This was a movie starring Peter Sellers as a simpleton whose entire communication with the outside world was based on his endless watching of insipid and vapid television programs. (see today's offerings on the Disney channel) He was much like a "community organizer" but, from piddling in his garden, Chauncey Gardner did know his weeds.
Obama surrounds himself with weeds also; foul mouthed Joe Biden who is guilty of plagiarism in law school, lying about finishing Syracuse Law School "somewhere around the middle of his class" (actually #76 out of 85), and participating in one of the most ill advised endeavors; foolish hair plug inserts without bothering to wear a hat!
This dishonorable, lying, foul mouthed swine is our nation’s Vice President. Is this really the best we can do? Probably the most valuable service he offers is excellent insurance against some loon attempting to remove the President.
What an embarrassment this Administration is to right thinking Americans. This is what happens when voters attempt to punish the Republicans for their shortcomings. This President was swept into office by a combination of a few angry conservatives, gullible Liberals, and the least intelligent, least productive, least socially responsible group of people in the nation; the uneducated welfare recipients!
This movement was ably assisted by Republicans who fielded a candidate who offered nothing but more of the same. They offered a worn out old political hack who simply was not electable and offered nothing new.
What a choice. A leader elected by parasites or a leader elected by those who have had their moment in the sun and are now overstaying their visit.
It is hard to understand the rationale behind the latest messes Obama has created with health care reform and Israel. Surrounded by enemies, Israel has been openly threatened with being wiped off the face of the earth. For years, America has been the strongest supporter of Israel and now, Obama, Biden, and other Neanderthals have publicly insulted and chastised Israel for continuing to build apartments on the West Bank.
Who does this benefit? The main beneficiary is Iran of course, along with Palestine, Syria, Libya, and other radical regimes that have vowed to destroy Israel. So why does Obama place Israel in this precarious position now?
I have a theory about that. It’s clear that Obama is not a stupid man. So why does he appear to constantly be on the wrong side of issues? I feel he has a deep seated anger and resentment toward the basic principles upon which America was founded.
Aligning himself with Marxists, (Karl or Harpo?) communists, thugs, hooligans, and the criminally insane, he consistently places himself on the wrong side of important issues. The country has overwhelmingly spoken loud and clear on the Health Care issue in three major elections; West Virginia, New Jersey, and Massachusetts. Yet he does not listen.
He rails against the Tea Party folks as a conspiracy group, small in number and not well organized. He’s right about not being organized in the way he may perceive, but they are not few in number! They are organized like the individuals who rebelled against the federally mandated 55 mph speed limit in the early 70’s.
Remember the grass roots CB radio revolution started by the truckers? Same thing here.
For Biden to deliberately be one hour late to a dinner with Prime Minister Netanyahu is disrespectful, humiliating, and childish. Biden, one step removed from being a toothless ectomorph, is too light weight to have come up with this insult on his own. This behavior has the greasy fingerprints of Emmanuel and Obama all over it.
No question this insult has caused serious damage to Israel and American relations. Israel is made to appear isolated and in a weakened state. Her enemies are sitting back biding their time while America is seen, once again, pulling out her support of an ally at just the wrong time. But Netanyahu is not a weak empty suit to be trifled with as the world shall soon see.
There can be no greater mistake than for America to distance herself from Israel. . Without the presence of America and her few remaining wise counselors who encourage peace through diplomacy, Israel will be freed of the artificial need to continue to turn the other cheek. We will awaken some morning to learn that a massive pre-emptive strike has wiped out Iran’s nuclear facility. Other enemies of Israel will experience similar shocks. How does this benefit America? How does this benefit Obama? Who knows?
Suffice it to say, there are parallels between the movie “Being There” and the current administration. As this is written, the Health Care reform bill has been signed and is going to be challenged and probably decided in the Supreme Court within the next 18 months.
Our best bet is to knock out the Democrat majorities in the House and Senate in the mid term elections in November 2010. You can bet that Obama will now push for undocumented alien amnesty to replace the voting base he lost from pushing the Health Care reform over the objections of 79% of the voters surveyed. This would add 13,000,000 grateful new "Americans" to make up for the ones he has driven away.
Somewhere along the way, he must generate money to pay for all this foolishness. This will come through a national sales tax, an added value tax, or both. And don't forget; he will unveil a gun control agenda item.
So...you and I will pay more for insurance and products while making less money because of the added taxes, unemployment, and a failing economy. Health care will be less efficient and more costly or even unavailable. National security and personal safety will be compromised. Over 50% of Americans are on welfare now with a mere 48% carrying the load for the entire nation. This can't last.
Meanwhile we must live with this combination of impotent Republicans or crooked Democrats. Democrats who allowed this health care bill to pass are being threatened by unruly crowds throwing rocks and showing great displeasure. Some feel unsafe in their world now. My advice to them? Listen to the voters next time; meanwhile...live with it!
Yep, it’s just like "Being There". Only...we're here too!
PB
Friday, March 26, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
The Old Settlers' Deer Camp
Our octogenarian heroes of this story are;
* Mr. Eugene
* Mr. Thetis
* Mr. Alonzo
* Mr. Lemuel
* The young minister is Ty or Mr. Tyrus
In Texas and, indeed, in most of the south, referring to a person as Mr. or Miz in front of the first name is an expression of great personal respect. To greet a person as Mr. Eugene or Miz Dorothy is a high compliment. There was no distinction for Miss, Mrs, or Ms; for example, just plain Miz Dorothy.
At that time, Ty, (Mr. Tyrus) was a young man who had just completed his education at the Seminary and was recently ordained a Southern Baptist Minister. Can I get an amen? His first mission was a small church in a rural community in northwest Texas.
The Texas deer season was set to open in a couple of weeks and since Ty was interested in getting to know some of the elders of his new church in order to form a men’s Bible study group, he saw this as a great opportunity for him to accompany an elderly group of hunters into the Texas Hill Country. He would get to know them, win them over, and get his mission started. He jumped at the chance.
The day before the season opener found Ty driving his huge International Travelall pulling a large box trailer behind. The four hunters were all in their 80’s and a little slow to move around but their minds were still sharp and they had voiced disapproval of Ty’s efforts to start a men’s group in his new ministry. Men’s groups were not catching on well in Texas in those days but Ty was young and inspired. He would get to know these guys on their level and start a wonderful program that would bind the men of his congregation to the church.
Ty picked up the guys one at a time and was surprised at how much gear each shooter had packed to bring along. The Travelall was packed to the roof line and the 14 foot box trailer could hold no more. Of course, Ty was officially volunteered to load all of each of the hunter’s gear. They drove deep into the Texas Hill Country with the vehicle creaking and groaning over the deeply rutted roads.
Eventually they arrived at an old but sturdy house that had been built adjoining a small cave that served as an extra room. It was always 56 degrees in this sealed off dugout; cool in the summer and warm enough in the winter. It was here that the old settlers slept and ate.
The Mexican caretaker and his wife had laid in a good supply of firewood for the old Warm Morning stove in the dugout and food for the pantry. The gas was turned on and the hot water heater had been lit; but the old fellows would not deign to use these modern conveniences. “Weren’t sportin." they said.
The elders went on into the dugout and started a fire to take the chill off. Ty was not cold; in fact, he was perspiring heavily from carrying all the supplies up the hill to the sleeping quarters. After the last load, he collapsed in a chair at the big table. Instantly there was a hush in the room and Mr. Eugene looked highly offended and walked out of the room. Most of the others followed him leaving only Mr. Thetis behind to counsel with Ty. He explained that this chair was a place of honor for Mr. Eugene and Ty's sitting in it was an affront to the rules of order.
Ty apologized and asked where these rules were written so he could avoid future mistakes of etiquette and was told curtly,”Not written no where; everyone knows these things!” Mr. Thetis went out and got the rest of the guys while Ty waited. After everyone was seated again, Ty sat in the left over chair.
Mr. Eugene called the meeting to order and began making assignments for the duration of the hunt. First order of business was to welcome Ty to the hunt and give him the honor of keeping firewood near the stove, carrying the rifles out to the truck, keeping the water bucket full, and taking care of the dishwashing, cooking, and general housekeeping.
Welcome to deer hunting, Mr. Tyrus...Texas style.
Next Mr. Eugene held up match sticks for the drawing to see who would choose first among the four deer stands. Now the reason became clear as to why each hunter brought along three rifles. One stand was in brushy terrain requiring a rifle with a big slow bullet like the Winchester 30/30. Another was overlooking a clearing with a deer trail some 250 yards out; this stand required a fast, flat shooting rifle like the 270 Winchester.
Another stand combined deer opportunities as well as offering shots at bobcats and coyotes for extra money in the form of furs. This required a rifle such as the 243 Winchester that would not destroy the pelt.
And finally, there was the 12 gauge shotgun slug that was ideal for close shots in the heavy brush. Add to this list a backpack for each hunter, extra water, a lunch sack, snacks, and one can readily see that Ty was going to work hard loading this stuff in the Travelall. Again.
The alarm sounded at 3:30 AM. Ty put on the coffee and started loading the rifles and ice chests in the Travelall. When the coffee was done, he began preparing breakfast which consisted of steak and eggs, fried potatoes, and home made biscuits. Ty had never made home made biscuits, but followed the instructions on the flour sack. They turned out a little heavy, but tasty. One of the old guys rudely pointed out that Ty had forgotten the red eye gravy.
After breakfast, everyone climbed in the big Travelall and Ty drove them to their respective stands. As he dropped off Mr. Alonzo, he was instructed to go back to the cabin and get ready for a hot supper as they would all be hungry. He was also instructed to make a round of the stands every couple of hours or so and if he saw a red ribbon tied on a fence post or a tree he should stop as that meant the hunter had a deer down and needed help with field dressing and transportation back to camp. Can you guess who would do the field dressing and drag the deer back to the truck?
So Ty’s day was accounted for and as he made his rounds, Mr. Lemuel’s stand had a bright red ribbon fluttering in the breeze. Ty always wanted to see how this deer hunting worked after the deer was down. Mr. Lemuel was only too happy to tell him each step of the field dressing procedure. They dragged the deer back to the Travelall and Ty wrestled it into the back. They took it back to camp and hung it under an overhead shelf that provided shade for an open mouthed cave. Here it would stay cool until it was time to take it to town.
No one else had a shot that day so Ty was not called on to show off his new found ability to field dress a deer. Supper was a huge success with more steaks, fried potatoes, red beans with onions, and biscuits with red eye gravy. For dessert, Ty had prepared toast and jelly. After Ty had cleaned up the table, washed the dishes, and put away everything, he finally had a chance to visit with the guys.
He started by asking how many years they had done this, how far were they from the nearest town, what happens when one of them gets sick, where was the nearest phone, and in general, asking question to get a feel for the nuances of a week in deer camp.
Mr. Eugene told him the nearest town was about forty miles from the deer camp and that also was the nearest phone location as well.
Mr. Alonzo told him they had hunted together for nearly 60 years and that old settlers hardly ever got sick. They just kept on hunting and once in a while one of them just…died. Ty found that hard to believe. One of the guys...just died? Out here?
“Oh, yeah, sure. Coupla years back, Mr. Jim was assigned to keep the fire goin’ in the stove. In the night it got real cold in here and I whispered at Jim to get up and put some wood in the stove. When I got no answer, I went over to shake him and found he was stiff as a board. Died in his sleep, he did.”
Ty asked what he did then and Mr. Alonzo said, “Well, I did not wish to awaken the others, so I put more wood in the stove, moved Mr. Jim outside on the porch where it was cold, and went back to bed.”
“Next morning, Jim’s absence was noted and Mr. Eugene asked me where he was. When I told him what happened, he just nodded, and had no comment.” Later that day, it was revealed that the others thought Mr. Alonzo had exercised rare good judgment for a youngster of only fifteen lustrum. (a lustrum is five years)
Ty asked what happened next and Mr. Eugene told him they all went out on the deer stands, those who got a deer field dressed it and headed back to the camp. They took all the deer and Mr. Jim into town. At the locker plant, they reverently placed Mr. Jim in a quiet corner of the cold room and went back to camp to finish the hunt. Problem was there was no place else to put him and everyone agreed that Jim would not have wanted the boys to miss out on the hunt. Oh, they did call the funeral home in the next town over, but the deer were waiting and tags needed to be filled.
Ty was aghast and could scarcely tell if the guys were puttin’ him on or not, but all doubt was removed when Mr. Thetis told him of the circumstances surrounding the demise of one Mr. Rufus. Seems one cold morning, Mr. Rufus did not return to camp. After a while, they decided they should maybe go check on him. They approached his stand from the blind side so as not to get shot if he were still hunting. The blind was empty, but there was no Mr. Rufus.
They spread out and begin making big circles to pick up his trail. They found him about 150 yards from his stand. He was gone; having died doing what he loved. One of the guys unloaded his rifle and observed one round was missing. Everyone hunted with four rounds in the magazine and one in the chamber. Mr. Rufus only had three rounds in the magazine of his rifle and one in the chamber. You don’t suppose…
Again, they spread out and about a hundred yards further out, they found the last deer that Mr. Rufus would ever shoot. It was a big buck with a magnificent rack. Clearly he had made a great shot on a huge trophy buck and the excitement proved too much for the old fella. Quickly they field dressed the animal, then headed back to the road taking the deer and the deceased back to camp.
The hunt continued for two more days, then all the harvested deer, (and Mr. Rufus) were taken to the locker plant where Mr.Rufus was reverently placed in a quiet corner. The taxidermist in the next town over was contacted to preserve the deer shot by Mr. Rufus and the coroner was duly notified as well. Priorities, you know. Mr. Rufus would not have wanted the boys to miss out on the hunt.
At this point, Ty abandoned all hope of getting these old codgers involved in a men’s group at church. A lifetime of enjoying nature the way these old fellows did simply could not be improved upon. They had religious experiences every time they came to deer camp and this philosophy spilled over into their every day lives as well.
Want proof? Well, just look at the magnificent deer head on the wall of the cabin. It is the last deer shot by Mr. Rufus. By this display, Mr. Rufus and the deer were honored in perpetuity.
Mr. Alonzo was right. Old settlers don't get sick very often; they keep on hunting and then one day, they just...die. Loyalty within this group runs deep. Survivors keep on hunting til one day, their turn too will come; and it's not a bad way to go. Meanwhile life goes on. Pass the red eye gravy, please.
Mr. Rufus would not have wanted the boys to miss out on any of this.
PB
* Mr. Eugene
* Mr. Thetis
* Mr. Alonzo
* Mr. Lemuel
* The young minister is Ty or Mr. Tyrus
In Texas and, indeed, in most of the south, referring to a person as Mr. or Miz in front of the first name is an expression of great personal respect. To greet a person as Mr. Eugene or Miz Dorothy is a high compliment. There was no distinction for Miss, Mrs, or Ms; for example, just plain Miz Dorothy.
At that time, Ty, (Mr. Tyrus) was a young man who had just completed his education at the Seminary and was recently ordained a Southern Baptist Minister. Can I get an amen? His first mission was a small church in a rural community in northwest Texas.
The Texas deer season was set to open in a couple of weeks and since Ty was interested in getting to know some of the elders of his new church in order to form a men’s Bible study group, he saw this as a great opportunity for him to accompany an elderly group of hunters into the Texas Hill Country. He would get to know them, win them over, and get his mission started. He jumped at the chance.
The day before the season opener found Ty driving his huge International Travelall pulling a large box trailer behind. The four hunters were all in their 80’s and a little slow to move around but their minds were still sharp and they had voiced disapproval of Ty’s efforts to start a men’s group in his new ministry. Men’s groups were not catching on well in Texas in those days but Ty was young and inspired. He would get to know these guys on their level and start a wonderful program that would bind the men of his congregation to the church.
Ty picked up the guys one at a time and was surprised at how much gear each shooter had packed to bring along. The Travelall was packed to the roof line and the 14 foot box trailer could hold no more. Of course, Ty was officially volunteered to load all of each of the hunter’s gear. They drove deep into the Texas Hill Country with the vehicle creaking and groaning over the deeply rutted roads.
Eventually they arrived at an old but sturdy house that had been built adjoining a small cave that served as an extra room. It was always 56 degrees in this sealed off dugout; cool in the summer and warm enough in the winter. It was here that the old settlers slept and ate.
The Mexican caretaker and his wife had laid in a good supply of firewood for the old Warm Morning stove in the dugout and food for the pantry. The gas was turned on and the hot water heater had been lit; but the old fellows would not deign to use these modern conveniences. “Weren’t sportin." they said.
The elders went on into the dugout and started a fire to take the chill off. Ty was not cold; in fact, he was perspiring heavily from carrying all the supplies up the hill to the sleeping quarters. After the last load, he collapsed in a chair at the big table. Instantly there was a hush in the room and Mr. Eugene looked highly offended and walked out of the room. Most of the others followed him leaving only Mr. Thetis behind to counsel with Ty. He explained that this chair was a place of honor for Mr. Eugene and Ty's sitting in it was an affront to the rules of order.
Ty apologized and asked where these rules were written so he could avoid future mistakes of etiquette and was told curtly,”Not written no where; everyone knows these things!” Mr. Thetis went out and got the rest of the guys while Ty waited. After everyone was seated again, Ty sat in the left over chair.
Mr. Eugene called the meeting to order and began making assignments for the duration of the hunt. First order of business was to welcome Ty to the hunt and give him the honor of keeping firewood near the stove, carrying the rifles out to the truck, keeping the water bucket full, and taking care of the dishwashing, cooking, and general housekeeping.
Welcome to deer hunting, Mr. Tyrus...Texas style.
Next Mr. Eugene held up match sticks for the drawing to see who would choose first among the four deer stands. Now the reason became clear as to why each hunter brought along three rifles. One stand was in brushy terrain requiring a rifle with a big slow bullet like the Winchester 30/30. Another was overlooking a clearing with a deer trail some 250 yards out; this stand required a fast, flat shooting rifle like the 270 Winchester.
Another stand combined deer opportunities as well as offering shots at bobcats and coyotes for extra money in the form of furs. This required a rifle such as the 243 Winchester that would not destroy the pelt.
And finally, there was the 12 gauge shotgun slug that was ideal for close shots in the heavy brush. Add to this list a backpack for each hunter, extra water, a lunch sack, snacks, and one can readily see that Ty was going to work hard loading this stuff in the Travelall. Again.
The alarm sounded at 3:30 AM. Ty put on the coffee and started loading the rifles and ice chests in the Travelall. When the coffee was done, he began preparing breakfast which consisted of steak and eggs, fried potatoes, and home made biscuits. Ty had never made home made biscuits, but followed the instructions on the flour sack. They turned out a little heavy, but tasty. One of the old guys rudely pointed out that Ty had forgotten the red eye gravy.
After breakfast, everyone climbed in the big Travelall and Ty drove them to their respective stands. As he dropped off Mr. Alonzo, he was instructed to go back to the cabin and get ready for a hot supper as they would all be hungry. He was also instructed to make a round of the stands every couple of hours or so and if he saw a red ribbon tied on a fence post or a tree he should stop as that meant the hunter had a deer down and needed help with field dressing and transportation back to camp. Can you guess who would do the field dressing and drag the deer back to the truck?
So Ty’s day was accounted for and as he made his rounds, Mr. Lemuel’s stand had a bright red ribbon fluttering in the breeze. Ty always wanted to see how this deer hunting worked after the deer was down. Mr. Lemuel was only too happy to tell him each step of the field dressing procedure. They dragged the deer back to the Travelall and Ty wrestled it into the back. They took it back to camp and hung it under an overhead shelf that provided shade for an open mouthed cave. Here it would stay cool until it was time to take it to town.
No one else had a shot that day so Ty was not called on to show off his new found ability to field dress a deer. Supper was a huge success with more steaks, fried potatoes, red beans with onions, and biscuits with red eye gravy. For dessert, Ty had prepared toast and jelly. After Ty had cleaned up the table, washed the dishes, and put away everything, he finally had a chance to visit with the guys.
He started by asking how many years they had done this, how far were they from the nearest town, what happens when one of them gets sick, where was the nearest phone, and in general, asking question to get a feel for the nuances of a week in deer camp.
Mr. Eugene told him the nearest town was about forty miles from the deer camp and that also was the nearest phone location as well.
Mr. Alonzo told him they had hunted together for nearly 60 years and that old settlers hardly ever got sick. They just kept on hunting and once in a while one of them just…died. Ty found that hard to believe. One of the guys...just died? Out here?
“Oh, yeah, sure. Coupla years back, Mr. Jim was assigned to keep the fire goin’ in the stove. In the night it got real cold in here and I whispered at Jim to get up and put some wood in the stove. When I got no answer, I went over to shake him and found he was stiff as a board. Died in his sleep, he did.”
Ty asked what he did then and Mr. Alonzo said, “Well, I did not wish to awaken the others, so I put more wood in the stove, moved Mr. Jim outside on the porch where it was cold, and went back to bed.”
“Next morning, Jim’s absence was noted and Mr. Eugene asked me where he was. When I told him what happened, he just nodded, and had no comment.” Later that day, it was revealed that the others thought Mr. Alonzo had exercised rare good judgment for a youngster of only fifteen lustrum. (a lustrum is five years)
Ty asked what happened next and Mr. Eugene told him they all went out on the deer stands, those who got a deer field dressed it and headed back to the camp. They took all the deer and Mr. Jim into town. At the locker plant, they reverently placed Mr. Jim in a quiet corner of the cold room and went back to camp to finish the hunt. Problem was there was no place else to put him and everyone agreed that Jim would not have wanted the boys to miss out on the hunt. Oh, they did call the funeral home in the next town over, but the deer were waiting and tags needed to be filled.
Ty was aghast and could scarcely tell if the guys were puttin’ him on or not, but all doubt was removed when Mr. Thetis told him of the circumstances surrounding the demise of one Mr. Rufus. Seems one cold morning, Mr. Rufus did not return to camp. After a while, they decided they should maybe go check on him. They approached his stand from the blind side so as not to get shot if he were still hunting. The blind was empty, but there was no Mr. Rufus.
They spread out and begin making big circles to pick up his trail. They found him about 150 yards from his stand. He was gone; having died doing what he loved. One of the guys unloaded his rifle and observed one round was missing. Everyone hunted with four rounds in the magazine and one in the chamber. Mr. Rufus only had three rounds in the magazine of his rifle and one in the chamber. You don’t suppose…
Again, they spread out and about a hundred yards further out, they found the last deer that Mr. Rufus would ever shoot. It was a big buck with a magnificent rack. Clearly he had made a great shot on a huge trophy buck and the excitement proved too much for the old fella. Quickly they field dressed the animal, then headed back to the road taking the deer and the deceased back to camp.
The hunt continued for two more days, then all the harvested deer, (and Mr. Rufus) were taken to the locker plant where Mr.Rufus was reverently placed in a quiet corner. The taxidermist in the next town over was contacted to preserve the deer shot by Mr. Rufus and the coroner was duly notified as well. Priorities, you know. Mr. Rufus would not have wanted the boys to miss out on the hunt.
At this point, Ty abandoned all hope of getting these old codgers involved in a men’s group at church. A lifetime of enjoying nature the way these old fellows did simply could not be improved upon. They had religious experiences every time they came to deer camp and this philosophy spilled over into their every day lives as well.
Want proof? Well, just look at the magnificent deer head on the wall of the cabin. It is the last deer shot by Mr. Rufus. By this display, Mr. Rufus and the deer were honored in perpetuity.
Mr. Alonzo was right. Old settlers don't get sick very often; they keep on hunting and then one day, they just...die. Loyalty within this group runs deep. Survivors keep on hunting til one day, their turn too will come; and it's not a bad way to go. Meanwhile life goes on. Pass the red eye gravy, please.
Mr. Rufus would not have wanted the boys to miss out on any of this.
PB
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Grizzled Veterans of the Plains
After a decade of being called the wheezers and the geezers, my good friend and almost brother, the famous Captain Elwell and I have changed our names to 'grizzled veterans of the plains'. It's a better fit.
The honorable Captain Elwell is a retired law enforcement officer from western Kansas. His retirement brought much joy to the local population of miscreants and ne'r do wells out there. The number of suspects who "fell while getting out of the prowl car" decreased drastically as did the number of visits to the local emergency room as well. Wait a minute, I'm getting away from the story line here.
This column is a hunting report of sorts, relating the first time I took the Captain along on a prairie dog shoot. This one trip was sufficient to cause him to spend lots money on different rifle/scope combinations that would reach out and touch a 'dog at 400 yards. Hey, don't disbelieve. On a still day, with no wind, knowing the distance to target, solid rest to shoot from, and a reliable rifle/scope combo, with handloaded ammo, connections can be made with astonishing frequency. Because of his excessive purchases, his wife thinks I am a bad influence on him, but that's okay; my wife thinks he is a bad influence on me!
On this historic day in early spring a few years ago, we met up at the Flying J Truck stop in Salina, Kansas, at the early hour of 0600. (for those who live in Topeka, this means six o'clock in the morning) Grabbing an Egg McMuffin and coffee, we headed for WaKeeney, Kansas, about 130 miles further west on I-70.
Arriving there at around 08:30, we checked in at a Mom 'n Pop motel, off loaded all the stuff we didn't need for the day long shoot, and headed south where a huge 'dog town existed in the shallow canyons along the Smoky Hill River. Our excitement began as soon as we left town when we spied a large group of pheasants in the bar ditch. It's always neat to see these colorful birds in the wild.
Then a few miles further on, we saw a coyote calmly watching us drive by.
Turning back to the west, we ran into a herd of mule deer and watched them bound away in that peculiar gait they have called 'stotting'. This is best described as an animal whose legs are like springs, bouncing up in the air as they jump/run away from us. The day is surely starting off in a grand fashion and we have yet to even see a prairie dog.
As we near the 'dog town, we spot what we think is a German Shorthair bird dog in the road ahead of us. But wait! This is not your average bird dog, it is a bobcat!!! A real wampus kitty! Damnation! What a morning.
But wait! There's more.
As we round the bend where the 'dogs are, I stop the truck and point out the dog town to the Captain. He sees nothing. I tell him to think small and watch for movement. After a minute or so, he spots one. Then another. Then ten or twelve more. Then hundreds more. This is going to be a great day.
As we sit there in the road, a huge bald eagle swoops over the hill, grabs a 'dog and begins to carry it away. Unfortunately he drops it and the dog dives for the nearest hole. You can bet the farm he will be more careful in the future if he didn't suffer a terminal puncture wound from the talons when the eagle grabbed him. Both bald eagles and golden eagles winter out here on the high plains and then return to Colorado in early summer.
By this time we've already had a super day, but the best is yet to come. We drive in past the barns and wave at the rancher who is feeding his stock. We set up the shooting bench, unload the sand bags, set up the Captain's rifle with bipod and get ready to start blasting. Since this is my partner's first 'dog shoot, I graciously allow him the first 10 shots and I will be the spotter. Later we'll trade places and thereafter we'll change every 10 shots.
The role of the spotter is not merely that of a casual spectator. He is a vital part of the two man team. Here's why. The spotter uses binoculars of 10 to 12 power to locate targets for the shooter. Then comes the tricky part; getting the shooter scoped in on the same 'dog.
This is done by describing visible landmarks something like this. He tells the shooter to look for the small evergreen tree in the middle of the field. From there come in to the fence line, count off three fence posts to the left, and there is the target.
Then when the shooter is on the 'dog, the spotter changes from binoculars to range finder and reads off the distance to target in yards. When the shooter is on the same target and has set the objective lens on the scope for the same distance, the spotter puts down the range finder and picks up the binoculars again. We discuss the range, plan for the bullet drop, estimate the wind, and decide where to hold. The shooter will then fire when ready.
All points of aim are geared to the size of the 'dog. If the range is 300 yards with a moderate wind blowing from right to left, the hold will be half a 'dog over to allow for 5 inches of bullet drop at that range and the hold for windage will be on the right edge of the 'dog to allow for the ever present wind. It gets pretty detailed but we have shot so much at known ranges that we know the trajectory of each of our rifles. Sometime we hold a full 'dog over and two 'dogs to the right. This would be a target 400 yards out with a stronger wind blowing from right to left.
An adult 'dog sitting upright is about 9-12 inches tall and about 3 inches wide across the chest. The belly, which is usually full of grass can be as big as a softball. These are the sizes we deal with on a sitting dog. But lots of times, all we can see is a head or a portion thereof. In May when the pups first come out the entire dog could hide in a coffee cup. The challenge of hitting these tiny targets at extreme ranges is hard to resist. This is why we are always looking for yet another rifle/scope/cartridge combination. This explains the necessity for us to seek new and different acquisitions from time to time.
But, you may ask, do our wives buy into this justification for expansion of our...collections? No.
Returning to the discussion above; the spotter's job now is to watch for the bullet strike. If there is a hit, all is well. If not, the miss is described as low and left or high and right, or high or low. The shooter can then correct his point of aim on the next shot at this target. We sometimes write down the location of the bullet strike for future reference.
So I put the grizzled old veteran on several 'dogs which he proceeds to miss by wide margins. Curses and muzzle blasts fill the air. We trade places after his allotted shot string and I hit 6 out of the next 10. The Captain now sees how it goes. He sits down again at the bench, gets lined up on the next target that is sitting upright about 220 yards away, takes in a deep breath, lets out half of it, and gently squeezes the trigger. Whop!! The 'dog flies in the air.
The Captain is pleased. His face is happy. After this he begins hitting pretty regularly.
His rifle today is the hot 222 Remington Magnum with a 6x24 BSA scope, shooting a 50 grain Hornaday V-Max at a screeching hot velocity. Gotta have light weight, high velocity bullets to reach out at these extreme ranges.
Off to our left is an annoying little pest, the self appointed neighborhood sentinel who chirps and yaps, warning the brethren that huge danger is in the area. He is hiding behind a big rock, peeking over the top from time to time. The Captain sends several rounds his way to no avail. I'm spotting for him and I see his shots going high. I employ the trusty Bushnell Range Finder again and determine the distance to target is 153 yards. This explains everything.
Our rifles are zeroed in at 200 yards, so at this distance of 153 yards, the point of impact will be at the peak of the mid range trajectory which means we need to hold about 2 inches below where we want to hit. Soon the sentinel raises his little head again to peek at us. The Captain takes this very seriously and carefully lines up the shot. Boom! Whop! The sentinel is no more.
We walk out to view the remains and there is the first headless prairie dog of the day. A surgically precise shot at a modest distance has the Captain dancing around on tiptoe, in tight little circles, emitting tiny squeaking noises of great joy! "Damnation, that's more fun than whacking a felon." he said. He does have a way with words.
On the way back to the bench, a rattler buzzes angrily off to our left. The Captain dispatches the snake with a neat head shot from his pistol. He is on a roll now. This is a real two'fer and he is totally addicted for life to this pursuit.
This place we're shooting is perfect for our type of long range shooting. In the mornings, we set up on the east side of the long shallow canyon and shoot to the west. The sun is at our backs.
Around noon, we load up and move up to the line of evergreen trees. We set up here to shoot north in the shade during the hottest part of the day. We enjoy a small repast consisting of cold fried chicken, bread, ham sandwiches, Gator Aide, Pecan Sandies, Strawberry Newton's, and all kinds of tasty treats.
After lunch, we cat nap a while, exchange a few lies about women, fast cars, and great things we have done, could have done, or shouldn't have done. And if some of the stories we tell about our misspent youth didn't happen just that way; well, they should have! These bullshit sessions are at least as enjoyable as the shooting; sometimes even more.
Today I brought along a brand new acquisition, a huge varmint rifle made by Savage and chambered for the powerful 25-06 cartridge, topped off with a 6x20 Bushnell Elite 3200 scope. The handload is a 75 grain Hornaday V-Max bullet loaded to a muzzle velocity of almost 3800 feet per second. Yeah, this has a heavier recoil than normal and is a trifle big for 'dogs, but it is an excellent windy day cartridge.
The Captain finds the very first victim for me to try out this fine rifle. He's sitting bolt upright, about 200 yards out. The sound of the bullet striking the target is especially loud and even after the recoil, I can still see pieces fly. The Captain said it was a spectacular hit. We have to take another walk.
We find pieces of this 'dog scattered over 40 feet in both directions. This was a solid hit and it is a mere prelude of what is to come from this excellent rifle during the next few years. I can only shoot it for a while and then must drop back to the 22-250 to get away from the recoil and muzzle blast.
As we walk back to the bench, we spot our bobcat buddy again as he has rushed in and grabbed one of the 'dogs we had shot earlier that morning. Late in the day, we have seen coyotes waiting patiently for us to leave so they can start the feast. Sometimes a really brave one will dash in and get a morsel a bit early. No matter how many 'dogs we hit, by morning the field will be barren of all 'dog bodies. Nothing is wasted; bigger varmints gotta eat too.
Around 1700 hours, we head for the west slope and shoot back to the east. Again the sun is at our backs. The 'dogs have been confined to their holes most of the day and now they are desperate to get out to eat some grass before dark. This is their only source of water in this arid country. We enjoy the best shooting of the day till it's too dark to see. Reluctantly, we pack up and head for the motel for a hot shower to get rid of all the sand and any ticks/fleas/chiggers we may have accumulated.
After showering, we head for the Wagon Wheel Bar and Grill in beautiful downtown WaKeeney for a steak of monumental proportions. We sleep the sleep of the righteous and the just because tomorrow is another shooting day.
Shooting prairie dogs is one way to control the expansion of these destructive pests. While the tender hearted will view this as cruel and unusual, the reality is getting taken out by a bullet is quick and merciful. The indisputable fact is, prairie dogs will die, one way or another. Getting shot is not the worst way to go. Here are some ways that are much worse, but one must remember that nature is violent. The following is not for the squeamish.
Prairie dogs die by being...
*eaten as pups by adult prairie dogs
*eaten by rattlesnakes
*bitten by rattlesnakes
*eaten by the blackfooted ferret
*eaten by eagles, hawks, coyotes, and bobcats
*poisoned, a long slow death
*fed bubble gum causing an intestinal blockage
*infected with the bubonic plague
Prairie dogs provide virtually every living carnivore on the plains with hor'derves and free meals. For rattlesnakes, burrowing owls, and blackfooted ferrets, this generosity includes free lodging.
Prairie dogs cause incredible damage to the land. The holes they dig ruin the land for the ranchers to grow crops. Cattle and horses are at risk of being bitten on the nose or face by rattlers that are attracted to the towns by the temptation of free meals. Rattlesnakes that are attracted to the 'dog towns close to houses create a special danger for children and pets.
In short, these animals are rodents (rats for our Topeka friends) and should be controlled by scientific methods, not by some emotionally charged special interest touchy/feely group. They are not cute, cuddly little dog like animals; they are nasty rats, with huge swollen bellies, sharp teeth, and long claws. One rancher offered to pay us a quarter for each target we hit. But he wanted us to pay him a dime for each one we missed! We could not afford to hunt there.
Hunters who shoot these vermin add to the town's economy by staying at Mom 'n Pop motels, eating at local restaurants, and buying supplies from the local vendors. We also provide support and entertainment for residents. The local Stop 'n Rob where we buy groceries and supplies had a couple of very refined, proper, and elegant, but somewhat older ladies working as clerks. Heck, we're all somewhat older these days. The Captain decided to yank some chains and asked one of them if she knew of a sportin' woman in town. Boy, what a reaction he got from her. Strong disapproval fairly exploded off her frown. Decent women are not treated this way, but the Captain delights in shocking people.
The next time we went in for supplies, all these former sweeties looked at him and could not help breaking into a smile. There is something inherently attractive about a rogue and a scoundrel. Captain Elwell fits this description to a tee! Like a moth to a flame, they were fatally attracted to him just because he was such a free spirit. He confided in me that he felt somewhat honored by their response.
Thus ended our perfect day; truly a magical day; the first of many, but always too few.
But now...spring is near again! Oh, happy day!
PB
The honorable Captain Elwell is a retired law enforcement officer from western Kansas. His retirement brought much joy to the local population of miscreants and ne'r do wells out there. The number of suspects who "fell while getting out of the prowl car" decreased drastically as did the number of visits to the local emergency room as well. Wait a minute, I'm getting away from the story line here.
This column is a hunting report of sorts, relating the first time I took the Captain along on a prairie dog shoot. This one trip was sufficient to cause him to spend lots money on different rifle/scope combinations that would reach out and touch a 'dog at 400 yards. Hey, don't disbelieve. On a still day, with no wind, knowing the distance to target, solid rest to shoot from, and a reliable rifle/scope combo, with handloaded ammo, connections can be made with astonishing frequency. Because of his excessive purchases, his wife thinks I am a bad influence on him, but that's okay; my wife thinks he is a bad influence on me!
On this historic day in early spring a few years ago, we met up at the Flying J Truck stop in Salina, Kansas, at the early hour of 0600. (for those who live in Topeka, this means six o'clock in the morning) Grabbing an Egg McMuffin and coffee, we headed for WaKeeney, Kansas, about 130 miles further west on I-70.
Arriving there at around 08:30, we checked in at a Mom 'n Pop motel, off loaded all the stuff we didn't need for the day long shoot, and headed south where a huge 'dog town existed in the shallow canyons along the Smoky Hill River. Our excitement began as soon as we left town when we spied a large group of pheasants in the bar ditch. It's always neat to see these colorful birds in the wild.
Then a few miles further on, we saw a coyote calmly watching us drive by.
Turning back to the west, we ran into a herd of mule deer and watched them bound away in that peculiar gait they have called 'stotting'. This is best described as an animal whose legs are like springs, bouncing up in the air as they jump/run away from us. The day is surely starting off in a grand fashion and we have yet to even see a prairie dog.
As we near the 'dog town, we spot what we think is a German Shorthair bird dog in the road ahead of us. But wait! This is not your average bird dog, it is a bobcat!!! A real wampus kitty! Damnation! What a morning.
But wait! There's more.
As we round the bend where the 'dogs are, I stop the truck and point out the dog town to the Captain. He sees nothing. I tell him to think small and watch for movement. After a minute or so, he spots one. Then another. Then ten or twelve more. Then hundreds more. This is going to be a great day.
As we sit there in the road, a huge bald eagle swoops over the hill, grabs a 'dog and begins to carry it away. Unfortunately he drops it and the dog dives for the nearest hole. You can bet the farm he will be more careful in the future if he didn't suffer a terminal puncture wound from the talons when the eagle grabbed him. Both bald eagles and golden eagles winter out here on the high plains and then return to Colorado in early summer.
By this time we've already had a super day, but the best is yet to come. We drive in past the barns and wave at the rancher who is feeding his stock. We set up the shooting bench, unload the sand bags, set up the Captain's rifle with bipod and get ready to start blasting. Since this is my partner's first 'dog shoot, I graciously allow him the first 10 shots and I will be the spotter. Later we'll trade places and thereafter we'll change every 10 shots.
The role of the spotter is not merely that of a casual spectator. He is a vital part of the two man team. Here's why. The spotter uses binoculars of 10 to 12 power to locate targets for the shooter. Then comes the tricky part; getting the shooter scoped in on the same 'dog.
This is done by describing visible landmarks something like this. He tells the shooter to look for the small evergreen tree in the middle of the field. From there come in to the fence line, count off three fence posts to the left, and there is the target.
Then when the shooter is on the 'dog, the spotter changes from binoculars to range finder and reads off the distance to target in yards. When the shooter is on the same target and has set the objective lens on the scope for the same distance, the spotter puts down the range finder and picks up the binoculars again. We discuss the range, plan for the bullet drop, estimate the wind, and decide where to hold. The shooter will then fire when ready.
All points of aim are geared to the size of the 'dog. If the range is 300 yards with a moderate wind blowing from right to left, the hold will be half a 'dog over to allow for 5 inches of bullet drop at that range and the hold for windage will be on the right edge of the 'dog to allow for the ever present wind. It gets pretty detailed but we have shot so much at known ranges that we know the trajectory of each of our rifles. Sometime we hold a full 'dog over and two 'dogs to the right. This would be a target 400 yards out with a stronger wind blowing from right to left.
An adult 'dog sitting upright is about 9-12 inches tall and about 3 inches wide across the chest. The belly, which is usually full of grass can be as big as a softball. These are the sizes we deal with on a sitting dog. But lots of times, all we can see is a head or a portion thereof. In May when the pups first come out the entire dog could hide in a coffee cup. The challenge of hitting these tiny targets at extreme ranges is hard to resist. This is why we are always looking for yet another rifle/scope/cartridge combination. This explains the necessity for us to seek new and different acquisitions from time to time.
But, you may ask, do our wives buy into this justification for expansion of our...collections? No.
Returning to the discussion above; the spotter's job now is to watch for the bullet strike. If there is a hit, all is well. If not, the miss is described as low and left or high and right, or high or low. The shooter can then correct his point of aim on the next shot at this target. We sometimes write down the location of the bullet strike for future reference.
So I put the grizzled old veteran on several 'dogs which he proceeds to miss by wide margins. Curses and muzzle blasts fill the air. We trade places after his allotted shot string and I hit 6 out of the next 10. The Captain now sees how it goes. He sits down again at the bench, gets lined up on the next target that is sitting upright about 220 yards away, takes in a deep breath, lets out half of it, and gently squeezes the trigger. Whop!! The 'dog flies in the air.
The Captain is pleased. His face is happy. After this he begins hitting pretty regularly.
His rifle today is the hot 222 Remington Magnum with a 6x24 BSA scope, shooting a 50 grain Hornaday V-Max at a screeching hot velocity. Gotta have light weight, high velocity bullets to reach out at these extreme ranges.
Off to our left is an annoying little pest, the self appointed neighborhood sentinel who chirps and yaps, warning the brethren that huge danger is in the area. He is hiding behind a big rock, peeking over the top from time to time. The Captain sends several rounds his way to no avail. I'm spotting for him and I see his shots going high. I employ the trusty Bushnell Range Finder again and determine the distance to target is 153 yards. This explains everything.
Our rifles are zeroed in at 200 yards, so at this distance of 153 yards, the point of impact will be at the peak of the mid range trajectory which means we need to hold about 2 inches below where we want to hit. Soon the sentinel raises his little head again to peek at us. The Captain takes this very seriously and carefully lines up the shot. Boom! Whop! The sentinel is no more.
We walk out to view the remains and there is the first headless prairie dog of the day. A surgically precise shot at a modest distance has the Captain dancing around on tiptoe, in tight little circles, emitting tiny squeaking noises of great joy! "Damnation, that's more fun than whacking a felon." he said. He does have a way with words.
On the way back to the bench, a rattler buzzes angrily off to our left. The Captain dispatches the snake with a neat head shot from his pistol. He is on a roll now. This is a real two'fer and he is totally addicted for life to this pursuit.
This place we're shooting is perfect for our type of long range shooting. In the mornings, we set up on the east side of the long shallow canyon and shoot to the west. The sun is at our backs.
Around noon, we load up and move up to the line of evergreen trees. We set up here to shoot north in the shade during the hottest part of the day. We enjoy a small repast consisting of cold fried chicken, bread, ham sandwiches, Gator Aide, Pecan Sandies, Strawberry Newton's, and all kinds of tasty treats.
After lunch, we cat nap a while, exchange a few lies about women, fast cars, and great things we have done, could have done, or shouldn't have done. And if some of the stories we tell about our misspent youth didn't happen just that way; well, they should have! These bullshit sessions are at least as enjoyable as the shooting; sometimes even more.
Today I brought along a brand new acquisition, a huge varmint rifle made by Savage and chambered for the powerful 25-06 cartridge, topped off with a 6x20 Bushnell Elite 3200 scope. The handload is a 75 grain Hornaday V-Max bullet loaded to a muzzle velocity of almost 3800 feet per second. Yeah, this has a heavier recoil than normal and is a trifle big for 'dogs, but it is an excellent windy day cartridge.
The Captain finds the very first victim for me to try out this fine rifle. He's sitting bolt upright, about 200 yards out. The sound of the bullet striking the target is especially loud and even after the recoil, I can still see pieces fly. The Captain said it was a spectacular hit. We have to take another walk.
We find pieces of this 'dog scattered over 40 feet in both directions. This was a solid hit and it is a mere prelude of what is to come from this excellent rifle during the next few years. I can only shoot it for a while and then must drop back to the 22-250 to get away from the recoil and muzzle blast.
As we walk back to the bench, we spot our bobcat buddy again as he has rushed in and grabbed one of the 'dogs we had shot earlier that morning. Late in the day, we have seen coyotes waiting patiently for us to leave so they can start the feast. Sometimes a really brave one will dash in and get a morsel a bit early. No matter how many 'dogs we hit, by morning the field will be barren of all 'dog bodies. Nothing is wasted; bigger varmints gotta eat too.
Around 1700 hours, we head for the west slope and shoot back to the east. Again the sun is at our backs. The 'dogs have been confined to their holes most of the day and now they are desperate to get out to eat some grass before dark. This is their only source of water in this arid country. We enjoy the best shooting of the day till it's too dark to see. Reluctantly, we pack up and head for the motel for a hot shower to get rid of all the sand and any ticks/fleas/chiggers we may have accumulated.
After showering, we head for the Wagon Wheel Bar and Grill in beautiful downtown WaKeeney for a steak of monumental proportions. We sleep the sleep of the righteous and the just because tomorrow is another shooting day.
Shooting prairie dogs is one way to control the expansion of these destructive pests. While the tender hearted will view this as cruel and unusual, the reality is getting taken out by a bullet is quick and merciful. The indisputable fact is, prairie dogs will die, one way or another. Getting shot is not the worst way to go. Here are some ways that are much worse, but one must remember that nature is violent. The following is not for the squeamish.
Prairie dogs die by being...
*eaten as pups by adult prairie dogs
*eaten by rattlesnakes
*bitten by rattlesnakes
*eaten by the blackfooted ferret
*eaten by eagles, hawks, coyotes, and bobcats
*poisoned, a long slow death
*fed bubble gum causing an intestinal blockage
*infected with the bubonic plague
Prairie dogs provide virtually every living carnivore on the plains with hor'derves and free meals. For rattlesnakes, burrowing owls, and blackfooted ferrets, this generosity includes free lodging.
Prairie dogs cause incredible damage to the land. The holes they dig ruin the land for the ranchers to grow crops. Cattle and horses are at risk of being bitten on the nose or face by rattlers that are attracted to the towns by the temptation of free meals. Rattlesnakes that are attracted to the 'dog towns close to houses create a special danger for children and pets.
In short, these animals are rodents (rats for our Topeka friends) and should be controlled by scientific methods, not by some emotionally charged special interest touchy/feely group. They are not cute, cuddly little dog like animals; they are nasty rats, with huge swollen bellies, sharp teeth, and long claws. One rancher offered to pay us a quarter for each target we hit. But he wanted us to pay him a dime for each one we missed! We could not afford to hunt there.
Hunters who shoot these vermin add to the town's economy by staying at Mom 'n Pop motels, eating at local restaurants, and buying supplies from the local vendors. We also provide support and entertainment for residents. The local Stop 'n Rob where we buy groceries and supplies had a couple of very refined, proper, and elegant, but somewhat older ladies working as clerks. Heck, we're all somewhat older these days. The Captain decided to yank some chains and asked one of them if she knew of a sportin' woman in town. Boy, what a reaction he got from her. Strong disapproval fairly exploded off her frown. Decent women are not treated this way, but the Captain delights in shocking people.
The next time we went in for supplies, all these former sweeties looked at him and could not help breaking into a smile. There is something inherently attractive about a rogue and a scoundrel. Captain Elwell fits this description to a tee! Like a moth to a flame, they were fatally attracted to him just because he was such a free spirit. He confided in me that he felt somewhat honored by their response.
Thus ended our perfect day; truly a magical day; the first of many, but always too few.
But now...spring is near again! Oh, happy day!
PB
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