspondents were agreed that they had just seen about the finest heat either had witnessed at the National, or for that matter, on any course.

1942 National Championship
Run at Grand Junction, Tennessee, February 23.
Judges: Nash Buckingham, Dr. T. Benton King and Reuben H. Scott
Thirty-five Starters —Twenty-eight Pointers and Seven Setters.

Winner—Luminary, 275718, white and black pointer dog, by Doctor Blue Willing - Lullaby. A.G.C. Sage, owner; Clyde Morton, handler.

Used by permission.

Our experiences in life in general and with bird dogs in particular form our opinions regarding how we pursue, develop, display and analyze bird dog performance. Our collective gravitation to the great American sport of Field Trialing has taken many different roads with a vast array of experiences, opinions and visions.

The subjective interpretation of bird dog performance has been applauded as the sports’ strength, as well as cursed as its weakness. Often the focus has moved from one superficial preference to another over the span of a century. Traditional performance standards work to hold constant that which outside forces steadily and assuredly pressure. Rather than maintaining a constant, class and style have been defined in the eye of the beholder leaving them open to various interpretations.

An analytical review of a thousand American Field newspapers would expose those interpretations in an array of colorful reports throughout the 20th century. But in the end that monumental effort would only be a diversion from the focus of what is certainly in the genetic bedrock of Stud Book All-Age Champions through the ages—the truly enduring qualities of intelligence, strength and courage.

Similar to admiring monumental classic buildings in all their awe and magnificence, what we don’t see at first—the underground structure critical to the splendor above—will ultimately determine whether this beauty will transcend time or collapse under its own weight, quickly loosing its appeal.

As definitions, I use “class” to mean how the dog goes about his work while “style” is how he looks doing his work. All Age tradition tells us that more range requires increased intelligence, strength and courage to sustain the performer’s class and style for the heat’s full duration. Traditionally if given an hour, the good handlers have used their developing and displaying skills to exhibit their charges’ intelligence, strength and courage by managing and displaying range in many challenging, thrilling and productive ways.

Like range, a test of extraordinary stamina for more then an hour draws deep on these same genetic qualities in order for the dog to sustain class and style over an extended period of time. In endurance stakes these same handlers’ strategies may change; less than one might think when the dog possesses great intelligence, strength and courage; more than one might care to undertake when lacking any one of these qualities.

While the dog’s class and style in his pursuit, handling and presentation of birds are readily and immediately visible to the eye, intelligence, strength and courage lie hidden like bedrock within. The dog’s true quality or lack thereof is only apparent in reviewing the entire performance. Time has shown that range and stakes of long duration are indiscriminate in their insatiable appetite for these three critical genetic qualities, and both tests provide a meaningful way to distinguish between dogs whose genetic foundations have cracks and those whose run deep and true.