Monthly Archives: January 2010

Random Thoughts

Special People

During my life I have met many interesting people, and recently, after a several hour visit with a WW II American flyer that was shot down and spent 18 months in a German prison camp, I started thinking back to some of the people that really stand out in my memory.

I have met a former President of The United States; a past Secretary of State; numerous other politicians; Medal Of Honor winners; a Jewish man who was held in Dachau by the Germans and had his prisoner number tattooed on his right forearm; a victim of the Batan Death March who was a Jap POW for three years, and not met, but watched, numerous German Afrika Corps Troopers behind the wire at an American POW camp in Temple, Texas.

Once, in Las Vegas, as I was walking into Caesars’ Palace, over my shoulder, I was watching Batman and Robin. Head turned, going in one door, Jimmy Hofffa was coming out the same door. There was a crash between us, his bodyguards stepped in, but both of us smiled, offered excuses and I chose another door! Where is he now?

When I was four years old going on five, my Dad made sure that I spent a lot of time with his family on their farm outside of Marlin, Falls County, Texas. At that time, prior to and during WW II, rural farmers and ranchers in Texas did not have electricity, propane or butane, strictly kerosene lamps and wood stoves. The Rural Electrification Agency and electricity didn’t get to Falls County until after the war.

Now, what really sticks out in my memory was meeting two very remarkable people. Uncle Tom and Aunt Betty, Tom and Betty Norwood, who owned a farm across Rock Dam road from my Grandma Bryan. Both had graduated from college, both were retired teachers. Uncle Tom was in his 90’s, tall, straight as a ramrod, silver hair and still farming. When I was 7, his watermelon patch was the scene of my first “crime”.

Aunt Betty, short and smiling, a master quilt maker, helped my Grandma around her house. When I was visiting, Aunt Betty immediately took me over. She made sure I had plenty of cookies and lemonade, guarded over me like a mother hen and made me feel that I was “special”.

Tom Norwood was a former slave! Betty Norwood was a child of former slaves! They were great people and, in spite of their color, had risen from nothing to property owners and respected members of the community. Some of my most cherished memories are of those two special people!

Hill Country Happenings

My 2010 Garden, An Early Start

In 1993, after ten years of putting up with the whims of various ranchers over the terms and restrictions on our hunting leases, Layla and I decided to purchase our own ranch. We did and have sixteen years of enjoyment to show for it.

Now, both retired, we have expanded our interests. One of mine is gardening. Between church, my Grandchildren’s sports, my writing and blogging and playing Senior Softball, I find it very relaxing playing in the dirt!

Last year, except for onions, wild garlic and spinach, the tremendous amount of rain we experienced during the spring and summer, for all practical purposes, ruined the garden! However, hope prevails, and this year, I got an earlier start than before.

Last Monday, I pruned the 3, peach trees and then, on Wednesday, I got real busy and planted 82, Texas 1015’s and 40 Bermuda onions.

After planting the onions, I tilled both the large and small gardens and right on schedule, it started raining Thursday morning and Friday’s forecast is for snow! Spinach and turnips are next to plant.

Speaking about snow, this would be our third this winter. Remember, we live in central Texas, not Montana.

Pictures

More Outdoors Pictures, January 27, 2010

Some more great pictures from my friends!

Right off the bat, Clayton Gist, sent me this picture of one angry bobcat that he trapped last week.  In the past twelve months, this makes the fourteenth one he’s trapped, along with one badger!

Randy Pfaff sent me this one of a nice mulie buck.  He said he didn’t have the heart to shoot it since it was drinking out of his birdbath.

He added one of a bear eating a doe that was hung up outside overnight.  The bear had a good meal, but the hunters should have hung the doe out of the bears reach!

Religiously, for the past four months, Ev Sims and his son have been bating their hog trap, with no results.  Finally, their persistence paid off with these two porkers.

Random Thoughts

Sometimes

Trying to keep up with some of the best “lines” that I have posted, I’ve researched them and come up with, not the best, or the funniest, but different categories that very from profound to confounded.

Sometimes I write profound statements:

The most important thing is thanking God every day for his blessings; His Grace, our family, our jobs our health, our friends and our wonderful Country!

One thing remains a constant, our country’s freedom is more important than politics or political correctness!
I believe every star in our hemisphere was out too!

Today, our country is on a very, slippery slope! When are all of us going to wake up, or is it too late?

Nothings better than a Son getting a deer on his first hunt!

Sometimes it’s about the weather:

Four degrees wind chill, along with snow, was almost too much for me!

About this snow, this is central Texas, not Iowa. Am I going to have to get me a snow shovel?

Sometimes I try to be funny:

“That makes 4 deer and one buzzard you’ve hit. This Suburban qualifies for ‘Ace’!

We ate the pheasant that night, Houston continued its sprawl, and now, this once prime hunting area is a golf course! At least it’s not a shopping center!

Laughing, we told Jake, “That rearing horse looked like Roy Rogers and Trigger! Ride ‘em cowboy!” And, off he galloped into the darkness back towards Scottsdale Road.

A thankless job was cleaning out the outhouse! I don’t remember ever doing that chore.

Sometimes it’s about sports or exercise:

At least walking works up a good sweat!

It would be something if each mornings walk would be this exciting!

Who knows what will happen when you play with a round ball and a round bat on a square field?

Our next tournament will be in Pensacola on May 15, if it rains we can still load up on the fried mullet!

Sometimes it’s indecision:
Once, we jumped a black bear, did not offer chase, or try to “count coup” on him and the dogs also showed no inclination to give chase.

It’s always unnerving to run into a rattler, and this was no exception, so we called a break and headed to town for an early lunch!

Someone once said, “The best deer blind is your back porch!”

Sometimes I just get confounded:

I never thought about taking a picture of the calf in the hog trap!

The boys and I “snuck” back in once but we felt very awkward carrying our shotguns through our neighbor’s backyards.

Having put all of this together, now I can go back to the football game!

Fishing

Getting A Book Published

When I retired my kids asked me to record some of the wild adventures that I have taken part in. Little did I know that this would lead me to blogging, get me very involved in genealogy and best, get me a book published!

Over the past nine months I have been involved in one of the most rewarding projects that I have ever tackled – having a book published! It became a full time job. Where do you find the time to be active in your church? Where do you find the time to take part in your Grandchildren’s sports? Where do you find time to hunt and fish? Where do you find time to play Senior Softball? Where do you find the time to do all the chores around the ranch?

When I was working, I had assistants that took care of my calendar management. I handled my time management and it never crossed my mind that these things would be so important after I retired. Somehow it all worked out and today, on my blog, Randy, my Son, and I put up all of the “about” information, the necessary links to [Rosedog Books], the publisher and set me up on Twitter and Facebook. On the left side of the page, click on the book, “The End Of The Line”, to find out a little about the book, the author and how to acquire it.

It has been a fun thing! Managing and balancing everything was a challenge. But now, seeing my name on the cover, re-reading some of the stories and holding the book in my hands, it was all worth it!

I’ve got more in the works; an unnamed book about my family’s history from way back to the present; another unnamed one about the storms, tornadoes and miscellaneous violent weather that I have encountered over the years, and one that is almost ready for publishing, “Why It Is Called Hunting”.

How enjoyable this has been and I don’t have a job to get into the way!

Hunting

Deer Season Ends

Last Sunday, one of our friends, SFC Tim Albee, put an end to the 2009/10 deer season. This past season’s total was four does and one spike.

Summarizing, Sean, a Grandson, kicked it off with his first deer, a spike, bagged during the youth season.

Mickey Donahoo then shot two does that we gave to a friend. One is pictured here.

Then Wesley, another Grandson, scored his first kill with this doe.

Not to be outdone, I chipped in with this big, bobcat.

Overall, no big bucks, but wait ‘till next year! Next up is varmint hunting, then around April 1st, it’s turkey time!

Ancestry

Recognition For Buck Barry

Buck Barry, my 2G Uncle, came to Texas in 1845 and this past Saturday, in Walnut Springs, Texas, I attended a presentation, “Character In Action” about Col. Buck Barry and Capt. Jack Cureton. Cureton, like Buck, was also a Texas Ranger and fought Indians, rustlers and thieves with him. Both men made their homes in Bosque County, in what later became Walnut Springs. Much more had been written about Buck so most of the presentation was about him.

Bryan Sowell, author of ‘TEXAS CENTRAL HEADQUARTERS, Walnut Springs”, gave the talk and spoke about what it is that makes one man’s life endure and another forgotten? What makes us cherish Buck’s memory; his courage, character, compassion, rugged individualism, the common good or his love of democracy?

This picture, a Daguerroetype, was made in Corsicana in 1853. It’s probably not the first of this type made in Texas, but it may be the oldest surviving one.

He cited quotes that highlighted these characteristics. A few of these quotes follow.

From the Meridian Tribune on April 9, 1909, a Walnut Springs pioneer, R.W. Aycock described Buck as “One of the best men that ever lived when treated right, but if a man didn’t want to do the right thing, or wanted to pick a scrap, he could get it out of Buck any time!”

According to Dr. James Greer, his biographer and long time family friend, “As a Ranger with Hays, he met the Mexicans; as a sheriff, he encountered outlaws; as a frontiersman, he fought Indians; as a ranchman in Bosque County, he was the nemesis of horse thieves and experienced the annoyance of fence cutting; as a Texan and Southerner during the Civil War, he saw four years of the most grueling and the most undesirable type of military service protecting the Texas frontier from Indians.”

According to Buck, in an article he wrote titled, “Why Do Christians Believe and Atheists Disbelieve In The Bible”? He writes, “God being a spirit without body or form, yet possessing the greatest power known to man; possessing the power of all the elements that are necessary to create; possessing all the power of an infinite and perfect being.”

His biographer sums up Buck Barry very well, “No writer of western stories has created better fiction of adventure that this quite, early settler lived.”

Enough said!

Ancestry

A Position Of Trust

“Webster’s Dictionary” says a trustee is, “A person, usually one of a body of persons or group, appointed to administer the affairs of a company, administration, etc.” In Texas, a Prison Trustee is an inmate that performs certain functions outside of the inmates normal prison duties. A definite position of trust!

In January 1951, my Dad, John H. Bryan, went on, it turned out, an unusual quail hunt, on some very private property. The property in question was owned by the State of Texas, and on it was a State Prison Farm. My Dad’s Brother-in law, and my Uncle, was Rehabilitation Director for the prison system and he had arranged for my Dad to hunt birds there.

Another unusual item was that the State’s bloodhounds would hunt quail, and wouldn’t you know it, the Warden of the prison farm assigned a “special” Trustee, along with two dogs to accompany my Dad. The Trustee in question, the Warden’s favorite, was in for robbery and would soon be paroled. His prison job was training the dogs to track escapees and, for visiting dignitaries, he had also trained them to track quail.

Returning from the hunt with a nice mess of birds, my Dad said, “We had a great time today!” I questioned him, “What’s this “we” business? You went hunting by yourself.” He grinned and said, “Me and the Trustee. His dogs did such a good job that I let him shoot a couple of birds.” My Mom was horrified. She exclaimed, “Bryan, that’s the stupidest thing I ever heard. He could have shot you and been half way to Dallas before they missed him or you!” He grinned again and said, “Aw Honey, he’s getting out in three months, was really a nice young man and I’m sure he wouldn’t want to mess up his parole.”

The incident passed, but two weeks later the hunt was brought vividly back to our minds. The headlines of the afternoon newspaper, “The Houston Chronicle”, blared, “Trustee Escapes From Prison Farm.” Wouldn’t you know it, the dog trainer Trustee was the escapee. My Dad called the Warden of the prison farm, who was just as surprised as my Dad was by the event.

The Warden told my Dad the story (which wasn’t in the paper) of how the dog trainer Trustee just walked off and when the officers sent the dogs after him, he just told them to “kennel up” and they went back to their kennels. Three times the dogs were sent out and three times they returned. By then the officers figured he was long gone and he was!
Years later I asked my Uncle whatever happened to the dog trainer Trustee. He laughed and said that he was never found.

Maybe the State of Texas didn’t look for him too hard?

Hunting

Part 2 of Walking Wounded

We were miles back in the Arizona wilderness and our guest and friend, Tommy Walker, had been hit with a blast from a shotgun! Part 2 Of “Walking wounded” follows.

Scrambling up the thirty yards I saw him down on his knees, holding his eyes. Oh no, not his eyes, I thought! Jake came racing up, “What happened to Tommy” he exclaimed? “Looks like he got some shot in his eyes,” I answered. Tommy said, “I heard you and Jake say a few words and I got curious and walked to the edge of the canyon. I looked down just as Jake shot, and I think I’ve got some bird shot in one of my eyes!”

I checked his pulse, it was normal, his skin felt normal, one eye definitely had one or more shot in it, the other was normal. No apparent signs of shock, for now. We had him lie down and elevated his feet, while we figured out what to do. Our problem was how to get him the two plus miles back to the truck?

We figured if we bandaged his eye we could lead him out OK. The only problem, we didn’t have any bandages, some were in the first aid kit in the truck, but none with us, so we improvised. We took the back of my tee shirt and Jake’s clean hankie, tied them together, and oops, to cover his injured eye, we had to cover his good eye too. We didn’t have any tape with us. It was back in the truck, too. Covering both eyes, we tied the “bandage” off on the back oh his head.

We started back to the truck and it was hard to guide Tommy. Jake and I took turns, one carrying all three shotguns, the other guiding Tommy by having him lean on and put an arm around our neck. Our main worry was shock, but he told of being wounded in WW II and didn’t feel like he was anywhere near it.

The dogs, bless their hearts, hunted all the way back. With both eyes bandaged Tommy couldn’t see, but he could hear us talking. “Hey, Jake look, point up there.” “Beech, here’s a point.” Whirrrrrrr! A quail took to a hurried flight. as Tommy said, “Guys, set me down here and you all hunt these birds. You can come back and get me.” “Not a chance, Tommy,” we both echoed.
Tommy was a load, weighing about two hundred pounds, and carrying the shotguns for two miles sounds easy, but remember there are no handles, or slings, on them and no easy way to carry three guns at once for any distance. Our two-mile jaunt took almost two hours, but our first goal, the truck and the four wheel drive road, was reached.

We still had four, hard, four wheel drive miles, at least two hours, to cover before we got to the dirt road. Jake drove and I sat with Tommy in the back of the SUV. The dogs were packed into two kennels behind the second seat. We were all tired and as we bumped the four miles to the dirt road, Tommy’s eye was beginning to throb. Our second goal was reached. It had been over four hours since the accident, but we could make this eight-mile leg in about thirty minutes.

The sun was setting as we reached the hard top road to Payson and it had been almost five hours since the accident. Jake and I knew there was a small hospital in Payson, twenty-five miles ahead so we hurried on into town.

No cell phones then, so we stopped at the first convenience store we came across in Payson and called the hospital, alerting them of the accident and getting directions. We found the emergency room and checked Tommy in. There was a short wait for the local eye specialist. An hour later the doctor came out and told us that he had removed the shot from Tommy’s eye, but he was concerned that the vitreous fluid could leak out, causing Tommy to loose his vision in that eye.

The doctor would end up keeping Tommy in the hospital for a week. His eye healed and he returned to shooting and hunting almost as soon as he got back home. I hunted and shot skeet with Tommy for the next ten years and all of us started wearing shooting glasses!

Hunting

Walking Wounded

This is a story about a terrific Gambel quail hunt and also the story about an avoidable accident. The story took place in over fifteen hours and is a long one so I divided it into two parts. The first part follows and the second part will posted on January 15th.

In 1973 on this particular hunt, to an isolated canyon along the Salt River, Jake, my hunting buddy, and I were taking a good friend, Tommy Walker. Tommy was in Phoenix for a business meeting that ended the coming Friday, so we planned the hunt for the next day, Saturday. Tommy was excited at the prospect of some real good Gambel quail hunting!

The trip to the hunting spot was a real doozy! We took a ten-mile, dirt road, short cut, off of Bee Line Highway, to reach the main road from Payson to Roosevelt Dam and on to Globe, Arizona. Back on the paved surface, heading east, we took a dirt road south, following the west rim of the Salt River Canyon, for eight miles before it turned into a four wheel drive only road for four more harrowing miles. When the four wheel drive road ended, we were “there”. We probably made six or seven trips to this spot and never saw another soul. Gas was only $.50 per gallon then. Nixon had just begun the Arab Oil embargo that marked the beginnings of our energy problems!

We hunted along a wash that fed into the Salt River. The wash continued west up into the hills for several miles, then turned into a mini canyon almost two hundred feet deep. The little canyon had nicely terraced sides along its north rim. We, our dogs and hunters, would spread across the wash and head up it until the coveys of birds were found. At the time the coveys were enormous, a hundred to two hundred birds each, and needed to be seen, to be believed.

Back to our story, we, Tommy, Jake and I, along with two of our Brittany Spaniels, began our hunt around 8:30 AM. After the usual checking of our gear, we trekked a quarter of a mile in, spread out and began our hunt. Once the birds were found, we pursued them up the wash into the small canyon. At the same time, this split the coveys into more manageable groups with some flying up and over the canyon rim.

Then the shooting and walking really began! Up the canyon, up the terraces, back down the terraces, up the terraces, not for the faint of heart! The dog work was excellent, the shooting bordered on fantastic and the Arizona desert hills made for a perfect setting.

We hunted two dogs for two hours then circled back, took a break and got two fresh ones. Around noon we broke for a quick sandwich, sat a spell enjoying the scenery, counted our half limits of birds and headed back up the north rim of our little canyon. Earlier, several bunches of the main coveys had flow up there.

We saw the birds running on the ground ahead of us, before we saw them flush wildly over the rim back to the bottom of the canyon. These were a group of birds that flew up there earlier this morning.

Jake said, “I’ll take the dogs and go down into the canyon and try to drive them up on the terraces.” I added, “I’ll take the middle terrace,” knowing that I could come under fire from Jake if the birds flew straight up the canyon wall. It was safer for Tommy to be up on the top sixty yards or more from the bottom.

He was to walk slowly, a safe distance away from the canyon’s edge and mark the birds that flew up and out of the canyon. I had already told him that I would not shoot at a bird flying up the canyon wall toward him. Tommy wasn’t used to the rough hunting terrain, and especially to the erratic behavior of the birds when being pursued by dogs and hunters.

In the bottom of the canyon, the dogs pointed a group of twelve to fifteen birds, Jake, letting me know of the point (Tommy heard the exchange too). Jake walked in on the birds and they went everywhere, bam, bam, two shots from his over and under, that ,as I ducked down whizzed over my head and then heard Tommy yell in pain, “I’m hit!”

Continued on January 15.