The Sportsman's Journal

2007

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3/31/2007

HUNTING AFTER 55

Just drug in from a day of pig hunting. The guide WAS going to call last night to say that with the full moon, pigs were not coming out until evening. But he didn't so I was up at 4 and at the ranch gate at 6. We walked and glassed all morning. Mucho deer but no piggies. So after lunch he has a brain-fart to go get his dogs (back in Windsor) and be back by 4. He has shown me the videos on his camera of all the pigs killed at the ranch in the last 2 weeks accompanied by the pile of heads and hides up at yon "Skinin' Shack". So he leaves at 1 and I go out on foot in search of slumbering swine. At 3:15 I am glassing the ridge about 3/4 mile away and see a sow and piglets emerge from the jungle followed by a right stout boar. With the first part of "spot 'n stalk" finally accomplished, I proceed to step 2. Unfortunately there lies a chasm of perilous dimensions between me and said swine. The well calculated stalk took almost 2 painful hours. At the last I am crawling on hand and knees under a low canopy of brush and poison oak. I can hear the soft, gentle grunts of the sow...judging her proximity at 30 yards. I am now wishing for a bayonet mounted on the Mannlincher. Quietly, but finally freeing myself from the prone to the upright position... I find... nothing. The pod of pork has R-U-N-N-O-F-T. No sound... just vanished. Ghost pigs." When pigs can fly" came into focus. Que lastima! At this point I am rag-doll tired with a 2 mile hoof uphill back to camp. Physically unable to continue the pursuit with the guide and dogs, I call truce and retire at 6:30.

Tomorrow may dawn bright with aching mussels renewed... or not. Guide and I will decide tomorrow it we fly another swine sortie Sunday afternoon with the dog of hell.

And for this suffering I paid a handsome fee... and loved every minute of it! But God, I am tired now.........................

9/9/2007

ANXIOUSLY AWAITING

Christ, this is worse than the week before Santa arrives when you are 7. And it is going to get worse after the grapes are picked, the truck is packed and I have to wait until Pam is on the horizon before I can boil out of here like a scalded dog! Bringing up the '06, .243, 30-30, .357 pistola... and maybe the buffalo rifle.

Food wise, I'm bringing pre-made, chicken enchiladas, stew, fajitas meat, persimmon bread, smoked fish, mussels, 1 1/2 tons of eggs, burger meat, apricot jam, olives, pate Foie d'Oie, and anything else I can think of. If you bring your usual, we should be fine. Itchy will again bring a bag of fetid and rotted gadwalls to do his "duck boats".

Am hoping to break from hunting at some point and kayak fish Alamanor sometime during our adventure.

Chester weather calls for showers and t-storms possible Fri-Sun of opening weekend. Yahoo!!

Brother Pete was threatening to come up to be our "Camp chef" but after realizing that we were going for extended stays and therefore he would have to drive up and back himself, he opted out... for the best me thinks...

10/1/2007

CLARENCE AND THE TEST

Well, yesterday deer season at the cabin closed. I hunted 14 days out of the 16 day season and did not find a buck. Others did and took home meat. I logged about 60-70 miles on foot looking for that buck... for 14 days and did not find him." Luck" is the intersection of opportunity and preparedness. I was prepared but did not collide with opportunity. So, this morning in the rain, we closed up the ol' cabin for the winter and headed home. After unloading the car and having the evening high-ball with Pam, Sparky and I went down through the vineyard to feed the horses about a quarter to seven. Returning to the house, I glanced down the 5th vineyard row from the house. Twenty five yards away was a buck... lying in the row and looking at me. Sparky did not notice and we continued to the house where upon I franticly unpacked my .22 mag rifle and dug a full clip out of the FJ.

Leaving Sparky in the house but with Pam in tow, I returned to row 5. The buck lay there looking at me... at 25 yards... 75 feet. All focus is on the antlers. Both were clearly spikes... of nice size, as was the deer. Sight bead on the side of his head now. One shot, over and done... Pam, from behind says "shoot him". He is a spike. It dawns on me that this is all a damn test from Clarence! Not only a guardian angle with a wicked sense of humor, but he also serves as a constant testor of moral fortitude. Lower the rifle, buck trots away. Knot in the stomach... woulda, coulda...(shoulda??).

I tracked him out into the vineyard and came down on another easy shot at him... but again could not. Guess it comes down to more than the meat and the competition to score. Guess Clarence was right.

Wonder if he'll send a forked horn tomorrow?

November 17, 2007

SPORTSMAN'S FIRST TURK

And what more "Pilgramatic" way to approach the Thanksgiving Day Celebration than a Turkey hunt? This morning I left the house at 6:30, picked up the next door neighbor and drove a whole quarter of a mile to the adjoining 100 acre ranch in search of the wily fowl. Warm fog off the ocean gave the morning a mystic appearance. As daybreak approached, turkeys... lots of turkeys, began sounding off from the trees across a small lake. We approached cautiously and split up. I began conversations with my " Lynch's World Champion Turkey Call". Having little knowledge of talking turkey, I listened and tried to repeat what the birds in the treetops a hundred yards away were saying. One by one they flew to the other side of the lake.. Regrouping, we backtracked and continued our pursuit. Now alerted to our presents, the flock of 40 to 50 Thanksgiving dinners took to the air and returned to the far side of the pond, this time landing on terra-firma rather than the treetops. In stealth pursuit, we follow. hearing their calls, I crawled up a steep hill and peered around an old oak. Through the fog I see turkey heads! The turks see my head! All the world comes to a standstill. Realizing I have been made, action must be taken before the dinosaurs vanish. A victim is quickly selected, the shotgun roars, all hell breaks loose, and the prize is mine! Back at the jeep, bird in hand, I look at my watch...one hour has elapsed. What a country!