I never expected my first dove hunt to feel like a cultural rite— but out in Texas with Duck Camp, that’s exactly what it was.

When I got the invite, my gut reaction was an immediate yes. I didn’t know much about dove hunting, but I knew Texas was where it all happens. Opening day isn’t just a date, it’s an event. It’s bigger than halftime at the Super Bowl, bigger than Christmas morning. 

They tell you Texas accounts for nearly 30% of the U.S. mourning dove harvest, and about 85% of white-winged doves. Those numbers aren’t just numbers— they’re part of what makes this place sacred to dove hunters.

The arrangements were taken care of: guides, land access, the works. All of this, thanks to Bird Dog. When we finally headed out in the afternoon, I was already smiling. 

As we settled in, the fields came alive. Doves lifted from the tree lines behind us, cutting across the sky, dropping into the fields to feed or disappearing into patches of timber scattered through the open country. I missed a pile. More than a pile. But none of that mattered — they were everywhere. The challenge was staying in the moment, and not beating myself up over the misses. When I finally knocked one down, it felt great.

The laughter struck me: more shots, more misses, big grins. Music playing, people rooting each other on. It wasn’t the grueling, dawn-to-dusk kind of hunt that demands every ounce of you; it was more communal, relaxed — it was celebration. The pace was ours. The excitement was balanced by comfort, banter and stories.

At the end, we processed our birds together— cleaning each one with care, and getting them straight on ice to keep the meat fresh. Most folks were working through their limits, while I was happily working through the seven I had in front of me. Tonight, those birds are marinating in Worcestershire, garlic, and olive oil— ready for the grill.

Conservation threads through all of it. Doves migrate. They feed, nest, breed across landscapes bigger than any one property. When the populations are high, the seasons are generous. The fact that today’s mourning dove numbers are well above their long-term average isn’t luck— it’s the work of hunter-conservationists, agencies, landowners. 

This first hunt taught me that dove hunting isn’t just about what you shoot. It’s about place. It’s about people. It’s about the rush of wings overhead, the thrill of the hunt, and the satisfaction of gathering around a meal you earned yourself. Texas dove season is everything I hoped for — and so much more. I want to be back every September for as long as I can.