Outdoor Odyssey

In 1953, the early December opening of goose and duck season, was hailed by hunters for the rain and high winds that back, to back, to back, weather systems had fostered.  Blow from the southeast for two days, then blow from the northwest for a few days, the cycle repeating itself continuously.  Me, and my group of hunters, using the term loosely, “sneakers” would better apply, took full advantage of the weather to try the patience of many of the rice farmers and our parents.

The area west of Highway 6, along FM 1091, all the way to Fulshear on the Brazos River was prime goose country.  All of this area now is subdivisions and shopping malls and the geese have vacated it.  Back then, after a driver passed Post Oak Rd. street signs changed from Westheimer to FM 1091.  Now, Westheimer extends for miles, out past Highway 6 and is the center of commerce for west Houston!

Four of us were heading home around 11:00 AM from a reasonably successful goose hunt, success being measured by; a vehicle not being stuck beyond retrieval, none of the hunters injured, not being stopped by the law and, maybe, a few geese.  We were coming in, heading east, on FM 1091 and wishing we could get permission to hunt on Cinco Ranch, a large ranch, twenty sections or more, laying north of 1091, all the way to Highway 6.  The ranch now sports country clubs, shooting ranges and some very, large subdivisions.

Probably four hundred yards north of the road, inside the fences of Cinco Ranch, we spotted a huge gaggle of geese.  Immediately, one of our group said that we should sneak ‘em.  A quick uwey and we stopped on the soggy shoulder, donned our hip boots, hooded parkas and grabbed our shotguns.  Going over the barbwire fence, hitting the ground, we started our sneak.

Four hundred yards is long crawl, shotguns cradled in our arms, military style.  Keeping our heads down we inched along, with each inch, the noise of the geese grew louder.  No alarm calls so we were doing OK.  Inches turned into feet and feet into yards as we reached the hundred yard, mark, only sixty or so, more to go.  Then raise up and let fly!

Hearing a strange peeping sound, I knew it wasn’t a rattler, then the whirring of twenty or more quail bursting into the air startled me so much that I leaped to my feet and shouted a few choice expletives!  That’s all it took for the thousands of geese to spook and get airborne.  Standing, we could only watch as they gained altitude and “honked” their way to safety.

That was our first, and last, “sneak” on Cinco Ranch!

By mid September, the Katy Prairie had dried out from the summer’s deluge and opening day of the south zone, Dove season found Bob Baugh and I, on the Katy Prairie, sweating and squatting down under 2 mesquite trees, by a feed pen, waiting for the afternoon flight of birds.  Our wait was a short one and soon we were covered up with darting, diving Doves.

Dove hunting on the Katy Prairie was spotty at the best.  The birds don’t hold to one spot very well.  Hunting pressure quickly forces them to other food and water spots on the immense prairie. But the birds stuck around for that afternoon’s hunt!  

We continued sweating in the 90 plus temperature and continued shooting, until our gun barrels were hot.  Since the prairie was well policed by wardens, we stopped shooting 10 minutes early.

By quitting time we each had near limits and cleaning the Doves, we remarked that this was going to be a good lease, especially since it was only 20 minutes from each of our houses!

Bob and I are cleaning everyone’s doves!  Don’t we look happy?

My life has been blessed with many different events; some rewarding, some terrifying, many dangerous, many stimulating, but none remain with me like Allison, the tropical storm that flooded and devastated not only Texas and Louisiana, but also the Southeast and Eastern United States.  

Damage estimates were over six billion dollars.  Texas and Louisiana led the list, with third place in damage, of all things, Pennsylvania!  Over forty people were killed by the storm, twenty-three in Texas alone, and Allison dumped over forty inches of rain on southeast Texas, which was the fourth highest amount of any storm in recorded history

Allison began as a tropical wave off the coast of Africa, moved west and crossed upper, South America into the Pacific, then moved over Mexico back into the Gulf of Mexico and wandered north, made landfall between Freeport and Galveston Island, with the eyes, yes two eyes, passing over Bayou Vista.  It hit Houston and moved not over 100 miles north and stalled, then moved south back into the Gulf Of Mexico, pounding the entire Gulf Coast and Eastern Seaboard and finally sputtering out in Massachusetts where it produced a tornado and flooding.  It was the costliest tropical storm in history and the only one that has had its name retired!

Houston experienced over seven inches of rain in one hour and over twenty-eight inches in twelve hours and that is where my Allison story begins. 

“Dave, I’m hung up” I exclaimed. Dave Miller stopped the slow troll to try and recover the new white Bomber, deep running, bass plug, that had cost $1.29, from the bottom of Lake Houston. My Dad said, “Damn boy, are you fouled up already!”

The Sunday before, the Houston Oilers had lost a first round playoff game, and since the weather was awful, almost cold, windy, mist and light rain, I thought this Sunday afternoon would be a good time to run out to my Katy Prairie lease and try to bag a couple of low flying Geese. When I arrived, except for 2 hunters on the far end of the property, over 2 miles away, I was by myself.

We weren’t supposed to shoot at the Quail, but I took Gus, my Brittany Spaniel, along anyway. If anyone asked, he was retrieving the Geese for me (yeah). And wouldn’t you know it, walking out to my hunting spot, a brushy fence corner, Gus locked down hard and when I walked up, quickly putting 2, 8’s that happened to be in my pocket, into my O/U, a nice covey of about a dozen Quail came rocketing out of the fence row.

To honor Gus’ point I had to shoot one, so I picked out a male and popped him!

Gus made an excellent retrieve and I “snuck” the Quail into a pocket of my hunting coat and, not going after the singles, walked a little faster, down to my fence corner.

The picture shows Gus, on another hunt, retreiving a Quail.

Driving out to the lease, I had noticed on the next ranch to the east, several thousand Geese rafted up in a cut rice field and with an east wind, I hoped that if they flushed, they would circle back, with the wind. Maybe their path would bring them over toward me in the fence corner. My chances were slim but if someone or something busted them, maybe a 60 MM, mortar, who knows?

Less than an hour later, that something proved to be a Piper Cub that swooped low over the Geese and up they came, honking in protest! My 3 inch, magnum, O/U was loaded with number 4 shot, lead then since the shot ban wouldn’t start until the next year, and sliding 2 more shells between the fingers of my left hand, began my wait.

Sure enough, the Geese caught the wind and were barreling toward me. I decided I would wait until the first birds were almost over me, then cover them up, just like an incoming Dove, let fly, quickly reload and take 2 more shots.

My plan worked and when I shot, 2 snows came tumbling down. I popped in 2 more shells, and picking out birds a group that were swinging away form me, took two more long shots and they tumbled down.

My first 2 had fallen down quite close to Gus and me. He was worrying over one of them and I sent him out to look for the other 2. With my help, Gus found one crumpled in the fence row, and looking for what seemed like an hour, Gus finally found the last one. It was a “runner” with only a broken wing, and when Gus caught it and brought it in, it was funny since the Goose looked to be almost his size.

Gus had saved the day finding the last Goose. Anyway, I don’t think the rancher will miss one Quail!

Earlier in the month, Brad, my eight year old, son, had gone Deer hunting with his Pap-Paw, O. H. Buck, and returned with a yearling Spike, that he shot with Pap-Paw’s “big” rifle.  To say the least, he was excited, and was now after me to take him Duck hunting.  As one of the leasors of a prime, 250 acre rice field on the Katy Prairie, I saw it as my duty to get the boy started off right when it came to Duck hunting and I quickly agreed with him.

The following Saturday found us up early and headed for the lease.  It would be nice to say it was cold and rainy, a supposedly good day for Duck hunting, but it was crystal clear and seventy degrees, a perfect, blue bird day!

We walked through the rice field, Brad carrying his .410 shot gun and a stool and me carrying the sack that held my twelve decoys and my 12 gauge pump. Our blinds, were concrete septic tanks sunk into the ground and had round wooden covers that leaked. I always expected to see a big Water Moccasin or Gator, curled up in the bottom of one of these, but for the two years I hunted that spot and never saw one.

Brad had on knee high, rubber boots, so the duty of setting out the decoys fell to me.  When finished, we settled into the blind, me standing in the mud and Brad on the stool and waited for shooting time.  Back towards Houston it is getting light in the east, and the stars are fading.  We have ten more minutes before legal time so I quickly go over proper shooting techniques with Brad including SAFETY, target acquisition, proper leads, his swing and SAFETY.

We didn’t have long to wait as a flock of Green Wing Teal buzzed us, made one circle and plopped right into the decoys.  Whispering to Brad, “Let them get off of the water before you shoot,” we both rose and the Teal exploded into the air and Bam, Bam Bam, and three Teal fell back into the pond.

Brad exclaimed, “I got one, I got one!  Can I go get I?.”  “No, son, no sense in getting you soaked,” I replied climbing out of the blind to retrieve the little Ducks.  Brad was amazed at the beautiful colors of the drake he had shot.  He had chosen his target, showed patience as they rocketed off of the water, led it properly and knocked it down.  Dad was happy for his success!  His first Duck!

As Brad grew into manhood he became an excellent shot both with a shotgun and rifle.  At the ages of 11 and 12, he was Arizona’s 14 and under trap champion and later served on the U. S. Army Rifle Team.

In 1969, joining with a close friend, Frank Walters, we acquired hunting rights on a 250 acre rice field, four miles due north of Katy, Texas, right in the middle of the Katy Prairie. This was my first “go” at a hunting lease and for the next two years provided me with a world of enjoyment. At 5:00 AM, using the back roads, it was a twenty-five minute drive to the lease from my home in Sharpstown.

The first hunt found me hosting one of my employees, Norman Shelter. Norman had considerable experience hunting the Anahuac area, east of Houston. Norman and I arrived early and set out our 24 plastic decoys, he also had twelve. We were covered up with Ducks, our calling skills weren’t even tested, and had our limits by 7:45 AM, well before the first flights of Geese.

In my early style, camo coat, I proudly hold some of the Ducks Norman and I shot that morning.

We loaded up everything, took the ducks to a processing house in Katy, headed back to our homes to change into our business clothes and then went on in to work.

This hunt gave me an idea.  I always got into work very early, what harm would it do if I got in around 9:00 AM?  If I took my business attire with me, I could hunt until around 8:30, change clothes and head on in to work, also missing, what I thought then, was the heavy traffic on I-10.  Now, the traffic is unbearable!

It wasn’t two weeks later, after a successful early morning hunt, that driving in on I-10 to my office and tying my tie in the rear view mirror, I hear a “honk” right beside me and looking over, I see the new Cadillac, and oh no, I’m “caught”! It was my boss, Tommy Walker, and another manager, Jim Madden, smiling and waving to me. My drive on in to work was a nightmare. What am I going to do, lie, no way, I’ll just take my medicine.

Wouldn’t you know it, they park right beside me, and the first words out of Tommy’s mouth were, “Jon, did you move. I thought you lived in Sharpstown?” Jim laughed and said, “Maybe he’s got a girl friend out west, just kidding.” I replied, “ No guys, to tell the truth, I’ve been Duck hunting this morning and changed in the car while I was driving in.” Tommy asked, “How did you do?” Nothing else was ever said about my early morning hunts.

On several occasions Tommy teased me about the way my car smelled. In the summer he said it smelled like old softball clothes and in the winter, like rice field mud.

In December of 1956 we left West University (a Houston suburb) well before first light for the 30 minute drive to a rice field on the Katy Paririe that we had permission to hunt on. Spending over an hour spreading out our decoys, Wes Reynolds and I were now laying along the edge of a levee in an 800 acre, harvested rice field with a mud road bisecting it. Wes, was a friend and neighbor and had been hunting with my Dad and I for several years. In the far northwest corner of the rice field, probably five thousand Geese had roosted the previous night and provided a serious impediment to our decoying efforts.