The season begins

Gotta get taped up before the big day:

A couple of layers of vet wrap and some duct tape go a long way toward mitigating hot sand, grass burrs, and mesquite thorns.

We had a decent dove opener. One slow-ish day, one with plenty of opportunities. Booker even got a water retrieve:

Dad used his Ithaca 37 (49 years of bird shooting with that gun) to run a limit at 1.5 shells per bird. For me, it required 3.15 shells per bird (and, I just realized, 25 years of shooting my Citori). I didn't quite limit but it wasn't for lack of opportunity. A isn't discussing her average right now. She's only been shooting a shotgun for five years at this point.

Booker is just glad to get out and pick up a bird, even if it is a hundred degrees out there.

Hope everyone else had a good start to the best time of year.

Not entirely moribund

Apologies for the long absence. A and I have been getting out some, but work still consumes enough time and attention that any opportunity to tramp about is rare and prized enough that I seldom get around to writing about it. Turkey season passed without us getting out for a hunt and  we barely chased ducks, hardly pausing to put a little forkhorned buck in the freezer.

The fall is looking good, though. A did very well in the draw for big game licenses, lucking into a hard-to-draw cow elk hunt for mid-November, a first choice deer hunt in late October, and, most amazingly, a pronghorn rifle hunt for early October. I rode her coattails for deer and pronghorn, any tag I sought on my own (we split up to increase odds) went to someone else. Nonetheless, we're looking forward to good work, lots of hunts, and lots of meat this fall. Stock and sausage and shanks and steaks ..... In addition, we're looking at another run up to the Great Land to chase cohos, another highlight.

I'll revise the blogroll a bit, while infrequent posting is not cause for dropping a blog (I hope!) some folks seem to have left the web and others have shifted venue.

In the meantime, courtesy of a couple of days hard work the garden is in, if not up much, and we're hoping for some rain. The last two years, SE New Mexico has seen less precipitation than it will get in one normal year. So far this year, locally we've only had one measurable rainfall. 97 degrees F outside right now and  the dog is threatening to move to Montana.

Out of Africa

I think I need another few hundred hours of artificially chilled air to cool off, core temperature wise.

A and I have been pretty busy for the last month or so, and, a couple of weeks ago we completed a big game hunt that is unique in my experience. This is the first time I've hunted large animals in conditions that could fairly be called "Africa hot".

As witnessed by the paucity of blog posts, reflecting a paucity of time afield, work has been kicking our butts the last couple years or so. Reflecting the lack of time afield is the fact that our freezers have gotten pretty bare of red meat. In an effort to increase our opportunities for big game, A and I put in for elk in some relatively local areas (that don't offer great odds of drawing), deer in similarly local areas (and drew for November), put in for antelope (which are very long odds nowadays) and also put in for oryx off the White Sands Missile Range. Tags on the Missile Range are popular and hard to draw, but off-Range tags offer better odds. Most of the animals are on the Range where the habitat is good for them, but off-Range hunts run for an entire month rather than a weekend to give you a better chance. Since oryx breed year round, the hunts also run year round. As part of the odds game we put in for hunts scheduled for June and August, months not often associated with big game hunting and featuring less competition for tags. We also applied for tags separately, hoping one of us would draw.

I drew, for August, but A did not draw at all (we also blanked on elk). Tag in hand, back in July we headed over for the Tularosa Basin and scouted some BLM and state trust land. Since we lucked into the draw for an on-Range oryx  hunt a couple of years ago, as recounted here, we had some ideas about what we were looking for. We found a few likely locations and got some tips from a guy much more familiar with the area. Our first day out, we started glassing at the first spot and, within minutes, A spotted a pair of animals.She stayed up on a little promontory keeping an eye on the oryx through the spotting scope while I dropped down into a wash and headed in their direction. Getting nearly to where one of the animals bedded in the shade of a salt cedar, I hit a fence that marked the edge of huntable territory. Leaving the oryx to lounge in safety, we headed to other promontories and spent the rest of the day glassing and checking for tracks. Sixteen hours and nearly four hundred road miles passed without success.

Another Saturday, and we headed out again. Glassing first thing in the morning, A again spotted an oryx nearly right away. Again, it proved to be a pair of animals, feeding and meandering around. Again, I dropped into a wash and headed down toward the animals. This time, the oryx crossed over the fence and off of public land before I was halfway to their original location. Moving over to another wash to work my way back to A, I cut a pair of extremely fresh tracks that headed into a sandy pocket below a low ridge. I followed, expecting to come up on the oryx somewhere under the ridge in some fairly heavy brush. Instead, the animals had wandered up over the ridge and into a broad shallow draw on the other side. Two and a half hours into the hunt and with the heat rising, I decided to head back so we could check out another location. Before doing so, I eased over a shoulder of the ridge to take a look at the country over there just to get a better feel for the lay of the land. No sooner had I gotten over to about where I could see, but a pair of oryx started up and to my left. They paused a minute and I shot the slightly larger second animal.

Once the oryx was down, I got in touch with A. We met up to fix relative locations and then she headed back to the truck to move it to a point somewhat nearer to the animal while I proceeded with field dressing. A bit over a mile from the truck, something near that from the nearest vehicle access, we had our meat.

Usually, New Mexico benefits from the "monsoon" rains in August, a weather pattern where moisture from the Gulf of California moves into the Southwest to condense over the mountains, resulting in afternoon thundershowers and cooling things down a bit. Not so much this year. August has been darned hot and the two towns closest to where we got  this animal had highs of 102 and 103 F, respectively. I had two quarters off and in what scanty shade was available when A made it over from the truck. She helped me with the last two quarters and sawing out the skull plate. With everything we couldn't carry on a piece of plastic under a mesquite, A took the backstraps, loins, every bit of miscellaneous bit of gear out of my pack and some other odds and ends while I took a forequarter and a hindquarter. Although we had very little elevation loss or gain, that stretch out to the truck was one of the more challenging I've done in a while. All water in us, sandy, a good load and hotter than all get out, I had to stop every hundred yards or so for the last third and kind of stopped enjoying the hunt. The fact that every year I'm a bit older and that I'm pretty much completely out of shape and a bit out of practice packing might have contributed something to the situation, too. In any event, the hard half out, we sat in the truck, cranked up the air conditioner, had a cold drink, had another cold drink, and gathered ourselves up. Out and back with another quarter each, we had all the meat on ice and a cold  beer in hand  by 4 pm.

The last oryx hunt, on-range, was interesting but crowded. In contrast, we only saw a couple of other hunters this time, those rolling up on the highway as we  brought out the last load. It was harder to find animals and they were much more scattered  but, all in all, this was more my preference. Now, the meat is cut and wrapped, the horns are on the fence and we're looking forward to fall.

pheasant

Over 100 F today with a 30 mph wind- our part of the Southwest is a sunny blast furnace waiting for the next fire to start and looking for a little rain if we're to have any quail or a fawn crop. Work still has the best of me, but we did get out to chase pheasants last December on a bit of a whirlwind trip. Let's think of cooler times- Up to North Texas after work on Friday, back Sunday afternoon. Five hundred miles in the truck and a couple on foot. Fewer birds than last year, but good fun, family, dogs, and we found some.










I had to go to my old faithful Citori, up there on the left, as a bit of a contretemps that ensued when Booker the Chessie lept out of the truck (& over me in the process) and jumped another dog left me with a stiff hand and made the double trigger on the LC Smith hard to manage. The o/u probably shoots better for me, anyway. More impressive was my Dad's work with his old Ithaca 37- thousands of rounds at dove, quail, & etc. have made those two a pretty deadly combination.

Back in NM and a few days later, A and I decided to see if the current trend for buttermilk fried chicken would lend itself to the wilder taste and drier texture of pheasant. Pheasant plains style, as it were:





Ever vigilant quality control:


Since we're now Southern plains, we added black-eyed peas, rice, gravy, and greens to the fried pheasant.



It all worked pretty well. The buttermilk did help keep the meat moist and the tang from it went well with the pheasant. We'll have to do it again, though likely in different weather.