Tomorrow, at sun up, September 1, 2011 dove season opens, beginning the 2011/2012 hunting season in Texas. Because of the severe heat and equally severe drought conditions, this time it’s kinda’ a blah feeling. Always in the past I’ve been looking forward to, even eagerly anticipating, this singular event, but this year, blah! Maybe it’s because the water holes that I have access to have dried up, maybe it’s because afternoon temps, pushing 110, make it too hot to touch your shotguns, maybe it’s because, even with a sweat band, sweat still gets into my eyes, I can’t even get excited, so it’s still blah!

However, come sun up tomorrow, I’ll be sitting in the shade, in a field north of San Saba, looking for some pass shooting. In the past this has been a fine venue, limit or near limit shooting, but this year, when I talked with Ted, the landowner, he told me that it’d been so hot he’d not even noticed if any doves were flying around, still, I’ll be there.

Dove sightings have been slim around here, I’m seeing a few mourning doves, fewer ring necks and still fewer white wings. Last Friday night as we were sitting in the grandstands waiting for the Goldthwaite, Thrall kickoff, in past years we had always been greeted with hundreds, maybe even thousands of white wings, flying over us heading for their roosts, not this year. Missing the doves, all wasn’t lost because Goldthwaite, ranked 4th in the State in football, won easily, 33-0.

I hope all of our white wings have flown to San Saba!

Summers in Texas are hot and in the last few days of August, time slows to a crawl!  Hunters are checking their gear, or the young ones, if required by the state, are taking a [hunter course], a good one is Online Hunter Education Courses and a click on the link will get you set up.   If they fish too, along the Texas coast it’s either too windy, or the waters too hot.  Offshore it’s either too rough for the pounding required for the 20, 30 or 40, mile boat ride, or if the winds not blowing, it’s too darn hot!  Bass fishing slows and if there’s no breeze, it’s too darn hot to lake fish too!  However, a bright, light awaits because on September 1st, the north and central zone, dove season opens welcoming in another hunting season.

In late August of 1970, Jim Buck and I had taken advantage of the poor fishing weather to go and see if any doves were flying around some stock tanks on a friend’s place, north of I-10, along the San Bernard River, between Sealy and Columbus, an hours drive west of my southwest, Houston home.  This spot happened to be north of I-10 in the central dove zone.  Jim had also just purchased a distressed rabbit, game call and we thought we’d “kill two birds with one stone” and check on the doves until dark, then try to call up a coon, bobcat or coyote.

We checked out three stock tanks and mourning dove were plentiful, good shooting next week and as the sun set we drove over toward the river, parked Jim’s truck and walked on into the thick stuff.   Armed with Jim’s single shot .22, we picked us out a clearing, hastily constructed a small blind that we’d sit behind then waited for dark to set in.

It was both of ours first go at predator hunting and right at “dark 30”, Jim blasted out several notes of a distress call, he was manning the rifle and I was handling the light, a spot with a 6V battery.  Having read that you turn the light off when calling, then switch it on and shine it in the trees and it would reflect the animal’s eyes, I switched it on and my sweep of the area revealed nothing.  At pitch dark we tried again, then we heard it, a high pitch scream, then another, that scared the snot out of both of us, then silence!

Not knowing what to do, Jim readied his .22 and I turned on the light and shined it up into the trees, nothing but silence.  We just sat there for a good 15 minutes, scared “snotless”, but finally cooler heads prevailed, we decided to make a lot of noise walking back, successfully made the 300 yard walk, and none to soon, climbed into the truck.  All the way home we debated what it was that gave us the jolt, not an alien (we had them back then too), but decided on either a cougar or bobcat.

Back before WW II, once when my brother was in his convertible with the top down, driving back from a late date, when passing through what is known in Texas as The Big Thicket, back then it covered hundreds of square miles, he heard a series of screams, that later were identified by a local as a “painter” or cougar.  Now I know that a female cougar will scream when looking for a mate.  We didn’t know that then when we were scared “snotless”!

What is it best called, frog hunting, gigging, grabbing or shooting?  I’ll choose just plain froggin’.  It is the most different of all the hunting/fishing sports.  Thinking about it, I have never gone frog fishing, as such, but once I caught a bull frog on a small, frog colored popper and was rewarded with quite a battle on a fly rod.  With Buck, one time, I saw him catch a bull frog on his jigger pole.

Most of the time froggin’ is a nocturnal sport and a must, for success, is a good strong, spotlight.  I guess that when the light is shined in a frog’s eyes it mesmerizes, hypnotizes or paralyzes them.

My start at froggin’ was in a group of stock tanks on my Uncle Shelton Gafford’s ranch in Falls County, Texas.  We would take a light, along with a .22 rifle and walk slowly around the bank of the tank and when a frog was spotted, Pow, dead frog.  Shooting .22 shorts into the banks was safe, but we constantly had to be on the lookout for cotton mouth water moccasins.  This was a good way to work the tanks, but about a third to one half of our frogs, when shot, would reflexively jump into the water and sink.  On a larger lake, this method is not encouraged.

Later, my son, Randy, went a step farther with his shooting of frogs.  He found a honey hole for frogs on our deer lease in McCulloch County, Texas.  He would sneak along the bank, spy a frog, and shoot.  He shot five in a row, but each, reflexively, jumped into the water and sank.  Randy is a former student at Texas A&M and correctly figured that if he waded out, arm pit deep into the tank, and shot the frogs from the water, the impact of the bullet would push the frogs back up on the bank.  His surmise was correct and we had a frog leg feast (after he dried off) that night.

Gigging is the best way to capture frogs on larger bodies of water.  A gig is a simple tool, a four foot, or longer, pole with a sharp instrument attached.  It helps if the instrument also has a barb on it.  If you know the bottom, and the lake is free of gators, wading is a fine method to use to sneak up on them, otherwise, a boat, or skiff, is required.  Just shine the light in their eyes, sneak up quietly and stick ‘em with the gig and into the toe sack with them.

The most exciting method of capturing a bull frog is grabbing them with your bare hands.  It is a lot like gigging, but without a gig.  One thing, for sure, you really check out the bank closely before you grab one.  Shine their eyes, sneak up on them, a boat is best, check the surroundings for snakes, then quickly grab the frog, whack its head and into the toe sack with it.

The most unusual capture of frogs that I ever encountered was after O.H Buck and I were returning, on a Farm to Market Road, from a successful froggin’ trip to a private lake, when it began to rain.  Rice fields and their canals were on both sides of the road, when we noticed, what looked like cow paddies, in the road.  Stopping, we saw that it was bull frogs instead and quickly getting our lights and toe sacks, added another dozen frogs to our “catch”.  I still can’t say what the frogs were doing just sitting on the road in the rain?

The best part of froggin’ is the eating.  Just skin the legs, cut them off of the Frog, wash them, dip them in corn meal and fry.  Smaller legs are very good grilled and my favorite, are legs cooked in a butter, jalapeno, garlic and lemon/lime sauce – Frog Legs Jon.

But caution!  Watch out for snakes!  One night we were easing along the dam of a rice field reservoir, when from out of a tree, dropped, “plop”, a four foot cotton mouth, right into the boat.  We both vacated the premises quickly and dispatched the snake with our gig.  But that ended our night’s froggin’.

Finally, yesterday afternoon I got to open this year’s spring turkey season, albeit 9 days late! Gathering up all my stuff, I drove down to a secluded spot on my ranch that’s about 400 yards from a flowing creek.  Funny thing around here, that the drier it gets, we’re in a protracted drought right now, creeks and springs start flowing, go figure.  Anyway, this spot has been a turkey producer in the past, so my hopes were up for success!

Snuggling down into my hide, pulling on my face cover, looping the camera around my neck, slipping number 5’s into the 12 gauge, auto, unlimbering my turkey call, I had forgotten something, my camo gloves.  Making do, this forced me to snuggle deeper into the hide and, somewhat, blocked my view.

Before starting to call, I snapped this “shot” of the decoy.

My first round of clucks drew nothing, but my second was rewarded by the appearance of, of all things, a rooster, a Dominique standard rooster, growing up we called them “dominickers” and they ruled the chicken yard.  Wondering about where he came from and his interest in the decoy, this guy hung around for 30, or more, minutes, crowing all the time.

Here’s a “shot” of his crowing.

In this “shot” he’s trying to strut, precluded by his short wings.

He put on a show for the decoy,he could’ve picked a smaller date, but no way was I shooting him!  Remembering back to my days in Atlanta, the thoughts of the twin “redneck” brothers, Darrel and Dewayne, popped into my head and the story they told us about shooting a rooster in “[A 16 Penny Nail]”.  Some story!

Anyway, no turkeys today, but I didn’t have any new 16 penny nails either!

In 2009 I was scouting around trying to find turkey sign.  Our County and the surrounding central Texas area had been under a severe 24, month draught and turkey sign was almost nonexistent, no tracks, no feathers, nothing.

Before sunup I hid myself close to one of my corn feeders, in the bottom of a cedar tree behind some buck brush and was pleased over the success of my concealment.  One problem however, my field of view was about 10 feet, but this didn’t worry me because I was just wanting to hear a tom gobble in response to my clucking.

Snuggling into my hide, I began scratching on my hand held turkey call.  Cluck, clucking for around 30 minutes with no results, I was getting discouraged when in the distance I heard a tom gobbling!  Responding with small clucks, I was amazed that the tom was coming on in.  Soon out of the corner of my eye, I saw the turkey, a fine looking tom, craning his neck and trying to find the feathered seductress.
     
Closer he came, until he was right on top of me and I started snapping pictures.  The big bird walked within 6 feet, right past me and finally moved off in turkey frustration on not finding a suitor.

Being a beginning photographer, or even if I was a pro, it would be hard for me to beat these pictures.  About the hunting, no luck on turkeys, this big ‘un was the only tom I saw all season!

Yesterday afternoon I went over to a neighbors place scouting around for a stray coyote or other predator.  Not seeing any of the 4 legged variety, I was lucky that I took my camera along, because what did I find, but several turkey tracks.

Last Thursday afternoon as I was going into the same place, the rancher was coming out and he told me the small creek was running now and he was going to put cows back in the next day, last Friday.

This little creek is a strange one because when it gets bone dry around here, this one starts flowing and for some reason, it draws turkeys, but as I walked in down the same right of way the only tracks that I saw were deer.

It has been so dry around here, no significant rain in over 6 months, I was afraid that this coming turkey season would be a wash out (that’s really a bad play on words).  It was encouraging to see the tracks, to know that a gobbler was stalking around, looking for a hen, there’s even a faint cow track below the turkey’s.

Yesterday was a different story, plenty of cow tracks, no deer, but the turkey walking along really got my attention.

Having been blessed to have hunted all the species of quail on our continent, over the years I have had ample opportunity to sample quail cooked many different ways. Through trial and error I have been able to invent one of my favorite dishes, that can be cooked over a campfire or on a stove, “Quail Jon”, that I would like to share with you.

The ingredients are quail legs, however, dove, small bull frog, teal or woodcock legs can be substituted, but I have found that large duck, or pheasant, legs are too tough. Depending on how many legs, the ingredients are, one or two jalapenos, sectioned into 1/8, inch slices. Halve the jalapenos, remove the seeds, then slice. I prefer cleaned and sliced garlic pods, or a copious amount of garlic powder, 1 stick of butter (no margarine!) and fresh lemon/lime juice to taste. Remember, you can’t use too much garlic or jalapeno!

Clean and wash the legs and prepare your ingredients. Be sure and wash your hands thoroughly, at least 2 times, after slicing and deseeding the jalapenos! Melt the butter in a cast iron skillet, and when melted, add all of the ingredients at once and simmer, covering the skillet with a lid, for 15 minutes, then stir and turn the mixture, recover and cook until done. Feeds as many as you have legs for. Small legs are very good served as appetizers. Large frog legs can be the main course and are excellent cooked this way. Best if served hot, but be sure and eat all the peppers!

The sauce; butter, garlic, lemon/lime, and jalapenos, can also be used with small fillets of any white fleshed fish. Speckled trout, or “Trout Jon” is very tasty prepared this way, but take caution, don’t overcook, the fish being done when the meat flakes.

Who knows, maybe one day, I’ll come across a better recipe?

In early January, Fred Walters, my neighbor and friend, asked me to accompany him on a quail hunt to his lease near Lockhart, Texas. This would be my second trip to the lease and remembering the luck that I had on ducks this past December, besides the 8’s for quail, slipped 5, number 6 shot into my hunting coat pocket

Still being without a dog, we had busted into an average sized covey and had reduced their number by 3. Luckily we found all of them, and as we looked for the last quail, in the brush ahead, was the damn of the “duck slaying” stock tank where on the last trip I had bagged 19 ducks, without shooting them on the water, with 5 shots. Fred looked for the last bird and told me to go on up and check for ducks and if they were any, take care of them.

Exchanging the shells in my pump and clipping the other 2 between the fingers of my left hand, I quickly, but quietly, walked up behind the damn and eased my eyes over the edge for a look, and to my surprise there was many, many different varieties of ducks swimming and feeding in the small tank. Quickly ducking back down, I tried to wave for Fred to come up, but he couldn’t see me through the thick stuff, so I decided as he had said, “Take care of them by myself.”

Easing over the tank dam, the surface of the water exploded as the ducks took to air! Up they came and boom, boom, boom, my 12, gauge barked! I had picked out a duck for each shot and as they caught the wind and swung back over me, I quickly slipped the 2 shells that I had jammed between my fingers into the pump and let fly, boom, boom and 2 more fell.

Glancing back into the tank, I counted 13 ducks down. I was careful in picking out just one duck, but the spread and pattern of the shot had knocked down 8 more. Dreading retrieving them, because I knew we’d be over the limit, I started picking up the ones close to shore and then started “chunking” the ones left out in the middle.

Fred heard the shooting and ran up as I was “chunking” the ducks. My tally included 2 greenheads and 2 pintail drakes along with 9 other of ducks. We each had a lot of ducks in our freezers back in Houston, so we were over our daily bag limit by 3. I was crushed, but Fred assured me there would be no problem. He said, “We’ll just clean ‘em all and leave 3 big ducks with the rancher. Hopefully, we’ll be OK!”

The rancher happily took the ducks we gave him and said, “Don’t forget that I like quail too!”

We got him some quail the next trip!

Today, January 20th, outside it’s cold, 32 degrees and the wind’s blowing 25 with gusts and, after successfully planting my Vidalia and Texas 1015 onions, I have started on a new project. This project is self-publishing my second book, a saga of many of my hunting exploits, appropriately named, “Why It’s Called Hunting”.

My choice of publishers is Createspace, the online publishing subsidiary of Amazon.com. Knowing that Outdoor Odyssey is a blog that primarily focuses on outdoor happenings and expecting many trials and tribulations during my publishing experience, it is my plan to chronicle these on the blog as I go forward.

Why, I ask myself, would chronicling this project be of interest to others? Maybe someone who reads this blog would want to write and self publish a book? Maybe it would be a help to others? Maybe the process would be interesting? At least, it will be a new experience for everyone!

My objective is to self publish a 50,000 word book, with pictures, of many of my hunting experiences and the first thing to accomplish is the development of a plan that covers from concept to the finished product. My first cut at a usable plan follows:

1. Study Createspace’s offerings, be familiar with them and during the process, chose the ones that I’ll use.

2. Organize, rewrite (as needed) and arrange in chronological order the best and most interesting hunting stories from my blog.

3. Write, or rewrite, one word, one paragraph and/or one story per day.

4. Touch up, and if necessary, rewrite the Foreword, Acknowledgments and Prologue.

5. Organize pictures and change to 300 DPI.

6. Figure out the best way to change the entire book from MS Word to PDF.

7. Edit, Edit, Edit, Edit! If possible, have the book professionally edited.

Well, that’s my plan and I’m stickin’ to it (I hope)!

On Sunday afternoon, my Granddaughter, Rebekah, now 13, shot her first deer, a doe.  This feat was accomplished on the last day of our State’s Special Late General Season that ran from January 3rd to the 16th.   She went hunting with me in 2007, see my November 26, 2007 post, [“Rebekah’s First Hunt”] and we didn’t get a deer, but we had good memories..

She took this doe, pictured below, at a friend’s house, near San Marcos, where her Dad, Randy, is a Baptist Pastor.

After the deer was moved by tractor back to the cleaning station, Bekah helped her friend gut it.  We definitely have another hunter in the family!