June 25th - A New Shooting Range

June – 25 A New Shooting Range

Sig 239 in 9mm Luger (My "Carry" gun)

Ruger Vaquero in .45 Long Colt (My OMFG this is too fun to shoot!!!  and my sidearm when I'm in the back country)

The other week was Father’s Day and I got a pass to head over to the range and practice with my handguns.  As you may remember from last weeks blog, a few hundred other people with a similar interest thwarted my attempt. 

This last weekend my wife and I made a compromise.  She had discovered a new bakery in Newport Beach she wanted to try out....we both had discovered a new range in North Orange County I wanted to try out.  The place is called Field Time Target and Training and, from what I understand they’ve been open for about a month.

Perfect.

Back into the shooting bag went my Ruger Vaquero .45 long colt and my 9mm luger Sig Sauer 239, and off we went in search of bread and bullets!

(God that sounds corny)

Anyhow Field Time Target turned out to be busy,…but no where near as crowded as I had experienced last Father’s Day.  Since this range has just opened I had a bit of an epiphany as we signed in:

This range is very nice…not in the nicest neighborhood…but a very very nice facility.  It is clean, modern, designed with a “high end” feel and comfortable.  I noticed this, because it is unusual for a shooting range.  Fellow shooters:….we want…hell…need new shooters to enter the sport…why do we build ranges that look like men’s clubs for a good ol’ boys network?  Along the same line…we all know that women make up the largest growing segment of our sport…why don’t we make ranges that are as inviting to them as well?  This range that my wife and I went to was a major step in the right direction and kudos to them!

Now as to my shooting!

I suck.

Sig Target

Ruger Vaquero Target

Well, maybe "suck" is too strong a word.  

I’ve never been shy about admitting that I am more of a rifleman than a pistol shooter.  Part of the reason for this is that I just don’t practice enough with a pistol.  When I hear of police officers or CCW holders that only go to the range every few months a chill goes down my spine.  I know how badly my skills degrade when I don’t practice regularly (as can be seen in the pics).  People who carry guns in public really need to be able to shoot a hell of a lot better than I do!

Anyhow…I also thought you might be interested in seeing what goes into the cleaning of these bad boys.  

The first thing we need to do is break these guys down :

Wow...I'm not sure what is more intimidating...the gun put together or broken apart!

That's it?!?!

The same methods are used to clean the pistols as we use to clean rifles.  Solvents, brass brushes, oil and love. 

It is during this exercise that I get to think back on the shooting and figure out what I need to do to improve.   

The targets show a preponderance of impacts to the left and south of the target.  This does not indicate poor sight alignment…it indicates poor shooting and mashing the trigger.  I need to slow down on each shot and concentrate on pulling the trigger straight back.  I also need to focus on my breathing.  Those outlier shots are either the result of flinching, (of which I am guilty) or pressing on the trigger while I’m still exhaling.  Either way, I need to work on eliminating them. 

With the guns reassembled and back in the safe its time to head over to Newport and the new bakery. Hopefully the Artisans that have just opened up this new bistro have the same luck that this new gun range seems to be experiencing!      

June 20th- Catalina

June – 20^th  

Carolyn (my daughter) on the left and Laura Beth on the right...this was Laura's first hunt on her own without her father.

Every so often being at the right place at the right time pays dividends.  Usually…sadly… this does not apply to me.  Occasionally the stars align and things do work out though.

This story starts in tragedy.  But first a prelude:

Catalina island is a small chunk of real estate twenty six miles off the Southern California coast.  It has a small city on the southern end called Avalon that pretty much exists for weekend tourists.  Beyond a couple of tiny settlements to the north, the island exists as a place for boy scouts to camp and wealthy boat owners to use as an excuse for an overnight destination. 

It was not always like this though.  The Wrigleys (yeah the gum people) once owned the island and used its lack of fauna as a fertile ground for some bio experimentation.  They imported white tail and mule deer as well as bison to the island and let them run wild.   The bison kept to themselves, but the deer inter-bred and created a unique hybrid. 

Bison on the hill side.

With no natural predators on the island the Wrigleys offered hunts to keep the deer numbers in check.

The state of California got control of the place a number of years ago and continued the tradition of game management through carefully controlled, and down right expensive hunts on the island.

Now to the tragedy…

A few years back a wild fire decimated the island.  From the mainland we could see the smoke plumes and most of us hunters wondered about the impact on the deer and bison population.

Well…the bison were basically rounded up like cattle and were ok.  The deer did not fare so well.  About three quarters of their habitat was destroyed and there were serious questions as to whether or not their numbers would survive the winter.

Our hunting club was contacted and an offer was made that we just couldn’t refuse.  If we were willing to fill our tags on does…and the first doe we saw…no “trophy” hunting.  The Catalina Conservancy would house us, feed us and guide us for a weekend…FOR FREE!

Since at the time this hunt normally went for around five grand this was a deal that just couldn’t be passed up.

My daughter and I signed up on the spot, and we “recruited” a couple of other hunters as well.  The icing on the cake was that Laura Beth Buck, the daughter of a friend of mine, and a gal about seven years older than my daughter Carolyn would be coming along on her first “solo” hunt without her father.

We all met up at our house and headed off to the boat dock in Long Beach to head over to the island on the commuter ferry. 

Carolyn found an instant comrade in Laura Beth, and Laura was thrilled to now be the teacher and no longer the student.  The two of them hunted together, each taking two nice does. 

I just dig this picture...so I figured I'd post it again!

I was the first hunter to connect…actually spotting a  doe, (it would turn out to be the largest of the weekend) on our way to the make shift range to site in our rifles.  A quick neck shot at seventy five yards filled 50% of my bag limit and we really hadn’t even started hunting.

The terrain was varied.  Rugged chaparral hills. Some in good condition…others blackened with soot.  The deer ranged from small, but healthy…to flat out emaciated and on the verge of starvation. 

We did our job, along with a handful of other hunters and brought the deer numbers down.  Within two years the herd was healthy again and (unfortunately) the price of hunting the island has returned to the pre-fire levels.

Sitting around the campfire and watching Laura Beth and Carolyn inter-act told me something: The era of hunters being exclusively men was over (as if it ever really existed at all).  These two ladies of two different generations were passionate about hunting and protecting and conserving our environment.  These huntresses were and are the future of our sport.

I'm the one in the foreground...looking the wrong way...

June 18th - A Good Sign

June 18^th,

A good sign.

This past Sunday was Father’s Day.  As per our usual routine each Father’s Day in our house I get certain privileges and immunities that do not necessarily carry forth to other days of the year.

Chief among them is the ability to set our agenda for the day.  Normally I choose to be conservative with my temporary dictatorial powers.  The fact is, there are still chores to be done, and errands to be run.  My wife encourages me to forgive these deadlines for a week, but being magnanimous I choose not to.  The knowledge that I could ignore them is enough of a gift.

This year my wife and kids bought me a new watch.  It is beautiful, but sized to fit a gorilla.  It would need to have the band adjusted before I could consider wearing it.  We decided that we would run by the mall where they had purchased it at the end of our errands to have it resized. 

As we left the mall in the early afternoon and headed home, our route took us by the local indoor gun range.  This is a nice facility, but one I really don’t frequent all that often.  I am a member at an outdoor private range about an hour south of us.  Since I am really more of a rifleman than a pistol aficionado I need a range that allows me to shoot at least 100 yards.  Indoor ranges (well most indoor ranges) are limited to 25 yard shooting distances. 

Occasionally though I have to confront the reality that I’m really not that good of a pistol shot, and require some remedial practice.   When I have the epiphanies I head over to the far more convenient air conditioned indoor range.

Don’t get me wrong….I love pistol shooting…and I have a handful of them in my safe.  It’s just that shooting for me is part of my hunting activity, and I don’t hunt with handguns.  I know I’m a pretty good rifle shot…and ummm…well…a not so great pistol shot…and for some reason I tend to go with my strengths and slight the areas that need work.

All that said, when we left the mall and I saw the shooting range I had an idea.  Today I would use my Father’s Day pass.  This was a perfect opportunity to get some pistol shooting in and not feel guilty about intruding on “family time”. 

When we got home I quickly gathered together my shooting supplies, and my Sig 229 semi-automatic (9mm lugar) and my absolutely beautiful Ruger Vaquero 45 Long Colt Single Action Revolver…..(Yeah….I really do love that one!)

My Sig 229 and my Ruger Vaquero 

When I arrived back at the range I was greeted by something I was not prepared for.

People!

Hundreds of them!

This range has 25 lanes to shoot from, and they were completely filled.  What’s more the lobby was packed with people waiting upwards of 3 hours for an empty lane.  During this waiting time people were milling around the lobby, and BUYING GUNS AT THE COUNTER!!!  The range had at least five people working their gun sales counter and three of them were filling out background check papers for customers.

Well…I clearly was not going to get a chance to shoot.  (I still had a Father’s Day dinner to attended in a couple of hours).

I headed back to my truck and was pulling out of the parking lot when one of the employees came out a side door to empty some trash.  We made eye contact and I rolled down my window:

“Is it always this busy?”

“This is a little unusual…probably Father’s Day and all….normally it is only a half hour wait on the weekends.”

I smiled. 

There are enough shooters to warrant a wait at the local range. 

That is a good sign.    

June 14th - Meat

June 14^th

Bison patties.  My youngest daughter Chaney hunted a bison back in January of 2012..... Tonight the meal is on her!

Ah the things I’ve eaten.

As a hunter there is a moral imperative to consume what you have harvested.  Well…at least there is for me.  That said,  I will be the first to admit this is a sliding scale….I might “Hunt” a rat with a trap or shoot a coyote that is destroying livestock…both animals that I would have no intention of consuming.

Still, when I hunt the end result is usually a freezer full of protein, and a wardrobe full of skins and fur.

(Antlers, horns and skulls go on the walls)

Being married to a gourmet cook has its advantageous as well.

Most hunters rely on a crock pot and some seasoning to make “deer tacos”.  I get some truly exotic creations that far exceed the culinary repertoire of the fying pan or microwave oven.    

Sandy, (my wife) took to my sport with an enthusiasm a husband can only dream of.  Once the meat hits the freezer is ceases being “my deer” and becomes hers.  She has produced amazing entrees with what some would say are truly bizarre meats.  One of the chief tools in her arsenal is the cast iron pots and skillets.  These she wields as an artist, mixing sauces and spices to recreate traditional dishes designed for wild game, to more elegant concoctions replacing the recipes call for Beef or Chicken with whatever exotics happen to be in the freezer.

Sandy's weapons.  (I blacksmithed the pot rack...so I get some credit here)

I made this coffee...the extent of my cooking talents...though I did drink it while watching Sandy cook.

A partial list of our culinary adventures:

·   Deer (of course)

·   Elk

·   Moose

·   Bison

·   Rabbit (you would be amazed at what can be done to these guys)

·   Antelope

·   Muskox

·   Bear (hands down one of my favorite)

·   Pheasant

·   Chuckar

·   Duck

·   Snow Goose

·   Wild boar

·   Goat

·   Impala

·   Wildebeest

·   Nyala

·   Zebra

·   Oryx

Wild game has a taste far richer and deeper than domestically raised meats.  One of the chief benefits of consuming wild game is the knowledge that what you have on your plate is the ultimate in free range.  That said…what excites me the most is knowing that an employee of the pharmaceutical industry had no hand in fatting up our filets or speeding up their aging process in an effort to get them to market quicker.

When I eat an elk, I’m eating an Elk….not the US food industries' idea of what an elk should look and taste like.

I remember the first time I took a wild boar and watched as my guide skinned it.  What surprised me was how deep and red the muscle was.

“I thought a pig was white meat”, I said while inspecting the shoulder muscles.

“It is, once the food color people get to it and color it white.” My guide said, splitting the boars’ pelvic bone.

What the hell?

Now I’m not one to put on my tie-dyed shirt and Birkenstocks and start rallying against the evil corporate food interests.  Most people outsource their killing to professionals who find it far easier to process their quarry with fattened confined domestic animals.  

Ok, I get it…it’s more efficient and ultimately cheaper for the masses.  Delicates who like their filet mignons but don’t like to think that the cow was not thrilled about donating it, can dine once removed from the unpleasantness.

Still….colored meat???

Sorry…that just doesn’t sit right by me.   

June 12 - The people

My guide Kyle and his son Ben working hard on his ranch

June 12^th

“The rich are different…they are not like you and me”.

Ok…a little bit of a paraphrase from F. Scott Fitzgerald, but it does serve to make a point. 

This blog entry is not however about the “rich”….it is about the people that, for the most part fall outside that vague gilded sphere. 

This is about the “rural”.

Their wealth is immeasurable.  They may not have monetized their holdings in the crass traditional sense.  They bank their wealth in the bonds of their friends and neighbors and yield dividends that far surpass the shrewdest commodity investor.  And yes….they are not like you and me…. they are vastly superior in so many subtle ways.

I grew up in the heavily sanitized suburban environments of Southern California in the ’70s and ‘80s.  For us, outdoor exploration involved scrambling up the grated dirt hills of a recently sterilized subdivision.  Inroads to the wild were the still gleaming black cul-de-sacs that dotted the edge of “civilization”.  Surrounding these were 6000 square foot mesas resting side by side awaiting concrete slabs and roll out lawns that developers would slap together to meet the growing populations demands.  These vanguards of the middle class pushed the boundaries of the untamed wilds back further and further, displacing anything resembling wild game, laying the path for thousands of families and a “better way of life”.

Occasional trips to the neighborhoods of the outliers….people who lived on the outskirts of mentionable society…in the rural farmlands, were like trips to developing countries.  It mattered not “who” they were….they were “the others”.  Families that had not mired  themselves into debt to “move up”.  Families that were more invested in the land, than their 401K.  Clearly they were the downwardly mobile.  A way of life to be avoided.  Study hard! Go to college! Get a degree…any degree!  Live in the most compact urban zip code possible…that was the pathway to success! 

Ok…snobbery rubs off,…I was a snob.  This is what I had learned from those around me.  From the media, from popular culture in general.  There were two Americas!  The West Coast…the East Coast made up the first…everything else that existed between the two was the hinterland. 

Then I started hunting.

This brought me into contact with guides that actually lived in these “other” places.  Along with them I met their families, their friends and neighbors, and often the people that lived in “town” near their hunting operations. 

I noticed something early on:  These people were…well…people.

They were both more “human” and “humane” than I was.  They lived with a code of honor and acceptance of others that far exceeded the garish caricatures that we in the suburbs or the snobs of Hollywood had crafted for them. 

We were compartmentlists and  our subjects and rejected their boxes. 

I remember on my bear hunt we were relaxing around a campfire when two “neighbors” of our guide wandered into camp.  Before introductions were complete my guide had given them some of our venison in case they ran low on food.  They reciprocated with a six pack of beer.  This trading of goods elicited “thanks”…but it was perfunctory…the generosity was  expected…it was the way things were done.

In New Mexico, My guide was in the process of skinning my buffalo when a neighbor showed up with a few bales of hay.  Apparently he was in the “neighborhood” the previous week and noticed that my guides other neighbor, (who was in the hospital) had run out of hay for his small herd of cattle.  Not wanting to make a forty mile trip back home he came on my guides ranch…looked for my guide who was not home….took a few bales of hay for the other neighbor..fed the cows…then headed off to his own ranch.  Now it was time to head back and replace the hay that he had “stolen”…along with some lumber to add to my guides’ wood pile that the good Samaritan had noticed near a work project.  Again, the act was met with a “matter of factness”….My guide offered him some coffee as the two talked about the goings on of their ranches.  This was the way things just “were”.

In Africa I noticed a level of ethics that existed between my white professional hunter (PH) and the Zulus that worked for him as trackers and skinners.  They were less employer / employee and more family.  After a few days I mentioned to him that the level of dignity and respect that existed between everyone far transcended the racial divides that exist between us suburbanites and the immigrants that wash our cars and mow our lawns back home.  This was all the more surprising since I had grown up on a steady diet of anti-apartheid messages.  South Africa was the bane of society.  Whites and Blacks were mortal enemies with the whites decidedly on the wrong side of history.  This was not what I saw.

My guide explained that in the city..specifically Johannasburg…that dichotomy might be correct.  He wouldn’t know…he avoided the city like the plague.  Out in the bush where he lived no one could afford to be a jack ass.  Their very survival was dependant on the next fellow.  It mattered not  what the color of the persons skin was, or the size of his bank account.  What mattered was the quality of the person…and weather they would be there for the other when  “being there” mattered most.  That was how a person was judged…that is what was “expected”.

There are many “lessons” learned from hunting.  Not all of them have anything to do with the pursuit of game.

My PH Ally, his assistant PH and two of his Zulu trackers.

May 6th - Father / Daughter Bear Hunt

May 6^th

Father / Daughter Bear Hunt

Ummm....I'm the one behind my daughter.

When Carolyn was twelve years old I took her on her first hunt.  Going with what I knew…which at the time was minimal I admit…I booked her on a wild boar hunt at Tejon Ranch.  After what ended up being a fairly tough hunt she got her boar and immediately asked me to book her on another hunt.  She would have been happy doing a boar hunt again, but I figured it was time to move onto another animal. 

As we headed home with her boar in the ice chest I asked her what animal she would like to take next.

Bear.

Ok…time to hunt something that can bite back!

After doing some research I settled on a guide in Northern California that ran bear hunts near Mt. Shasta.  He used dogs to tree the bears or bay them up so this was going to be a unique experience for the both of us….up to this point in my life I had never hunted over dogs.

The use of dogs in hunting bears is both practical as well as ethical.  The dogs initially scent the bear and head off after it.  The bear, fearful of the dogs will take the high road and climb a tree to wait them out.  Once the hunter arrives she can glass the bear and decide if it is mature enough to be taken…or more importantly if it is a female…without any cubs.  Often times it will turn out that the bear is too small, or a nursing mother and the hunters and dogs will leave to go find another bear.  This selection process helps ensure a healthy bear population.  In fact,…since this practice was first implemented in California and our bear population began being managed through the North American Game Management Model, our bear populations have gone from almost terminal extinction to a healthy sustainable number.

Unfortunately, the use of dogs seems to offend the urban dwellers of California.  From the wild backlands of San Francisco and Los Angeles people who are more familiar with pavement and manicured shrubs seem to want to set environmental policy for those wild lands that they see occasionally on the Discovery Channel.  Currently there is legislation making its way through the state legislature that will make hunting bears with dogs illegal.  If passed the only way to effectively hunt bears will be over bait, or through spot and stock.  This will result in more cubs being left orphaned and succumbing to other predators, as well as a reduction in the numbers of successful hunters.  All the gains we have made in developing and growing those bear populations will be erased, and I predict in the span of a few short years we will once again see the California Black Bear numbers plummet.

But, back to my story..

Carolyn and I headed up to Mt. Shasta, where we met our guide Mike Smith and his dogs.  He took us to his semi permanent campsite in the National Forest and set a camp fire for us.  The next morning would be our hunt.  Neither Carolyn or I knew what was in store!

At sun up Mike had us saddle up in the truck along with the dogs.  Well actually the dogs were tied too the truck!  A couple on the roof, one on the hood, and the rest in the truck bed.  Our friend on the hood stood ridged as we progressed along the mountain roads sniffing the air for a scent of our quarry.  After a couple of hours of making our way at five miles an hour, suddenly our “hood dog” started twitching and barking. 

We stopped, let him off, and watched him dart down the side of the mountain.  Mike released the other dogs and within seconds twelve barking hounds chased after the first. 

The dogs raced down a near vertical cliff letting us know their position through their barks.  As I glanced down the treed canyon I estimated the hill side to be about five or six hundred feet down.  A few minutes later we could hear the dogs heading up the opposite side of the canyon, then over the crest and into the next one.  Finally after a half an hour we could hear the faint distant sound of dogs whimpering.  This was what Mike had been waiting for.

“Ok they got a bear in a tree…let’s go.”

Carolyn grabbed her .270 rifle and the two of us headed after Mike…taking the exact same trail the dogs had taken….straight down the cliff.

Ok…so I’m in pretty good shape…and when we did this hunt I was a little bit younger and lighter than I am now.  Still…the physical demands of this hike were excruciating.  Well…at least for me.  Carolyn and Mike seemed just fine. 

After about two hours of climbing, falling, cursing, and bleeding we finally came to the tree the dogs had surrounded.

I was literally panting trying to catch my breath as Mike explained what would happen next:

“Stay hidden…I will tie up the dogs and we will glass the tree to look for the bear.  As soon as the dogs are on a leash they will fall silent.  The bear will stay up there until night fall thinking the dogs are still around.  If the bear sees us and no dogs it will come down.  I can’t really say for certain what it will do if it does.  If it’s pissed it will kill us all.  If it is just annoyed it will run off.  Important part is just to say hidden.”

I nodded that I understood and collapsed in a clearing about 20 feet from the tree.  Carolyn sat down a little bit behind me.  I was too tired to even take my back pack off.  I just laid on it like a pillow.  As Mike tied up the last dog I could not help but think that they had made a mistake…there was no bear in that damn tree.

Suddenly about fifty feet up I saw a furry face look down at me.

“Hey!  I see the bear!!”  I yelled.

Mike instantly shot me a death stare. 

Opps…I was supposed to stay hidden huh?

The bear made the most God awful sound…kind of a hiss and a grunt…and started running down the tree.  Not climbing down….running down.

Yeah…it was pissed.  It wanted to eat me….and I was too friggen exhausted to move. 

So…this is how it ends.  Me as bear food in front of my daughter.  Well…at least my life insurance would help her out with the therapy sessions she would need for the next few years.

“Carolyn!  You have one shot!  Shoot it in the head!”  Mike yelled.

I looked back and saw Carolyn already steadying her rifle on her knee tracking the bear as it charged down the trunk. 

I heard the crack of the firearm, and saw the bear tumble off the tree and land on the ground with a fatal thud. 

She had placed the bullet just behind the eye.

Proud daughter, and you can see her helpers tied to the tree behind her.

Besides teeth, they have claws too! (The bear that is)

Well…she saved my life (again)…and now we had to haul this beast out the same way we came in. 

God this was going to be exhausting.  Maybe it would have been easier if the bear had just killed me!

I would end up getting my own bear on this hunt too…..but that is another…thankfully less exhausting story!