July 20th- "Dinner with a Writer"

July 20^th   Dinner with a Writer

Last night I attended our Orange County Safari Club chapter meeting.  This one was a little more special than most.  Aside from the prime rib, fare not usually available at our dinner meetings, my “date” last night was my ten year old daughter Chaney.  She is a huntress and felt it was high time she start attending the meetings of the club.  I couldn’t agree more.

We also had a unique treat last night.  Our guest speaker was the great outdoor writer and hunter Craig Boddington.  I’ve met Mr. Boddington at events over the years and I own a bunch of his books.  It is not so much that he is a great writer….he is…or that he is unbelievably prolific in his writing….he is that too… in spades.  (If you are wondering who Craig Boddington is go to any magazine stand and peruse the shooting and hunting rags.  I can guarantee you that in any current issue you will find at least one article penned by him.  What really makes Boddington stand out though is his ability to speak.  He is a storyteller and a teacher. 

Way back in my earlier Jungle Cruise skipper days I learned from veteran that the key to being a good skipper was not just simply being a comedian.  Anyone can make someone laugh if they had the requisite skills….what really stood you apart was your ability to tell a narrative in such a way as to make the person feel that they were being let in on a secret. 

Mr. Boddington is a master at this.

Last night we learned about Cape Buffalo. 

This is a Cape Buffalo that my wife photographed a few years back on our safari.  I wasn't hunting them at the time...which is too bad...this guy was a beauty!  They have a look that subtly says "I can kill you at any moment...and you are beginning to annoy me."

Well…not just Cape Buffalo, but the whole culture, cruelty and majestic beauty of these might African beasts.  Thankfully my checkbook was home with my wife.  Had it been in my possession I would have booked a hunt last night.  The lecture was that infectious. 

Cape Buffalo are one part of what is called the Big 5 in Africa.  Lion, Elephant, Leopard, Hippo..and Cape Buffalo.  Each has a long rap sheet of human animal contact with the human part coming out the looser in the equation.  Make no mistake….these are dangerous game, and their lethality is their identity, and ironically the source of their cruel beauty. 

But, as we learned last night, not all Cape Buffalo are created equal.  Some are worthy of being removed from the gene pool, and some need to be kept in the herd longer to allow them to pass along their DNA.  It is our job as hunters to help manage those herds and make the snap decision as to what is a shooter and what is a trophy for someone else a couple of years down the road.

Something else struck me last night…

The people of SCI are as unique and important as the animals we pursue.  SCI is a fairly egalitarian club.  Rank and economic status play no part in the quality of the person shaking your hand, or sitting at your table trading hunting stories.  Rolexes, and Timexs mingle with each other without a shred of self-conciseness.

To a person all treated Chaney less as a young novelty…(10 year old huntresses are just not that common in Southern California)…and more of an equal in our hunting tradition.  Adults that talked to her wanted to hear of her hunts…and she told them the details of her stories enthusiastically.  Once she would finish they would reciprocate with their own adventures. 

Our campfire was white linen table clothes and banquette chairs, and the stars over our head were replaced with fluorescent lighting, but the tradition was the same as it has been for thousands of years.  Hunters telling other hunters stories of their hunts as they shared a meal.

These are good people. 

Men and women who abide by a code of honor that restrains them far more than legal ramifications, or public condemnation can.  They are protectors of the environment that do the hard work.  They literally protect the environment. And they do it with a dedication and humility that borders and the transcendent. 

They are hunters. 

My girls and I are proud to call them our friends.

July 17th "Sorry about that!"

Ok…sorry sorry sorry,

I’ve been posting my blog twice a week for a couple of months and then I suddenly left you guys hanging without any explanation.

Yeah…sorry about that.

So here is the deal:

On July 1 our family business ceased being a family business.  A fairly large multi-national company bought us out…(well not our buildings…the family still owns that and is leasing them to the new company).  The generation above me “took the package” and walked out the door.  We now have new blood and new policies and procedures. 

The new owners seem cool.  A little too much interested in process and less on product…but that may just be my jaundiced initial assessment.  Like my new CFO commented when I mentioned the employees were nervous….”we are the new owners…we are all liars until proven otherwise”.  It is a good turn of phrase, and while a little harsh, does sort of nail the zeitgeist around here.

With all the new business practices I’ve been a little swamped and really have not had time to write about anything…much less shoot or hunt!

Anyhow…that will change shortly.  Look for a new blog post next week!

Again sorry about the abruptness of  it all, but hey…things happen right?

July 3rd The First Rabbit Hunt

July 3^nd,

The first of July each year holds a special promise for me.  Longer days and sunny mornings mean the extension of work and chores, but it also means the dying away of June gloom and the easing into the blast furnace that has become Southern California summer whether. 

July 1 also has a nostalgic value.  Saturday morning cartoons of my youth shed off their yoke of impossibility and I transform Kafkaesque into one of their characters.   For when the rooster cries the arrival of July the 1^st…..I become the mighty Elmer Fudd.

Yeah….I’m bald… and when I get excited I stutter too.

Each year the first of July in California marks the beginning of rabbit season….and just like in the cartoons, Buggs seems to innately know this.  The weekend before rabbit season there are a bunch of the critters all over the place….but at the opening bell they disappear.

This year my youngest daughter Chaney earned her hunting license.  This year my wilderness adventures would not be solo.  This year Chaney would be taking her place in a long and ancient line of hunting ancestors.  Ancestors that hunted the mighty rabbit and relied on it’s protein for sustenance.

Normally when I hunt I prefer to start early in the morning.  I do afternoon hunts, but not usually in the National Forest. (Typically I have to be home in the afternoon taking care of chores or running around with my wife and kids.)  However,  opening day for rabbits this year fell on a Sunday, and Sunday mornings at our house involves a weekly trip to my 93 year old grandmothers’ house for a visit. 

Well….as you can imagine that wasn’t going to get postponed, so Chaney and I decided that we would head up to the National Forest late in the afternoon.  We figured that shouldn’t be a problem.  Rabbits are nocturnal, but stay out of their burros in shaded areas in the early morning and late afternoon hours.  The cooler temperatures are a benefit to us as well.  Hiking through the hills of Southern California in July can be brutally hot…doing it when the sun is going down helps keep things more pleasant.

Now I’ve  been to a little “rabbit hole” in the forest and seen boatloads of the furry beasts. I figured that would be the best place to start.  What I didn’t consider were the other forest creatures that would be out that same time, namely the evil black footed kaki cladded Mountain Biker (homobipedalas horriblis)

Rabbits like to stay in open areas (good for us!) but spook ridiculously easy, and scurry back to the holes never to be seen again.  A biker zipping along on a trail can scatter rabbits for a hundred yards in each direction.  Bikers also tend to be fairly skittish fellows themselves.  Apparently seeing a couple of people walking along the fields wearing blaze orange and carrying firearms tends to put them off a bit.

Fortunately the bikers we saw were far enough over on the other side of the field to really not interfere with our hunt.  What did cause us problems were the golden eagles flying overhead.  (Rabbits tend not to like them either). 

So…off Chaney and I went....hiking about 6 miles up and down the forest hills….slowly scanning the ground for killer rabbits.  As the sun set and we began our long hike back to the truck when we spotted him!

He was in an open space about a hundred yards down a hill from us.  Just as Chaney went prone and tried to get her scope on him he scampered off towards a bush and out of sight.  He wasn’t running fast though, and we thought if we sneaked up we might have a crack at him.

We took a long way around to get to that bush and with a couple of missed opportunities we finally connected!

Chaney had her first wild rabbit!

A trophy bull!

Ok…it was a small one….but it was her first! And we spent a hell of a long time hunting it. 

This was also her first time completely gutting and skinning a creature she shot.  She did a fantastic job!  (With her new knife I might add).

Thankfully she didn't want to hang it from a tree branch to do the skinning!

She then cut the feet off to dry. 

She told me she wanted to keep one for good luck, and she wanted me to have the other one….a memory of my first rabbit hunt with her.

How friggen cool is that!

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.