The rifle portion of deer season opens tomorrow, the corn and protein feeders, twice a day, are cranking out their nourishment to the deer, coons, rabbits and birds. Thanks to the rains of the past month, forbs and wild grasses are sprouting adding to the deer’s diets. Despite the drought of the past year, we may salvage something out after all.

That’s the good news, the bad news is tonight is Goldthwaite’s last District football game. The game will be played in Eldorado, a 2-1/2 hour drive west of us and Layla and I, along with Mickey and Doris Donahoo, will be driving out to the game, in fact, we’ll be leaving at 3:15 PM. The rest of the bad news is we have to get up at 5:30 AM to go out and chase the deer. Mickey is bringing one of the football boys out for a hunt and he’ll be the only one, probably, getting up that early!

Anyway, we’ll all be out seeing if we can bag one.

In the past, back when there was abundant rain, food plots around here were planted around the first of October, so the clover, rye, oats or forbs would be up and growing by the usual opening of deer season around the second Saturday in November.  So holding to this “tale” I planted my 3 small plots on that day.  Since then, October 1st, the Lord has blessed our area with rain, a 6 incher and 2 weeks later, with a smaller amount, .2 inches.  As this year’s deer season approached, the local newspaper, [The Goldthwaite Eagle] should have posted this headline, “Local Rains Keep Mills County Food Plots Growing”

This picture shows food plot 2.  The first shows the plot on October 20th, the second on November 1st.  Quite an improvement!
    
In my last post on “[Food Plots]” on October 20th, I was afraid that I’d have to replant the food plot by the tree stand blind.  The first picture shows the plot on October 20th and the second, taken yesterday, shows the clover and forbs that have sprouted up.
    
And yes, there were deer tracks visible in both plots, meaning the deer have found them.

Hoping for rain, Saturday, October 1st, I planted 2 food plots, one by the Porta Potty blind and the other by a tree stand.  This was not just “another” tree stand, but one that, in the past, has produced some nice bucks, see my post “[Rattled In]” on November 10, 2007.

Since I had finished spreading the seed, which was a can’t miss deer attractor (aren’t they all!), I had already drug my rake, a real contraption made with a 6 foot piece of hog wire with a hundred pound cedar post attached on top of the wire, over the Porta Potty plot and was raking the tree stand plot when disaster struck.  On my knees, I attempted to move the rake slightly, it moved slightly, but during the move I pulled both quad muscles in my back, putting me in bed for 3 days!

During my recovery, early on the morning of the 9th,  Layla and I were awakened by thunder, lightning and rain, not just rain, but a flooding rain, of course, it hadn’t been forecasted to hit us, but to remain in far west Texas.  My first thoughts were, Thank you Lord for bringing us rain and my second was I hope the rain doesn’t wash out my food plots.

These pictures show both plots, the one by the Porta Potty blind survived and is flourishing, while the other taken from the tree stand is mostly, washed out. I say, “Flourishing”, but what I really mean is that we still need rain badly, even with the 6 incher we received on the 9th, our water table remains over 19 inches down!

It looks like I’ll have to replant the one food plot.

Opening morning of quail season, I was driving up to Goldthwaite to pick up my son-in-law, Mike Mitchell, for an afternoon hunt out to my lease in Millersview. This year’s quail season opened up a week before deer season and with no deer hunters around, we’d have the place to ourselves,

Driving west to my lease, our guess was correct, but the quail weren’t responding. We’d already tried a couple of likely places, but our dogs, Sonny and Red, my Brittany Spaniels, hadn’t found any quail sign, where were the birds? An hour and a half before sundown, we were worrying that the opener this year would be a bust, but 30 yards ahead, as we bounced along in the jeep, there was a bevy of bobs running down the road.

Quickly stopping the jeep, we both piled out, unsheathed our shotguns, fumbled with the latches on the dog boxes and, the dogs, being as excited as us, bounced out, quickly took care of their business, then took off down the road after the birds. Pushed by the dogs, the covey took wing and me, feeling like Capt. Angora of goat rodeo fame, told Mike that we’d do better if we slowed down and let the dogs do their work.

A hundred yards out, Sonny, a real pro of a bird dog, pointed first, Red, his son, backed as Mike and I hurried up to them, then 3 birds burst from the cover and boom, boom, boom, down they dropped. The dogs, being more interested in going after the rest of the covey, were reluctant to fetch the birds in, but after repeated, “Dead birds”, they complied.

The quail, probably 20 or more, now minus the 3 we just shot, had spread out over a wide area and we let the dogs find them. Up ahead, Red pointed and Mike and I walked in on them, a single got up on my side and, boom, chalk up another. Red didn’t go after the dead bird, but was glued to the spot right off his nose, Mike walked in making a swishing sound and a bob flushed, Mike’s gun boomed, Red brought it in and chalk up another one. Telling him that 5 was enough out of this covey, I whistled in both dogs, we walked back to the jeep and kenneled everybody up.

This was a good start, but we were running out of time, but the next hour scenting conditions would be good and this was prime time for the birds to be moving around. More bouncing along when we came up to a cross road, with some thick cover off to one side, the other side being an old cattle feed lot, then a covey, a big one, thirty birds or more, ran across the road toward the thick stuff, maybe we could head them off!

We unkenneled, unlimbered our shotguns, let the dogs out and hurried to our head off point, where we were in time and as far as we could tell had succeeded in cutting off the birds. This was a big covey and from what we could tell, we knew they hadn’t been busted up, both dogs pointed, this looked like, as Saddam Hussein once said, “The Mother of all coveys!”

Mike and I walked in on the birds, then pandemonium as the quail flushed wildly, most heading west into the setting sun. Six times our guns boomed, four birds fell, the dogs fetched them to us and to let the birds bunch up again, we sat for 10 minutes, precious hunting time, but we sat! As we got up to press on after the rest of the covey, a late riser, a hen, buzzed off, but we let her fly to safety.

As the light faded, we kicked up the remnants of the big covey, downing 5 more, then we called it a day. It turned out to be a nice afternoon hunt, even though I hadn’t been in the field welcoming in the new quail season.

Keeping harping about our serious drought, over the last 2 weeks we’ve had .7 inches of rain, not a drought breaker, but enough to wet our whistles and the little front even lowered our temps 10 to 15 degrees!  The rain has encouraged forbs and other things that deer browse on to grow just a little and the deer have responded!

As we were sitting on our back porch enjoying the cool afternoon, doe and fawns started to congregate in our field causing me to make a mad rush into the house to get the camera.  Camera secured, I waited until the deer got in somewhat of a group, the results being this “shot”.

The ground was damp from 2 showers and this picture is of a nice, big deer, track, right beside the gate to my garden, the gate being shut, of course.  At night we’ve seen 6 or 8 deer browsing around our yard, but thank goodness, they haven’t learned how to open gates!

Not only did this doe and her 2 fawns browse in our yard, but they did it when Layla was sitting outside waiting for me.  Now, with zero cows, the gate into the ranch proper remains open and these 3 deer walked right past Layla, not caring if she was there or not.  Rushing into the bedroom to get my camera, the results was this “shot” of the doe and fawns browsing around!

The large computer company that I worked for had promoted me to their center in Atlanta, Georgia and, before that, had sent me to Endicott, New York for further “training”. While in Endicott I had become violently ill with some type of flu, was in bed for 3 days and finally flew back to Phoenix, although I barely remember the flight back.

Back in Phoenix with time on my hands, while my family was visiting in Houston, it dawned on me that dove season will still on. There was one spot, a stock tank just off the intersection of 7th Street and Deer Valley Rd. that we’d never hunted before. Back then in the mid 70’s this was still cattle country and cows need water, hence the stock tank. So I decided quickly that I’d just go out there and try my luck on the mourning dove.

That afternoon, after the short drive from my house, I arrived at the spot, parked my truck under a big ironwood tree, climbed through the barbwire fence that kept the cows inside and walked the short distance to the stock tank. There were no posted signs, so hunters could use it, since most of the land in Arizona, at that time, was Government land.

At the tank, about a quarter of an acre, I picked a dappled, shady spot under a mesquite, squatted down on my haunches and waited for, I hoped, a good flight of dove. My wait wasn’t long as 2 mourners, from my left, zipped past me, made a circle and landed for a drink. Stepping out of the shadows, the dove sprang up, stretching for altitude, but my 20, gauge pump, barked twice and they crumpled, this was just like shooting doubles at trap!

As the dove came piling in, this was one of those days, I’d used only 11 shots and had bagged 9 birds, one away from my limit. The last dove came loafing by, over the tank and my shot dropped it right into the water, using cow chips and sticks, I “chunked” it toward the bank where I waded out and retrieved it. A limit of shooting in just a little over an hour!

This was a good spot and I’ll have to come back and bring the family, then I remembered that I had to be in Atlanta with my family very soon, no coming back to this spot, but it’ll be hard to forget the easy shoot I enjoyed here!

Having always said, “I’d rather be lucky than good!” this hunting/fishing trip convinced me.  Back in the 50’s and 60’s, dove season in Texas was afternoon shooting only. There were lots of birds and the thinking was, let the birds rest, feed and it will keep some of the pressure off them.  Today, with all day hunting, that thinking is history because now we have an overabundance of dove, mourning, white wing and ring necks.

This particular hunt, or better a fishing trip, took place in Falls County, Texas where my dad and I had enjoyed some fabulous afternoon, water hole, shooting for mourning doves.  My uncle Shelly, Shelton Gafford, had directed us to a couple of stock tanks where there were an abundance of doves and we were rewarded with some good action.

Our mornings were free, so Shelton told us about another place where we could fish, but the rancher allowed no guns or hunting.  This was no problem for us!  Uncle Shelly was careful with his instructions on how to get there, he told us to take Hwy. 7, east out of Marlin, cross the Big Creek Bridge, and turn right at the second gap, or wire gate in the fence, and follow the road to the stock tank.

Following the instructions, the second gap was almost to Kosse, Texas, and ignoring the “Posted” sign, opened it and followed the dirt road until we came to an old, rock quarry that was no longer in use.  Not a stock tank, but looking into the very, clear water, it was easy to see bass milling around, plus several large bream beds.

Keeping the sun in our face, we stood several feet away from the water and whipped our Piggy Boat spinner baits toward the fish.  Immediately, we were both rewarded with two sharp strikes and soon landed two scrappy, 12 inch bass.  They were unusual looking little fish with large mouths and small bodies and we guessed, correctly, they were stunted and for the ferocity of their strikes, probably undernourished.

We kept on casting, catching and stringing the little fish.  We added several, good sized, goggle eye perch, fish that looked somewhat like a bream, but slimmer with their eyes protruding from their heads.  Goggle eyes are good fighters on light tackle and very tasty when fried!

We returned all of the really small ones, but ended up with 15 keepers.  We iced them down and retraced our route off of the property and headed back to Shelton’s ranch for lunch.  Lunch was the big meal of the day and as we loaded up, we reviewed our morning trip with him.

He smiled and shook his head and asked, “You went right through the “Posted” sign?  Did they catch both of you all?”  “Who’s they?” my dad answered.  He replied, “Mr. so-in-so or his Foreman.  They have some expensive bulls on the place, besides there’s a lot of quail and they don’t allow anyone but family out there!”  Answering him, I said, “Uncle Shelly, we didn’t see a soul all morning!”  He just smiled and shook his head.

As he headed into his den, he looked back, smiled and said to both of us, “You shoulda’ turned left at the second gap!”

There were worlds of mourning dove coming in to feed on the grain field stubble, in a field, on an Indian reservation in the Phoenix area. This particular reservation allowed hunting in the grain fields, but we had to be careful not to go into the “No Trespassing” areas that were well marked with signs.

My family, Brad, my ex wife and I, were fast into knocking down these twisty fliers, Randy and Suzanne were doing the retrieving and our bird count was rising. This afternoon, we were the only hunters out so we were hunkered down, a hundred yards apart, along an irrigation ditch, now dry. Many of the birds flew over us as they came into the field to feed, providing some easy overhead shots. We took a break to count up our birds and our tally indicated that we had knocked down 31, five short of our combined limits. Shooting time was just about over so we let Brad, who was an excellent shot with a shotgun and the reigning Arizona, junior state champion trap shooter, finish out the string.

We set to breasting out the dove, leaving both wings on and dusk was settling in by the time we finished. Rinsing our hands, we loaded everything up into the camper, kenneled up the kids and drove off the reservation, we thought. Coming to a cross road, we turned, we thought, the correct way because there weren’t any signs. The next thing we knew, through the dust, here came a pickup barreling toward us, loaded with Indians and as they came closer, we saw they were all armed!

As the truck pulled to head us off, all the Indians were shouting and waving their firearms, we looked to be in deep stuff, but didn’t know of any tribal laws we had broken. One, possibly the headman, yelled over to us, “You’re on private, no trespassing, property and are under arrest! Been hunting, too, we’ll get all of you for shooting after hours?” This really looked serious now.

The year before, we had a run in with an Apache Policeman, he confiscated our .22 pistols and was going to ticket us for carrying firearms on the reservation, until he calmed down some and I told him that I was friends with the Tribal Chairman and named him. He relented, but told us “Friends with the Tribal Chairman or not, if he caught us on reservation with loaded firearms again, we be in big trouble!” Luckily, we never saw this policeman again!

Back to our immediate plight, the Indians were really heating up and I started fearing for my family. My ex had the, formerly confiscated, .22 pistol on her hip and she slipped it over to me, one pistol, 6 shots against a truck full, bad odds, before another Little Big Horn, I’ve got to get the headman talking. Telling him we thought we were headed out toward Baseline Road, he settled down a little and told us we took the wrong turn and were heading deeper into the reservation. He added, “Over the past weeks, we’ve had an increase in grave robberies, but to me, it looks like you just took the wrong turn.” The occupants in the truck were still yelling until he told them to be quiet and told us, “Just turn around and we’ll follow you out.”

Grave robberies meant that folks were sneaking on to the reservation, not robbing the graves of recently buried people, but rooting around in the desert trying to find graves a hundred to two hundred years old. This definitely wasn’t part of our program!

This was to close a call, so during our remaining years in Phoenix, we never went back to that reservation. That truck full of Indians really scared us off!

Sun up Saturday morning found Mickey Donahoo and I again in the field north of San Saba, awaiting the early morning dove flight, but this time we had equalizers, one was my 12 year old grandson, Wesley, pictured, visiting from Paris, Texas, who’d run down the doves and the other was a motorized, dove decoy, pictured below.

This device worked wonders with both white wings and mourners, but no ring necks came around.  We still had the problem of doves sneaking in on us, catching us unawares and then, us putting a few holes in the sky as they departed.

Our overall score for the morning was 6 mourning and 4 white wing dove.  The picture below shows nine birds, but I had already breasted one.

By a long shot, ten birds for a two, hour hunt isn’t up to previous years scores, but this year’s heat drove us in early.  Anyway, we all had to be back to Goldthwaite by 10:00 AM.

All of Goldthwaite’s white wing doves didn’t fly to San Saba.  Yesterday morning, as the sun was coming up, Mickey Donahoo and I were sitting in a field north of San Saba awaiting the early morning flight of dove, mourners, white wings and ring necks.  Here’s Mickey sitting comfortably as he waits for a shot.

The area around San Saba is no different than the rest of the southwestern United States, locked in a bitter drought!  This field, normally already mowed and baled, shows the poor first growth, the victim of no rain!

As we were walking out to our places, unloaded of course, we jumped a skunk that took off away from us.  Getting seated and taking the above pictures, up popped a skunk not a hundred yards away, hefting my shotgun, loaded now, I took off after it.  Walking to within twenty yards, I let fly with a load of 12 gauge, AA, 8’s and chalk up one stinky predator.  As I shot, not 30 yards away, up popped a black tail, a second skunk spraying out a cloud of stink, shucking out the spent shell, I swung on it and let fly, a double on skunks!
    
Two hours later, Mickey and I had shot several holes in the sky, but we had tallied a white wing, 2, mourning dove and a brace of skunks, not many hunters, not much shooting, so not that many birds flying around.  However, it seemed that most of the dove came in from behind us and, by the time we reacted, or shot, they were too far away. Walking back to my truck Mickey said, “Why don’t you go get both of those skunks and hold them up by their tails and I’ll take a picture.”  My silence indicated that I was declining his kind offer!