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Harrelson says, “This is a pretty standard
meal up here when we have guests.”
As the bowls and platters slide across
the pine table, the serving spoons and
forks clatter against the china, and the ice
melts into tumblers of sweet tea, Harrelson
tells the story of Genteel Plantation, his
by-invitation-only refuge.
“Personally, I come out on a Sunday
afternoon and invite a couple of fellas that’ll
come spend the night during hunting season.
We’ll hunt Monday morning and have a
light lunch,” Harrelson says. “I don’t invite
anybody that I don’t know. I don’t invite
amateurs to hunt with me.”
Quail are not called like
ducks and geese, they are
flushed from the brush by
pairs of dogs and hunters.
Considered the ‘sport of
kings’ or the ‘gentlemen’s
sport,’ etiquette dictates the
shoot.
“You always find some
people not gentlemen in
anything,” Harrelson says.
“Most people who bird
hunt are very considerate.
We have three rules out
here. Rule No. 1: You don’t
shoot the host. Rule No. 2: You don’t shoot
the guide. Rule No. 3: You don’t shoot the
dog. There’ll be plenty of birds.”
Kelly trains two of the
plantation’s English setters
Dixie, 8, and Lucy, 3, to hunt
quail.
In early November
• after the last
frost, after the
leaf-fall and all
the ticks are gone
• Harrelson
invites two of his
friends at a time
to Genteel for
one reason:
to hunt quail.
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