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