Owning Your Own Place

There's something about it...privacy, freedom, a desire for what's best for the land and the animals that share it with you, a place to unwind - uninterrupted by phone or tv or visitors, a place where you can watch weather happen and discover stars that have always been there, a place to build a fire, plant food plots, setup a feeder, thin brush, work on a fence, setup a blind, etc.  A place where you stop aging as long as you're there and where you can watch nature as it happens, as you become part of the landscape.

In Texas, leases are very expensive and even when available, are often filled on the basis of who you know.  Land leases generally from $10-30/acre but I have a friend that pays $50/acre.  It all depends on location, animals available, if it is year-round, etc.  There are usually lots of rules and you never know when the price will go up or the lease will be withdrawn.

 Owning recreational land can be a great investment, beyond the financial perspective.  There is something very gratifying about hunting your property.  You become so familiar with it that little details are noticed, like which trees produce the most acorns, patterns of the local animals, and the instantaneous recognition of an animal from a bush in the dark....because you know where every bush is. I am not fortunate enough to own a big property, and so like many others here, I have to bring the animals to me as I cannot pursue them too long before I am off my property.  The most effective deer/hog/turkey/exotic attractor is a corn feeder.  I totally understand those that dismiss this as a crutch, unfair, etc and I say "when in Rome..."

To be fair, I do stretch my legs on National Forests outside of Texas, usually every year, pursuing game animals and I enjoy the chase, but I am relegated to bringing animals to me in Texas.  Most corn feeders take a little loving care and maintenance and, of course, expensive corn and batteries, to keep running.  But having an idea of the animals available in a setting that produces highly accurate shots ensures quick kills of select animals.  I spend a whole lot more time watching than shooting, sometime watching an animal or group of animals throughout an entire year as they live their lives undisturbed, for the most part. 

I've seen a fox's coat shimmering in the sun as it chases a grasshopper across a pasture, as the grasshopper's wings make the distinctive clicking noise zigzagging from spot to spot, until the fox finally catches it and chews it like a small child might chew beef jerky.  I've been entertained with two whitetail bucks pushing each other around while the does feed complacently nearby, almost ignoring the buck's battle.  I've laughed, watching does stand on their hind legs and box with each other for dominance.  I've learned that an axis doe can run off several whitetails, all by herself - thank you very much, for a few kernels of corn.  Around a feeder, I've seen a fallow buck deer run off pigs and pigs run off all other animals in their dominance.  I've watched a horned owl, almost too big for belief, drop out of a tree nearby and fly away with in complete silence - leaving me wondering if I was hallucinating when it disappeared.  I've watched Norther's blow in, in a lightning parade, from a hilltop that made me glad I was alive and feeling awful insignificant in the overall scheme of life.  I've been in winds so strong I wondered if I may leave my feet.  I've watched a fawn touch noses with a rabbit as it explored its world. 

Hunting Texas brings opportunity to be outside year-round - to see what the trees and grass look like for all seasons - not just the fall hunting season.  If selective, you can buy a small piece of property that produces opportunities at lots of animals at a price that will likely increase over time.  It will take making this a priority, as it it not inexpensive, but can be a great financial investment as well as a great place to build memories.  My advice if you choose to buy your own place is to look at many, many places and be patient - there will always be another place available on the market soon - don't compromise what you want.

Texas Spring Turkey

This was like any Texas Saturday morning except it was a Tuesday. Getting up before dawn knowing I would work until late evening to make up time for this hunt added weight to my body as I dragged myself from the bed. For me to carry out my plans, I had to think that very few folks today would get up and do what they wanted and this is what I wanted. I had a new shotgun with a new place to use it and I had made a 'nono' only two days before as i was runnin' and gunnin' to get on a drove a turkeys and somersaulted a hen out of the air in the Spring only a few days into the season. I had committed the cardinal sin already so all that was out of the way. As I was exploring this property I had confidence that a gobbler was around, as I had seen one and heard what I believe were 4 different gobblers. It was a beautiful, balmy, humid morning after a couple days of rain.

After arriving and stepping out of the truck, I was bombarded by large mosquitoes - the kind that have landing lights. I sprayed repellent all over my hat, neckerchief, shirt and pants and made the unbearable mistake of leaving the can in the truck...which I regretted that later.

I found my gear, decoy, and shells and was off for a walk in the twilight where a band of mosquitoes escorted me the entire way and my glasses were continually fogged up from my body heat. I noticed a large boar hog walking within 70 yards from me and I noted he was lucky I was not carrying my rifle.

Finally, after becoming drenched in sweat, I came to the place I had last seen turkeys at the intersection of 2 roads and set my decoy in the ground. The air almost dripped of water and every bush I passed, brought its attached mosquitoes to a swarm around my head. By the time I sat down under the designated bush, the air was alive with a swarm of buzzing noises and my glasses were so fogged, I had to remove them. I knew the pests would find holes in my armor as I sat in the dark contemplating why men do what they do.

Dawn came slow with the cloud cover...and as doves, quail and other birds began their morning talk, I listened for the talk of my quest to no avail. I gave a slow, quiet yelp and strained to hear over the mosquitoes: nothing. Light began to shine on my sparse blind and I carefully moved the few limbs lying on the ground around me while slowly squashing the bloodsuckers and trying to detect any incoming turkeys...I yelped quietly again in the windless morning.

After what seemed an eternity, at the far end of the sendero, appeared to be small piglets running around the corner - exactly what I did not need around at this time. I raised my binocs and noticed they were 3 small poults. Slowly I raised the side-by, armed with its 2 3/4" number 4's. The left barrel on the Winchester pigeon model 23 was cocked to fire and I held this position as the gobbler came around the corner. He dwarfed his small harem of three hens and their poults, markedly red and blue about the head, his feathers much blacker than the hens and when he strutted, he was 3 times their size. No bird made a peep - not a yelp, gobble, cluck or putt...all was silent except for the mosquito mass which had grown quite considerably as it enjoyed the liquid from my arms, legs, and head. But I dared not move, as the 3 hens passed within 10 yards looking at me rather suspiciously - lucky for me they were young. The gobbler slowly came from behind as he was in full strut approaching my decoy oblivious to the rest of the world. At 15 yards, I squeezed the trigger and he fell backwards as they do when well-hit, legs kicking but dead in his tracks.

I looked at my watch - 8:15...time to go home and get to work for the day. It seemed too easy but I gratefully accept this gift as I know few trips end with a mature, 9/5" bearded gobbler.

My First Turkey With a Pistol

Shortly after I purchased a .44, I received a phone call from a friend of mine in West Texas with too many turkeys to shake a stick at and he invited me over to give them a try.
I thought the turkey would be a great first animal to take with it, because it is none too hardy and I was unsure of the .44’s power on a tougher big game animal. I headed to the range with some .44 Specials to try since they would be more than sufficient for turkey. I was pleased with their lack of recoil – I could watch the bullets poke holes through the paper in the scope. But I also learned that point of impact at 50 yards was 10-12” low. This was unacceptable so I opted to shoot the .44 magnums at turkey.

I arrived at his camp around 2 pm and he quickly put me in the blind as dusk was soon to come.

This particular blind was about 12 feet off the ground, fully enclosed with windows 18” wide and 8” high to shoot through. These windows would be great for a rifle but were quite a challenge for a pistol. Balancing the bottom of the pistol’s frame on the windowsill would bump the scope against the top of the window from recoil. Resting the end of the barrel on the window sill caused the gun to be very unstable with nothing but my hand supporting the handle’s bottom. I created a solution by unfolding a second chair and using the back of that chair to support the handle on the pistol. Because room was limited, I guessed which window I might get a shot through and setup on the front window facing the feeder.
As soon as I had sort of figured out how I was going to take a shot, I looked up and the sky was black with what looked like silent B-52 bombers. They flew in from the West, dark blobs, featureless two-dimensional shapes contrasting against the orange/pinkish colored clouds. I had never seen the air filled with birds so large, so close. I’d been in the blind less than 30 minutes!
As they landed, they came down on the road in front and to the right of the blind. The turkeys in front of the blind hit the ground running towards the feeder, around 90 yards away. The ones to the right found the few kernels I had sprinkled earlier on the road. “Hmm, what now?” I thought. I eased the pistol up to the windowsill ever so slowly. The sunlight shone iridescently on the turkeys’ feathers as they moved about. There were so many of them. Eyes were everywhere, with all the birds either pecking kernels of corn or, with their heads upright, looking intently for any sign of a predator. Their big black bodies contrasted with the tannish-colored terrain so characteristic of the West Texas soil. Gobblers were easily distinguished from the hens at this distance owing to their increased height, reddish heads standing out from the blue-head hens and their small beards poking out of their breasts. I didn’t see any large toms, but to be honest, I wasn’t looking around a whole lot, as I was very focused on the 15-20 birds to the right of my blind. Of course, the “chair back rest” was set up on a different window entirely and moving the chair when the birds were this close was out of the question.

Finally, I got the pistol up on the windowsill and it seemed at this range, I couldn’t miss. I steadied the barrel’s end on the windowsill, and leaning my leg at a funny angle, managed to compose a somewhat steady aim to take the shot from. A large jake finally separated from the drove far enough to allow a shot. As I pulled the trigger, all the birds flopped up in the air and they traded places. Another jake landed where this jake had been, as I obviously missed. Before I could reflect on what had happened, the trigger was cocked and I was holding the pistol one-handed, steadying the pistol’s butt with my other hand. Now, I had never shot this pistol one-handed and was half expecting it to jump from my hand at the shot. However, I was going to take advantage of this second opportunity and if I had to literally shoot the pistol out of my hand in order to kill a turkey, that’s what I was going to do. Doubly focused, I squeezed the trigger in a relaxed grip until the boom surprised me, the pistol reared my wrist to a 90 degree motion, but remained in my hand. The jake flopped clumsily out of the road behind a cedar bush and the drove had obviously had enough and left as quick as they had come.
Quickly I scurried down the ladder, hit the ground and barreled for the cedar that had swallowed my turkey. On the back side, I found him, lifeless. I literally jumped up and down on the ground, doing a solo celebration for my first big game animal taken with a .44 pistol. More importantly, I discovered that I could re-experience the “firsts” of hunting – my first turkey, my first doe, my first hog, my first buck, etc. I was also thankful for a second shot and doubly thankful that it had connected, knowing how important confidence was in hunting. Imagining how I would have felt if I had missed that second shot, made me all the more grateful for taking this animal. We had fried turkey breast that night for supper, my bullet having severed his neck above the breast, missing the meat completely. And it was delicious.

The First .44 Pistol Success

I was easing out of the ground blind under the small live oak grove in the darkness after scanning the entire perimeter for any movement or new additions of game. Through my Zeiss binoculars, it appeared that all was quiet and a trip through the small meadow, back to the cabin would not disturb any game. As I hinged the door close, I glanced towards the feeder 90 yards away and immediately noted a black blob on the yellowish ground directly underneath the feeder, that had been noticeably absent thirty seconds ago. It seems that hogs appear at the exact moment darkness blacks out your crosshairs. Hurriedly, I cocked the hammer and held it back with my thumb as I covered fifty yards in seconds. Being new to pistol hunting, I wasn’t sure what to do next. I tried to lie prone and quickly discovered the grass was too high to shoot through. Out of determination more than anything else, I tiptoed towards the small herd of pigs (I had counted 7 now) until I was 15 yards away from them. They greedily fought over the remaining kernels that the deer left behind and snapped their jaws at each other, all the time grunting and growling, having no idea I was there. I held my pistol firmly with both hands and noticed I could see crosshairs only when panning the scope across the open field. Whenever I held the scope still, the crosshairs vanished. I panned the scope from the field and stopped the scope over the closest pig’s chest estimating where the crosshairs should be. As I squeezed the trigger, the muzzle’s flame eliminated my night vision, pigs squealed and hooves thundered on the cold, bare earth and I wondered what I would do if one of the pigs was to run up my leg. I stood silently, listening to the labored breathing of a pig, as he seemingly was walking directly away from me with each breath growing quieter. I took inventory…I had a small flashlight able to light only a few yards ahead of me. I had a wounded pig crawling down in a dry creek bed in the company of a surprised, disoriented band of buddies, looking to average between 100 and 150 pounds apiece. It had now grown pitch black and I could not see anything in front of me without a light. I tried to remember what type of health coverage I had and wondered how I’d gotten into this predicament. Then I recall wanting to hunt pigs with a handgun…

As I read about the subject, I observed that the .44 Remington Magnum began the recommended list of handgun firepower to hunt deer or hogs with (this was before the .41 magnum had the bullets available that it now has). I studied the various models, and consulting my father, being a Smith and Wesson fan, he suggested the S&W 629. He liked the trigger’s smoothness and the precision of the cylinder. He recommended a long barrel, for recoil and noise reduction. I came upon a 629 with an 8 ¾” barrel and a 1.25X4 Tasco scope and decided to give it a try. The 629 model is a double-action revolver, basically the same as a model 29, except with satin stainless steel and hogue grips. My particular pistol had a full lug out to the end of the barrel and an unfluted cylinder, which adds weight, always important when dealing with recoil. When placing the pistol on a solid rest and turning the scope to 4X, it was good to go. Imagining taking game with this rig was not hard to do. Just put the crosshairs on the animal, squeeze the trigger and “wha-la” – the hunt is over. I began contemplating that perhaps this was the same as rifle hunting and may not prove as challenging as I first thought. I laugh at the naivety of that thought now.

Elmer Keith is probably responsible for the development of the .44 Remington Magnum caliber more than any other individual. With his many articles, books and letters on the .44 Special, he gained a special following and urged the ammunition companies to load the .44 to his specifications. Eventually, Remington and Smith & Wesson combined forces in 1955 to produce the first .44 Magnum loading and the Smith & Wesson .44 Magnum -- now known as The Model 29. The cartridge loads a 240-grain bullet moving at 1,400 fps. I’m appreciative of Elmer’s efforts and the time he put in to help create it. It is a joy to hunt with and using it is like learning to hunt all over again. I find myself leaving the rifle behind on hunts now with friends looking at me like I’m a little crazy. When telling stories involving yardages beyond 80 yards, my listeners marvel that a pistol has that kind of accuracy! Initially, I put off buying one, mainly due to cost and the learning curve of using one. I wasn’t sure how well I’d like it and thought it may cost me opportunities that, had I had a rifle, I could have taken advantage of. But after taking a fair amount of game with a rifle, I was eager to expand my adventures. So the idea of shooting a hog with a pistol grew inside me until finally it was time to take action. I rationalized that if I hunted with a pistol outside of deer season for hogs with my pistol, it couldn’t cost me a shot at a deer. If it cost me a shot at a hog, (if it was too far or whatever), I was ok with that.

I had decided to hunt during deer season for the prospect of shooting a pig. Everything I’d done before with a rifle I had to relearn with this pistol. Here I was, in complete darkness now, holding the cold steel of the frame in my hands, my ears ringing from the shot, still standing in the spot where I’d pulled the trigger with my eyes closed trying to hurry their night vision back, replaying the image of what had just transpired, trying to determine where the bullet had gone. Calmness overtook me as I inhaled deeply and felt more alive than I had for some time. I smiled at the uncertainty of it all – the slight hint of danger, the being out here in the middle of nowhere, the fact that this hunt wasn’t over, the idea of taking on pigs on their ground in the dark. I formulated a plan: I’d rendezvous with dad at the cabin, obtain a large, bright flashlight and come back to this spot to begin the tracking process. By then, the pig should have plenty of time to succumb to the bullet’s damage, if it was properly placed. Ten steps later I almost tripped over the stone dead pig. Then, as a missing piece of the puzzle transforms the final picture, I imagined the sow laying on her side heaving her last breaths, laboring to bring in enough air as the blood filled her lungs, each breath growing quieter, seemingly farther away. Again, I smiled as I saw the bullet had been placed squarely in her shoulder and had penetrated her body. I holstered my pistol and made my way back the cabin, now illuminated by the propane lantern hanging underneath the overhanging shed. As I descended into the dry creek bed, the temperature dropped noticeably. I gingerly stepped on the rock bed, trying not to click the rocks too noisily. I headed towards the hilltop cabin, knowing my father would be waiting for me. Each step brought me further up the incline and 300 yards later as I approached the cabin, the temperature was at least 20 degrees warmer from the creek bottom. Dad smiled, “Did you get a big buck?” with his eyes magically full of life and hope.
“No, I shot a big sow pig, underneath the feeder” I bragged.
“Wow, that was a late shot – I’m surprised you could see to shoot”.
“I couldn’t – that’s what made it exciting. Whenever I stopped moving my crosshairs across the field, they disappeared, so I imagined where they’d be on the pig and pulled the trigger. I had to get within 20 yards to make the shot.”
“You shot him offhand?”
“Yeah”
“Where’d you hit ‘im?”
“Let’s go get her and I’ll show you”.
“OK – let’s go”, he said as he grabbed his flashlight and cleaning knife and headed towards the truck.
As we drove down the hill and made our way towards the pig, he gave me a blow-by-blow account of his evening and what he’d seen. We pulled up to the feeder and couldn’t make the pig out.
“Where is he?” dad queried, sounding almost as if he thought the pig had gotten up and trotted off.
“Over here” I muttered as I opened the door and walked towards the pig. The pig was still warm against the cold night air. As I took a knife to it with dad holding the light, I thought how tender and clean the last pork I tasted was from an animal taken here. Underneath its tough hide and 2” layer of fat, lay the “other white meat”, a most succulent, appetizing, satisfying strip of meat.
“Looks like she’s in good shape”, dad mentioned at the sight of the fat.
“Yep, she should eat good”, I mentioned as I finished taking the back straps.
After boning out the hams, and putting the trash bag full of meat into the ice chest, we made our way back to the cabin.
“You’ve really come a long way with that pistol fast” dad mentioned, capping my accomplishment of taking a pig with a pistol, one of my long-standing dreams. We enjoyed the backstraps throughout the weekend for lunch and supper meals.

An October Night Hunting Adventure

A thunderstorm loomed on the horizon as lightning flickered in the distance, illuminating the sky and the surroundings unpredictably.  The air hung in heavy moisture as mosquitoes buzzed and  sweat rolled down my forehead, burning my eyes.  Clouds drifted in front of the the full moon darkening the landscape until the moon shone through the break in the clouds.  I longed to stop what I was doing to appreciate the unique weather this night but was too engrossed in stalking the lone hog, as it fed and trotted around, never remaining still.  As I placed my feet gingerly on the path toward the pig, I could not detect any wind, concerned it would smell me as I was within 70 yards and soaked wet from perspiration.  The clouds blocked the moon again and I stole a few quick steps in the darkness, until I approached a bush in my path.  My goal was to move to the far side of the bush, to put me in the range of 40 yards - the closer, the better.  Lightening flickered again and allowed me to steal a peek at where to put my next few steps, avoiding the cactus and small rocks that click loudly in the still night. Suddenly, the clouds parted as if someone turned up the lights...I knew the clouds may block the moonlight and stay with the storm rolling in.  I decided this was the moment, even though I was farther than what I wanted to be.  I shouldered the rifle waiting for the broadside shot.  Finally, it came.  The hog stopped to look up and I squeezed the trigger.  Hearing the pig grunt as it dashed across the open field.  I purposely held still, replaying the scene in my mind trying to guess where the wounded pig would run,  double-checking I had subconsciously worked the bolt to reload the chamber and drying the sweat from my eyes.  I took a moment to stand awe of the lightning storm heading my way.  Realizing rain may soon move in and wipe out any blood trail, I walked over and found a trickle of blood and followed it for 10 yards when it disappeared and with a guess, started towards the creek.  I scanned the area with my flashlight finding nothing so I backtracked to the last spot I had seen a drop of blood and stood, shining the flashlight from various angles trying to find the next clue. Hooves thrashed nearby and I dismissed them as deer running off.  The wind started and I became aware that any moment the blood trail may be washed away.  Urgently, I looked for the next drop of blood to no avail and heard the hooves thrashing again.   Then it dawned on me - the pig I shot was on his side nearby kicking his legs.  I moved in the general direction and stopped waiting for the next noise.   The hooves thrashed again and I moved closer, shining the light and the rifle in the general direction through the darkness.  Finally, I found it down and raised the rifle to shoot it again from 15 yards.  After the second shot, amazingly, it stood up and took two steps before falling over a final time.

Finally, I relaxed and felt proud of pursuing this to the end, in the dark night, by myself at the seemingly dead end blood trail.  I bought this .35 Whelen because of its knockdown power and mild recoil, knowing that pigs are rarely still and are usually seen in questionable shooting light and any extra measure of power is appreciated.  As I stripped the meat from the pig, I explored my bullet path and discovered the first shot had been a good one, penetrating both shoulders and lodging in the far side of the hide.  I wonder how this not-too-big of a pig traveled 80 yards after the initial shot.