Category Archives: Hunting

Hunting

Haney’s Ranch – Fixin The Barn

The spring before Brad joined the Army, he and I went up to help Rick repair his barn and, since it was very comfortable for early spring, both nights we slept out on the “sleeping porch”. The screened in porch was on 2 sides of Rick’s old ranch house. I noticed that Rick was sleeping with his AC roaring, but said nothing to him about it. Maybe it covered up our snoring!

The next morning, sunrise found us along a creek, in a makeshift blind, making hen Turkey sounds. Brad leans over to me and whispers, “Dad, did you hear those animals bumping around under Rick’s house last night?” Whispering back, “Yes, Son. It sounded like someone walking around the porch, or a herd of ‘Dillos!” (‘Dillos is Texican for Armadillo.) I continued “They were “bumping” right around my bed.”

The second night there was more “bumping around” but barely waking, we both slept right through it. As we were leaving for Houston, I mentioned to Rick, “You need to trap those animals under your house and close up where they are getting in.” His short reply was, “I’m going to.”

Hunting

Haney’s Ranch – A Near Miss

Gus, and Rooster, right, who plays a major part in this story.

My first trip to Rick’s ranch set the tone for all of my future visits and I’m introduced, in grand style, to the fabulous hunting, the inherent dangers and to Rick’s unnatural being.

Arriving at the ranch, after a six-hour drive from Houston, it is too late for much of a Quail hunt so we decide to go out and try to shoot a wild Hog. Driving for a couple of miles to where the road ended at a creek, Rick and I got out of his truck, crossed the creek and he then sent me up a hill to watch for a Hog in the small valley below and he walks to the next hill and takes up his position.

Hunting

Haney’s Ranch

I am a Christian! I don’t believe in ghosts. I have never seen a flying saucer either. But, this post begins a series of stories about some strange encounters that I have had with “its” or “somethings”, maybe strange, non-earthly beings, I don’t know? I haven’t touched a “whatever”, but I have heard one and felt one. Bubba Broussard even saw and chased one!

All of the following events took place over a 10 year span, in the same, old ranch house that was originally built in the early 1900’s. Out on that ranch, Haney Ranch, I have seen an ancient Indian pictograph, depicting a violent encounter and death. The ranch was two thousand acres of the roughest, toughest wildlife habitat you could ask for, lots of Quail, Doves, Ducks, Deer, Coyotes, Scorpions, Rattle Snakes and Wild Hogs, and I loved every minute of it!

Maybe it was me being around the “whatever”? Maybe it is nothing? Maybe it is something? Quien sabe?

More stories about Haney’s Ranch follow.

Hunting

The Birthday Present

One of the original 12 plastic, decoys, on display on the gun rack in our old ranch house. Of the 12, 9 remain after 55 years of yoeman service!

In 1952, for my seventeenth birthday, my parents gave me twelve, plastic decoys, manufactured by the Animal Trap Co. Of America, Lititz, Penna. I wonder if they are still in business? These were the latest in hunting technology, twelve Mallard Duck decoys, six drakes and six hens, brightly colored and “almost guaranteed” to bring the Ducks in.

Having previously acquired both a Duck and Goose call, our neighbors wishing I had chosen other endeavors, daily gaining in Duck calling proficiency, and by coincidence, the Duck season just opening, my Dad was ready to go out with me and give my twelve, new plastic decoys their baptism of fire.

The place of our choice was one of the many small lakes near the mouth of Cedar Bayou, that originates between Dayton and Baytown, Texas and flows into Trinity Bay east of Baytown. Then, and now, a one-hour plus drive from our West University home. The area around the mouth of the bayou is still a most productive hunting and fishing venue.
Early on the Saturday morning of our hunt, my Dad and I rented a wooden skiff from the Cedar Bayou Bait and Boat Rental Co. (it still remains open to this day) and attached our new, 5 HP motor. We then motored about two miles up the bayou turning into the second lake, where one of Dad’s friends had built a blind, put out my twelve new, plastic decoys and proceeded to shoot our limits of Blue Bills and Red Heads!

My calling skills were expanded, since you call these diving Ducks with almost a squawk. We picked up my brand new, plastic decoys, retrieved the ducks, motored back, returned the boat, cleaned the ducks and drove home.

At the time, I said to my Dad, “This duck hunting, especially with my 12 new, plastic decoys is really something, and not too hard either.” My Dad just smiled.

Hunting

The Big Country – The Trapper

As I have mentioned, protection of his Goats and predator control were the rancher’s main objectives. One trip it came back to bite us!

Layla and I would always stop by the ranch house and visit before we went out to hunt on the Millersview lease in Concho County. This trip was no different, but the rancher cautioned us not to hunt his “near” trap. In his vernacular, that meant, the field closest to our camp house. He added that the State Trapper hadn’t picked up his traps out of that one, but he had removed all of the cyanide traps for the Coyotes. The Coyotes played “hob” with the rancher’s Goats.

The cyanide traps were baited with rancid meat and will draw a Dog to them, especially a far ranging Bird Dog, but again, the rancher assured me that, by count, all of the cyanide traps had been removed. Feeling better, we began our hunt one “trap” removed from the near one and had bagged several Quail for our efforts when, Sonny, my Brittany Spaniel, who was working cross wind about 50 yards ahead of us, yelped and jumped into the air!
Sonny on the back porch of our house in Houston.

Rattle Snake I immediately thought, but he kept flopping around and yelping to high heaven! Running up to him, both Layla and I quickly saw the problem the trapper had left one of his traps and my Dog had found it. It was no problem unlocking the trap from its hold on Sonny and digging up the spike that anchored it in the ground.

Fuming, we stopped hunting, loaded up the dogs and hurried to the ranch house. I had cooled off by the time I showed the rancher to trap we “found” and was in no mood for any more “Quailing” until the trapper had removed ALL of his traps from the property.

The rancher’s next solution for predator control was Emus and that sure is another story!

Hunting

The Big Country – The Bobcat

Opening morning of Deer season I hunted on my ranch in MillsCcounty and shooting a doe, I decided to get on out to the Millersview lease that afternoon to see if the Deer were still coming into the stock tank.

Having climbed up into a good size shin oak and securing myself in a fork, I unslung my rifle and began searching for bucks and does. Soon a 6 pointer walks right beside my tree, goes to the tank and gets himself a drink. Hmmm, not bad for openers.

I notice movement to my right and turning, I spot a half grown Bobcat stalking some birds feeding in and around the prickly pear. He is about the same size of a year old house cat and as the “Friends Of Wildlife” say, “Sooo cute!” The Cat is busy hunting and hasn’t even thought a human would be within 15 feet of him.

Watching him for several minutes, I finally decide to scare him away and get on with my sightseeing for Deer. Being up in the tree I couldn’t pick up a cow chip or rock and toss it at him, so I ponder the situation and remember the empty hull of the bullet I shot the doe with this morning is still in the left pocket of my camo shirt.

The cat is still hunting away as I flip the empty hull toward him and it lands just to his rear, making a tinkling noise. He jumps about 3 feet up in the air, spins around, hisses and hits the ground running, heading for points unknown!

I hunted the area of the stock tank often and never saw a Bobcat again.

Hunting

Rebekah’s First Hunt

As my Grandchildren approach hunting age and prove proficient in shooting and handling a rifle, they are all ready for Poppy to take them hunting on the ranch.

Rebekah, a 10 year old and one of my 3 Granddaughters, announced this week that she was ready to go hunting with me and I told her that this was one of the nicest birthday presents I had ever received. My birthday was the day before. She was to start practice with her Dad’s .243 this past weekend, but the wind, rain and cold put a halt to that.

RebecahDeerHunting11-23-07

Even though she couldn’t shoot a Deer, she was ready to go out, so Friday, November 23, was the day we picked. The temperature was 34 degrees and there was a heavy overcast. All of this weather was the forerunner of a fierce winter storm heading our way from New Mexico. North of us, along I-20, around Abilene, winter storm warnings were posted for the weekend and our part of this system was rain and maybe, light snow flurries.

Rebekah and I established the rules for the mornings hunt; this was to be a fun thing and for her to let me know if she got cold, I would shoot a spike, a big doe, or, of course, a nice buck, so sunrise found us in “The Scaffold Blind”.

This was the same blind that her Dad, my Son, Randy, had shot a nice 11 pointer 10 days earlier.

ScaffoldBlind

This is a picture of Randy’s nice, 11 pointer. Also pictured is Randy’s son, my Grandson, Sean and Spike, the Deer tracker.

RandySeanandDeer

At 6:50 AM, she spotted two yearlings coming in to the feeder. Soon, this was followed by a steady trickle of young does and their yearlings, and none of the does showed any signs of being in estrus. For the first few Deer, Rebekah would point at my gun for me to shoot, but I would make a “too small” sign for her and she quickly figured out the sizing requirements.

This is one of the many small Deer we saw on our hunt. The lighting is horrible, but the Deer, center/right is rooting around the remnants of a salt block.

DeerAtScaffoldBlind11-23-07

At about a count of 10 Deer, Rebekah’s hands had become very cold. Before heading out, I had put 2 pair of gloves on her, cotton next to her skin and wool over them, she had a blanket, and everything else was fine except for her hands. Taking off my wool gloves, I put them over her hands and we kept counting, or hunting.

Finally, the count stopped at 13, we hadn’t seen any horns, but she said, “Poppy, I’m ready to go back. My hands are cold!” We climbed out of the blind and got her back to the old ranch house and a warm stove. After a quick hand warming she went right back out into the cold to play with the rest of her Cousins and her cold hands were quickly forgotten.

She will never forget seeing so many Deer on her first hunt, and best of all, we practiced restraint and not seeing any “shooter”, passed on 13 Deer. She’ll remember that too!

As she was running outside, she said to me, “Poppy, are your gloves different colors so you can remember which hands they belong on?”

Hunting

The Big Country

In the late 1990’s, Millersview, in Concho County,Texas consisted of a one pump, gas station/feed store, a Post Office and a WW II memorial. Millersview is in the part of West Texas known as “The Big Country”. It is on Farm to Market Road 765, 60 miles west of Goldthwaite and 40 miles east of San Angelo and the closest town is Eden.

Back then I was on a 2,000 acre, Quail/Deer lease with plenty of mesquite and prickly pear cactus, about 3 miles outside of Millersview, absolutely no turkeys and a minimum of 10 points on the bucks. We had a nice camp house (running water) and the place was loaded with game, big Deer and “mucho” Quail and definitely, shoot any Coyote we saw.

Predator control was the foremost item for our rancher. Coyotes would eat and wantonly kill his goats, sometime killing twenty or thirty in one wild frenzy.

My first year on the lease, September 1, found me and my 8 year old, Grandson, Bradley, in the shadow of a mesquite, beside a stock tank being “covered up” by Mourning Doves. Bradley loved it because we had to wade out and retrieve most of the birds.

Sitting under the same mesquite cleaning the birds, I counted 8 Deer that tried to come into the water.

For the next 4 years it only got better!

More to come on my lease at Millersview………

Hunting

Tom Mix Wash

Jack, “Candy”, me and part of our limits of Gambel Quail, pose (remotely) along Tom Mix Wash, north of Tucson in Arizona.

With the temperature hovering near 90 degrees, Jack Shindler and I started the long walk back to our truck down Tom Mix Wash. The Dogs, Jack’s, Candy, and my, Rooster, were “Quailed” out and we were down to less than one canteen of water, out of the 4 we took along. Back then, mid November, 1973, the wash was rough country, now it is probably million dollar houses!

We had hiked, hunted and worked our way several miles up Tom Mix Wash, where, supposedly, the actor, Tom Mix, was killed in a one car wreck along a road that bisects it. Tom was killed prior to WWII and I barely remember it. Anyway, back then I was a Gene Autry guy.

Starting right after lunch we had headed east, towards the foothills and had bumped into numerous, large coveys of Gamble Quail and had considerably thinned out their population. That day we enjoyed some of the finest Dog work and shooting of all my Arizona hunts. We missed some, the Dogs busted a covey, a covey outran us, but within a little less than 2 hours we had 2 limits!

With our game bags full, 2 limits of birds, walking back to the truck Jack was excited, anticipating trying out his new camera with a “timed” shutter. He was going to set it up on a tripod, get it focused in, then we would rush around, smile and the picture, certainly a potential Pulitzer winner, would capture the “thrill of our hunt”!

Everything worked fine except that our hoard of Quail was cut off.