Bobwhite in the brush - Aaron Rents CEO R. Charles Loudermilk's passion for wing hunting - CEO at Leisure

Chief Executive, The, July-August, 1994 by Joseph L. McCarthy

For one southern CEO, life doesn't get any better than a well-trained dog, a steady horse, a favorite rifle, and a few good friends. The aim: Wing shooting in the Georgia lowlands. The game: Bobwhite quail.

One minute a wild-eyed, drooling, hard-charging English Setter named Bo is ranging far and wide, combing a clearing amid stands of slash pine, red oak, and magnolia trees; the next he is frozen in space, his nose trained on a clump of brush about 15 yards away. Having dismounted from our horses, and loaded our 12-gauge, double-barreled shotguns, my compatriot and I advance cautiously, escorted by the hunt master, who rhythmically beats the ground with his riding whip, seeking to flush the first bobwhite quail of the afternoon. My sense of anticipation is keen: This would be my first wing shot, and the taste of last night's feast of pan-fried quail with sweet-potato casserole remains on my tongue.

Suddenly, a half-dozen birds burst from the turf like tracers, briefly moving in formation, then peeling off sharply in different directions. I freeze momentarily like a teenager catching a glimpse of his prom date, beset by a mixture of panic and awe. The safety on my rifle snags, and by the time I fire, it's too late. A puff of smoke disburses, and a few feathers flutter to the ground: My partner's #8 birdshot came close but failed to find the mark. We snap open our rifles to eject the empty cartridges and head back toward the horses. The compassion I felt for the pigeon-sized creatures at the start of the hunt fades, replaced by respect for cunning and instinct, and the knowledge that I had been bested in one of mankind's oldest pursuits--putting dinner on the table.

"Don't feel bad," says R. Charles Loudermilk, chairman, president, and CEO of Aaron Rents, an Atlanta, GA-based furniture rental and sales operation and the host of the hunt. "I remember the first time I saw a covey rise, I was so surprised at the sight, and the sound of the wingbeat, that I didn't even get the gun up to shoot. I don't know of a hunter who doesn't get a tremendous thrill every time they get one."

There are 10 of us out in the field, friends and business associates of Loudermilk. We're kicking around on horseback on his 4,600-acre Woodhaven plantation near Coolidge, GA, about an hour's drive north of the Florida panhandle and an hour's flight southwest of Atlanta. Loudermilk bought most of the land in 1983 and has added several contiguous tracts over the years. The compound, which encompasses guest cottages, riding stables, a trap range with clay pigeons, and lakes stocked with largemouth bass, is available for private use only.

For some time, Loudermilk hunted in the area on leased land with a group of fellow Atlantans under the auspices of the Peachtree Rod and Gun Club. Having founded Aaron Rents in 1955 with a $500 loan, Loudermilk took the company public in 1982. With operations in 21 states and sales of $185 million in the fiscal year ended March 31, the company is the largest of its kind in the U.S.

"One of the main reasons for the IPO was to get some cash to buy this place," he says, surveying Woodhaven's rolling slopes and fields of peanuts, cotton, and winter wheat. The estate also is the base of his thriving cattle business, which features the hardy French Limousin breed. "None of the Peachtree boys could afford to buy a plantation," Loudermilk says. "If you're building a company, you continually invest and reinvest, and you never have any cash. I was 55 years old when we went public. I decided to enjoy life a little bit."

Wing shooting is a passion for Loudermilk, who says he's never done any other kind of hunting. Over the years, it has carried him to distant corners of the globe. He's pursued doves in South America, ducks in Denmark, and grouse in Scotland. "Going for Scottish grouse is really exotic," Loudermilk says. "There's lots of tradition involved. You shoot in a coat and tie and live in a manor house."

But Loudermilk finds the bobwhite quail in his native Georgia to be the toughest challenge of all. "They're probably the fastest bird I've hunted, so you have a very short time to shoot," he says. "With most other birds, you see them for some distance as you approach on foot, but with quail, they flush, and when they do, it's just a matter of seconds until it's over. And even though you're expecting the flush because of the point of the dog, you don't know quite where it's going to come from. It can come from right beneath your feet, or behind you, or from either side, or in front of you."

Despite the challenges, quail hunters have it relatively easy: While grouse hunters trudge through thick briars, and pheasant shooters often slosh around in swamps, most quail hunts take place on horseback or mule-drawn wagon with the participants only stepping down to pursue a point. Quail hunting long has been a rite of passage in the south. It was enjoyed by the founding fathers of the Confederacy, and often it is a pastime passed down from father to son. "My daddy taught me to shoot when I was growing up in Texas," says Ricky Thedford, Woodhaven's manager, who generally serves as master, or guide, of expeditions on the plantation. "Except we didn't have bird dogs. We'd kick them up ourselves along creek banks just by beating the brush."