Wild Kingdom

We live in close proximity to a number of critters. Some are cute and cuddly.

Some are cute and annoying.

Some are not fun to be around - especially for the dogs. They've been sprayed and quilled more than once. They just don't learn.

Some look scary, but are harmless.

And some look scary - and are dangerous.

We've had up close and personal encounters with a couple of rattlers, one coral snake, many scorpions, and more than one of these.

Even centipedes are bigger in Texas -- bigger and a lot more terrifying...

The massive centipede, commonly called a Texas or giant redhead, preys upon lizards and toads. They've been observed to sometimes catch and eat rodents and snakes.

Boasting between 21 and 23 pairs of legs, the centipede typically measures 6.5 inches in length, but can stretch up to 8 inches. The redhead doesn't always have a red head; being aposematically colored, the body and head can take on a variety of red and black patterns.

According the Texas Parks and Wildlife magazine, there's a story that a Civil War soldier died after being bitten on the chest by a Texas redhead while sleeping. The story is a tall tale, but the centipede does possess poisonous fangs.

Its fangs are actually a modified pair of legs, able to pierce the skin and deliver a painful toxin. In fact, all of the centipede legs are capable (to some degree) of "biting" and delivering toxin.

As frightening as they sound and appear, the centipede's bite is typically accompanied by only momentary pain and swelling. Occasionally, nausea and headaches follows -- and more rarely necrosis and cardiac arrest.

"While caution is certainly warranted when dealing with the giant redheaded centipede," the magazine explains, "downright terror is probably an overreaction."

Maybe so, but they are a truly terrifying sight. They're also aggressive. The ones we've encountered have all scurried towards us, not away from us. They're also like the broom in The Sorcerer's Apprentice - when chopped in half, each part stays alive and continues the attack.

We usually see one per year, usually in the garage or on the back porch, although we've killed a few in the house. So far no one (or no dog) has been bitten (knock on wood).

Life in God's Country...

Snakes Alive

It was a pretty warm day here yesterday. High temp was around 93, but the humidity was tolerable. It cooled off nicely in the evening, so my wife and I went outside to sit on the back porch and enjoy an adult beverage or two.

Imagine the shock and awe we experienced when we turned around and noticed this fellow joining us.

As you can see, he's right next to the back porch door. We walked right past him and sat down just below him before my wife noticed him. Needless to say, excitement ensued.

As near as we can tell it was a harmless variety, although my heart might beg to disagree. There's something about a 5 foot long snake hovering over your head that gets the pulse rate up.

Anyway, we fled one way, he went another, and the consumption of adult beverages went up.

Great way to start the weekend...

The Great Emu War

Time for a history lesson, with a side helping of civics. (Sources here and here .)

The Great Emu War

In the aftermath of the First World War different countries wrestled with the problem of how to reintegrate their veterans into society. In Britain houses were built ‘fit for heroes’, in Italy soldiers coming home were invited to beat up socialists and in Australia veterans from that country  were given land to farm. These Australian veterans would be the instigators of one of the most bizarre episodes in their nation’s history: the celebrated Emu War of 1932.

In the immediate aftermath of the Great War about 5000 veterans were gifted farming lands in the badlands in the outback near Perth, Western Australia. These farming projects, in fact, prospered relatively well, compared with similar projects in other parts of the country: only about one in three of the farmers gave up or were forced out in the first decade. The successful farmers typically specialised in sheep and wheat farming and several good seasons made many of these farms, albeit on marginal land, into profitable concerns.

Then the emus struck.

Emus had been a protected native species up until 1922, when they’d made such a nuisance of themselves on the wheat farms – flattening crops, eating them down to a stub – that they were officially reclassified as ‘vermin’. By late 1932, there were 20,000 of them wreaking havoc on the marginal wheat farms of the beleaguered veterans, and even these men, trained riflemen, who felled thousands of the mighty birds, could not put a dent in their numbers. Bounties were put on their beaks, but to no avail.

The veterans couldn’t get access to the ammunition they needed, so they called on the Australian military to take action. It was a pretty ludicrous idea – sending the army to cull 20,000 flightless bird giants – but as Murray Johnson suggests in the Journal of Australian Studies, it could have been a propaganda exercise to show that the government was doing something to support its struggling war heroes.

Led by Major G.P.W. Meredith of the Seventh Heavy Battery of the Royal Australian Artillery, the army set out on 2 November 1932, determined to gun down a group of 50 birds in the district of Campion. They moved in formation behind the birds, and the birds answered their organised assault with inspired chaos, scattering themselves in all directions to minimise the casualties. But despite their best efforts, says Johnson, “the first blood in the bizarre ‘Emu War’ had thus been drawn by the Australian army.”

It was Game On.

Two days later, the emus had their revenge. Concealed gunners sighted 1,000 emus nearby, and waited patiently for them to make their way over. At point-blank range, says Johnson, the soldiers open fired, felling maybe 10, 12 emus. But then the machine-gun jammed. The emus scattered once again... The media had a field day, quoting one of the recruits as saying:

“The emus have proved that they are not so stupid as they are usually considered to be. Each mob has its leader, always an enormous black-plumed bird standing fully six-feet high, who keeps watch while his fellows busy themselves with the wheat. At the first suspicious sign, he gives the signal, and dozens of heads stretch up out of the crop. A few birds will take fright, starting a headlong stampede for the scrub, the leader always remaining until his followers have reached safety.”

A platoon of emus patrolling the outback.

The problem was that from the beginning the emus proved to have considerably more acumen than their human opponents. Emus rarely formed into large groups and when they did it was difficult to predict where these big groups would come together.

It sounds like the emus thoroughly understood the concept of guerrilla warfare.

The army tried gunning them down in moving trucks, but found they couldn’t aim properly at their speedy foes. A lone victim rendered himself a nuisance all the way to the end, his corpse getting tangled up in the vehicle’s steering equipment, which caused it to veer off and destroy half a length of somebody’s fence.

“On 8 November, it was reported that Major Meredith’s party had used 2,500 rounds of ammunition – twenty-five per cent of the allotted total – to destroy 200 emus,” says Johnson. “When one New South Wales state Labor politician enquired whether ‘a medal was to be struck for those taking part in this war’, his federal counterpart in Western Australia, responded that they should rightly go to the emus who ‘have won every round so far’.”

A second campaign was mounted by Major Meredith on 13 November 1932, killing 40 emus. Two days later, barely any, but about a month later its was reported that 100 emus were being killed every week. Even so, Meredith did the math and found that it took 10 bullets to bring down every one emu, which was a pretty dismal effort. He was recalled and – all praise our skittery warrior bird-giants – the Great Emu War had finally come to an end.

Emu warrior on the attack.

Unfortunately for the emus, however, the story doesn't end there. Although the gallant birds won the first round, they eventually lost the war. In a lesson that should be burned into the brain of every politician and government bureaucrat, the Australian government decided to get out of the emu extermination business and turn things over to those best equipped and motivated to solve the problem - the farmers themselves.

...the government decided to provide the ammunition that the locals needed to take care of the problem themselves, and some 57,034 emu lives were claimed over six months in 1934.

A classic case of the private sector being more efficient and effective than government.

The emus, however, managed to get the last laugh.

Now, the gangly bird that takes its place of pride on the Australian coat of arms with our other awkwardly-gaited native, the kangaroo, has had its status as a protected animal reinstated. The emu population around Australia is estimated to be around 600,000 to over 700,000, and nationally they’re classified as ‘of least concern’.

Cost Per Pound

We had another late-night dog adventure Sunday evening.

Our normal routine is to let the dogs out one last time before bedtime. That's usually around news time, but the switch from Daylight Savings Time screwed up their internal clocks. They wanted out an hour earlier than 'usual.' I opened the door and let them out without giving it a second thought.

A couple of minutes furious barking erupted. We life in a semi-rural setting, so that usually means they have something treed - a possum, a racoon, a feral cat, etc. Sighing, I pulled on my boots, grabbed a flashlight and their leashes, and went out to drag them back inside.

This time, however, something was different. They were circling in the tall grass about 100 yards from the house. That's bad news. It means they've stumbled across a snake, a skunk, an armadillo, or a porcupine.

In this case it was the latter.

Fortunately, only one of the dogs got quilled this time. Last time it was both of them.

Regardless, it still meant a one-hour (one way) trip to the doggie ER in San Antonio. In a repeat of our last visit, the dog was anesthetized, the quills removed, and various medications administered. Since this is a fairly time-consuming process, we went home and tried to stay awake for the 'come get her' call.

That call came at 1:30 a.m. Being a gentleman (and not being a fool), I let my wife sleep on while I went to get the mutt - which means I got to bed around 3:30 a.m.

Combine that with the time change and I was one tired puppy all day Monday.

Not to mention a lot poorer. Emergency trips to the vet ain't cheap.

Since moving here 13 years ago we've had to take one Lab in to get her nose stapled back together after tangling with a coon, one of our current dogs to the canine orthopedic surgeon to get her ACL repaired after she tore it chasing a deer (here and here), and now two quill removal trips within the past 18 months.

Sigh...

This cartoon sums it up pretty well.

Elk Hunt Chronicles - Day Three

Made it to my destination safe and sound. Dinner tonight at 6:30. That's a little earlier than I'm used to, but I have to be up at 5:00 tomorrow morning to saddle the horses. Then a quick breakfast and off we go.

Below is the forecast for the days I'll be hunting. Great weather for a picnic, but for elk hunting ... not so much. They tend to hang out at the higher elevations until cold and wet weather pushes them down lower.

I've been going hunting in Wyoming for the past decade or so, and every time I've gone there's been snow on the ground. In fact, last year I almost got stuck when the interstate was closed due to accumulations of snow and ice. I'm sure the locals are loving this weather, but highs in the 70s ... really?

It'll be a new experience, hunting in shorts and shirt-sleeves...

My guide and I, dressed for the weather - not!

Elk Hunt Chronicles - Prologue

After years of trying, I finally drew an elk tag for Wyoming hunt area 37. (Wyoming is divided into many, many different hunt areas. The areas are, of course, different for deer, elk, and antelope. That makes the process of applying for out-of-state big game tags in Wyoming somewhat complicated.)

This particular area is not one of the top trophy-producing areas, but I go there because I'm familiar with the region, and I know some folks who live there. It's where we go every summer on vacation. In addition, I've gone there several times on deer and antelope hunts. Since this is my first elk hunt, I want it to be memorable and enjoyable. What better way to ensure that than to share the experience with friends?

When I was notified that I drew a tag, the first thing I did was research what caliber rifle is most appropriate. Boy, talk about opening a can of worms! It seems that everyone and his brother has a strongly-held opinion, and thinks that anyone who disagrees is a braindead idiot. As one writer put it, "There are many ways to start an argument in polite company, but three of the best are to kick a man’s dog, kiss his wife or insult his elk gun."

The suggestions ranged from .25-06 to .300 Mag., with every conceivable caliber in-between. That didn't narrow things down much. So I started talking with people I know who have actually taken multiple elk. The general consensus was bullet placement matters much more than size, so go with whatever you can shoot the best.

The next step was to look at what I already had in the gun safe: a .270 that I've used for 40 years; a .300 Weatherby Mag that I won in a raffle; and a .338 Federal that I won in another raffle (yeah, I know - I should have bought a lottery ticket instead). Both the .300 and the .338are still New-in-the-Box. They're much too big for the game I usually hunt (mule deer, whitetail, and antelope), and in the back of my mind I'm thinking I might want to sell them someday, so I'm hesitant to start pumping rounds through them. That left the .270.

According to the research I did, that caliber was generally acceptable. In addition, several of the folks I talked with carry .270s as well. Their only suggestion was to use a 150 grain bullet, as opposed to the 130 grain slugs I usually shoot. So I trotted down to my local gun shop and grabbed a couple of boxes of 150 grain ammo. Then it was off to the range.

I squeezed off a few shots with my old 130 grain ammunition just to make sure I was still zeroed in. The first round, out of a cold, clean barrel, went wide right (well, I also may have pulled it a little - I called "flyer right" as soon as I shot). But the next three were spot on - 1.5 inches high at 100 yards.

Then I loaded the new 150 grain rounds.

The first one also went a little right. I've got to work on my trigger pull. The next three were centered pretty good, but strung out a little vertically (breath control).

What was interesting was that the 150 grain rounds impacted around three inches lower than the 130 grain rounds (just to complicate matters, the 130 grain rounds are Hornady and the 150 grain ones are Remington). As near as I can figure out from the Remington ballistics table and the Hornady one, the difference should only be about 1/2". I'm not sure why there's such a difference between my results and the tables. Anyone out there have any ideas (other than lousy shooting)?

Another mystery: the Hornady 130 grain bullets (SP Interlocks) punched ragged holes in the target (upper holes) compared to the Remingtons' neater holes (SP Core-Lokt) (lower holes). This is particularly puzzling because the Hornadys have 'pointier' tips (see second picture below). Any ideas why?

Hornadys on the top, Remingtons on the bottom.

Remington on the left, Hornady on the right.

In addition to working on my shooting, I've also embarked on a 'get-in-elk-hunting-shape' program. I'll share the exciting details of that in a later post.

Vacation After-Action Report Part One

I'm finally getting around to organizing the pictures from our recent Wyoming vacation, and thought I'd share a few to give you a feel for the people and place.

As I previously mentioned, every year we go to the same ranch. We stay in a century-old log cabin, which is very well maintained.

The ranch sits in the foothills of the Bighorn Mountains. If we turn right when we leave the cabin, we're headed for rolling hills and open spaces, with a few cottonwood trees scattered along the creek bottoms. If we turn left we go up the mountainside through aspen and spruce groves.

View from the foothills looking up at the mountains.

Main trail leading up into the mountains.

On our first full day there we rode out through the foothills. That's our traditional first ride, where we can get the horses into a gallop and assess our steeds. On the return trip we were about to cross a little creek. The banks were covered with heavy brush. As I approached the creek I heard a rustling in the brush. My horse pricked up his ears but didn't seem overly concerned, so we kept going. All of a sudden a moose poked her head out and gave me a dirty look.

I was riding a pretty good sized buckskin (about 16 hands high, for you horse people - that's around 64 inches high at the withers, or shoulders, for the rest of you). I'm a little over 6 feet tall, so when I'm perched on a saddle my head is about 3 1/2 feet above the horse's back. In other words, my head was close to 9 feet above the ground.

The moose was looking down at me.

You don't realize how big those critters are until you get up close and personal with them. Fortunately, this (female) moose didn't have any young 'uns around, so she contented herself with snorting disgustedly and then turning away. We decided to back off and cross the creek a little higher up.

Not a very good picture, but I was on top of a moving horse at the time.

Moose sightings at the ranch are somewhat rare, but not unknown. They usually stay up in the mountains during the summer, and come down to the lowlands when the weather gets cold. I guess this one was just trying to beat the winter rush.

Day Two we headed up into the mountains. Our objective was the Roosevelt Trail, named in honor of Theodore Roosevelt, who visited the ranch in the early 1900s. The trail begins on the ranch and goes up into the Bighorn National Forest. The trail is very isolated, very narrow (2-3 feet wide), and bordered on both sides by very thick brush. It winds its way up through a series of switchbacks, with sheer drops on one side and sheer walls on the other. You definitely want a sure-footed horse for this trail.

We were working our way up the switchbacks when all of a sudden the horses got very antsy. Their ears pricked up, they started dancing around, and they tried to back up. Since we were single file on a narrow trail, hemmed in on both sides by brush and trees, with a drop off on our right side, this was somewhat troubling.

About that time we heard the sound of something coming down the trail towards us. A small black bear suddenly popped into view, followed by a second one. They weren't cubs, but they weren't full grown, either. My guess is that they were a couple of yearlings out on their own. (Thank goodness they weren't cubs - I wouldn't want to meet Mama Bear on that trail.)

I don't know who was more startled, them or us. The wind was blowing from them to us, so they hadn't scented us. Between the winding trail and the heavy brush they didn't see us until they rounded the bend about 10 feet in front of us. I have no idea why they didn't hear us. Maybe they were listening to their iPods.

Anyway, they were so surprised they jumped back. One of them lost his footing and went tumbling down the side of the switchback (it was only about a 20-30 foot drop to a ledge below, so he wasn't seriously hurt). This unnerved his sibling, who turned around and went back the way he came.

There was no way to turn the horses around. The trail was just too narrow. So we had to back up seven nervous horses in single file until we reached a place where we could swap ends and get out of there. Got back to the cabin an hour later and headed straight for the liquor cabinet.

Sorry, no pictures of the bears. I was a little busy.

After that things calmed down a little. The only other real excitement was getting caught in a thunderstorm one evening. The weather in those parts comes over the mountains, and it comes quick. There wasn't a whole lot of warning. The wind picked up, the temperature dropped, and dark clouds came boiling over the mountain tops. We headed back to the corral tout suite, but didn't make it in time. We got soaked, and the horses weren't too happy about the whole thing.

Here comes the rain. You can see the corral and barn - the large white building - in the middle left hand side of the picture.

The next day we went out a little better prepared.

City slickers.

Overall, though, the weather was great. Mostly sunny skies, highs in the 70s and low 80s, lows in the 50s ... a great change from hot and dry Central Texas.

The dynamics of the ranch are interesting. We've been meeting up with the same people there every year for the past couple of decades. Since there's no TV, cell phone service, or Internet connection, you basically spend two weeks interacting on a personal face-to-face basis with folks. You get to know them on a much closer and deeper level than you do most people in your everyday life. We've formed some extremely tight relationships with people we've met there.

I'm going to wrap this up for now. I'll have a second AAR in a few days. Till then, I'll leave you with this view from the foothills looking back at the mountains. You can see how the land rolls and climbs up into the mountains. There's a cattle loading chute in the foreground, and the creek where we encountered the moose winds through the brush and trees on the left. The main ranch compound is at the base of the notch in the middle of the mountains.

Country Living

Ah, the joys of life in the country. My day started off with rescuing a mouse from drowning, and wrapped up with shooting a buzzard (no, not a liberal - a bird).

First, the mouse.

Central Texas is still suffering through a multi-year drought. Water, always precious in these parts, has become even more so. One of the things we do to conserve it is to keep a bucket in the shower. We use it to capture the cold water that comes out of the showerhead before it warms up. That water is used on the plants in our garden.

Similarly, when we have a little get-together like we did last weekend, we don't dump the melted water out of the ice chest the next day. Instead, it also serves to water our garden.

So this morning I walked out into the garage to gather up all the weekend's conserved water. When I picked up the ice chest I discovered a very tired-looking mouse feebly struggling to stay afloat. He must have fallen in while trying to get a drink, and ended up treading water for most of the night. After all he'd been through I didn't have the heart to cold-bloodedly kill him, so I scooped him out with an old coffee can and carried him about 50 yards away from the house, where I set him free in the tall grass. I'm sure he'll live a long and happy life out there in Mother Nature's bosom (unless, of course, he gets eaten by a hawk, or an owl, or a feral cat, or a snake, or a raccoon, or a fox, or a coyote, or some other critter higher up in the food chain - on second thought, maybe I didn't do him much of a favor).

As for the buzzard, there's a bunch that roost overnight in a cell tower several hundred yards away from us. When daylight comes several of them fly over and perch on our roof. It's metal, so it raises a ruckus inside the house, plus they drive our dogs crazy. We drive them off by throwing tennis balls at them. I've tried airsoft and BB guns, but the pellets don't seem to bother the birds. And I don't want to shot them with a real gun, because I'd probably end up with a bunch of decomposing buzzard carcasses laying all over our bullet-riddled roof. So we fling tennis balls at them, the buzzards hiss and fly off, and the dogs bark madly and chase them until they sail over the fence. Then the mutts come trotting back with their chests puffed out, pleased that they've chased those dirty birds away.

This evening, however, was a little different. I let the dogs out, they made their usual rush off into the brush, but then all of a sudden a wild commotion broke out. I grabbed their leashes and went down to see what was going on. They had somehow caught one of the buzzards on the ground. It had a broken leg and a broken wing, so it couldn't escape, but it still had a nasty beak. I got the leashes on the dogs and dragged them back inside, then grabbed a .22 pistol and went back to put the buzzard out of its misery. One quick shot and it was all over. The next question was what to do with the dead buzzard.

It was about the size and weight of a turkey, but somehow the thought of roast buzzard wasn't too appealing. If I buried it the dogs would just dig it up again. Plus the ground around here is mostly rock, so digging a hole of any size usually requires a power auger or rocksaw. So I ended up tossing it in the back of my truck and heading for the nearest county road. It didn't take long to find some roadkill - a poor squashed possum. I figured that whatever came to clean up the possum would also enjoy some tasty fresh buzzard, so I dropped it off there. Recycling - the environmentalists should be happy.

Then it was back home to a cold Shiner... life is good here in the country.

Clean Living

In what I can only attribute to divine intervention on behalf of my moderate and devout lifestyle (*snort*), I received a phone call out of the blue today.

Several months ago I bought a couple of raffle tickets for a seven-day guided elk hunt from the Cody, Wyoming FFA. I figured the odds of my winning were pretty small. I was right.

I didn't win the first prize, but my name was drawn for the second prize - a Sako Model 85 rifle.

I shot a borrowed Sako on last year's New Zealand red stag hunt and was very impressed with the smoothness of the action, along with its accuracy. To say I'm pleased and excited would be an understatement.

Of course my wife, the spoilsport, pointed out that the rifle is sans scope. Whereas she sees that as a drawback, I see it as an opportunity. I like to go optics-shopping.

And while I am loath to look a gift horse in the mouth, I must admit there is one small drawback to this particular rifle. It's chambered for the .338 Federal cartridge. That's a relatively uncommon caliber, which translates to somewhat more expensive ammo. It's also a much more powerful cartridge than needed for my usual game (whitetails, and on occasion pronghorn antelope). My ancient .270 is perfectly fine for them.

However, I did draw a Wyoming elk tag this year. I'll be going up there in the fall. I did some research on appropriate calibers for elk, and the opinions range from the venerable .270 up to guns that IMO should have wheels on them, such as the .375 H&H (which, again IMO, is massive overkill). Now I have an alternative to my .270.

In the interest of full disclosure, I should also add that earlier this year, in another raffle, I won a Weatherby Vanguard .300 Win Mag. So I actually have three choices for my elk hunt.

Please note I'm not usually this lucky. The only other worthwhile thing I've ever won in my life is my wife, and even then it took more than one try. Plus, the Weatherby came with the same 'shortcomings' as the Sako - no scope and a more powerful caliber than needed.

I'm not sure what to do with these two rifles. I really like my .270, I'm comfortable with it, and I think it will do just fine on elk. On the other hand, I'd really like to try out one or both of the two new rifles. But on the third hand, I haven't fired either one of them yet. That should help keep their value up if I do decide to sell one or both (to buy more raffle tickets....)

It's a tough problem to have...

Payback

Payback is a beautiful thing. For quite a while, problems have arisen in the U.S. due to an influx of illegal immigrants crossing the border from Mexico. Now there's a wave of unwanted visitors headed the other way, and the Mexicans aren't very happy about it.

Texas Wild Hogs Invade Mexico

Feral hog destruction is well-known in Texas, where about half the nation's wild hogs are found.

... about 2.6 million wild hogs live in Texas, and left unchecked, their population would increase by 20 percent a year, with sows capable of giving birth to litters of six or more piglets every eight months.

... they long have been a major problem to farmers and ranchers, and are also destructive to other forms of wildlife.

Similar to liberals and other pests, the damage is caused not so much by what they consume themselves, but the process they go through to get it. Although they'll eat anything - and I do mean anything (think of them as four-legged cajuns) - they really like grubs and other insects. They'll root up crops and dig up pasture land trying to get the insects. They also are hell on fences. They tear down regular barbed wire or ranch fences. Heavy gauge hog panels are about the only thing that stops them, but it's expensive.

In Mexico, the wild pigs are a new and growing problem along the Texas border. In early May, representatives of four Mexican states attended a hog workshop held in Laredo by the Texas Parks & Wildlife Department.

Also attending were private Mexican landowners desperate for a way to eliminate the hogs that they say are ruining their livelihoods.

No crop appears immune from the hogs, which destroy much more than they eat...

The wild hogs have destroyed the lucrative melon and cantaloupe harvests in the border region, and are now ruining the alfalfa, corn and oat crops.

For the Valenzuela brothers, who once profitably farmed hundreds of acres of irrigated land, the control program may be too little, too late.

“Our lives have changed rather fundamentally because of the pigs, and there is very little time left to save my business,” Arnaldo Valenzuela said.

A little over a decade ago, he said, local farmers planted 500 to 600 acres of melon and cantaloupe. He and his brother had almost 150 acres of fruit and employed 40 to 50 workers a year, plus 15 more during the packing season.

“Now there isn't even enough income to support two people,” he said forlornly.

Needless to say, the loss of those crops also drives up the prices on the produce that does get to market.

Like many others here, the (Ojinaga, Mexico) mayor believes that the hogs come and go from the U.S. side.

“They don't need passports to cross,” he said wryly. “I don't know how many there are, but it's a plague.”

Of course, the same can be said for illegal immigrants...

Seriously, there are significant problems related to both feral hogs and illegal immigrants. Please note, however, that I am most emphatically not equating immigrants to hogs, or visa versa.

Mexican officials and farmers set up a feral hog trap.

One night's harvest from the hog trap.

High On The Hog

First, the bad news:

Bad Bacon News: Pig Virus Pushes Prices Higher

Bacon eaters, brace yourselves. Prices are rising ... thanks to a new virus that has already killed millions of baby pigs.

Scientists believe the virus, porcine epidemic diarrhea, comes from China. It remains unclear how it got into the U.S. and spread to 27 states. The virus doesn’t affect humans or other animals, so there’s that. But estimates of how many pigs have died—from dehydration caused by the diarrhea—range from 2.7 million to 6 million.

The price of bacon had soared before this virus hit. A pound of bacon averaged $5.46 in February, 13 percent more than a year ago...

However, there is a possible solution, at least for the poor and hungry:

Texas County to Feed Feral Hogs to the Homeless

Authorities in Texas have signed off on plans to control the growing feral hog population that includes trapping and cooking the critters to feed to the hungry at local food banks.

The pigs will be trapped ... in Harris County, Texas, where they are threatening native wildlife and vegetation...

After being captured, the pigs will be taken to a processing plant, J&J Packing Co, where they'll be inspected by a Department of Agriculture officer before being slaughtered. The meat will be sent to the Houston Food Bank.

Tom Harvey from Texas Parks and Wildlife said the state has a long-standing issue with wild hogs, which were introduced to the state some 300 years ago by Spanish explorers as domestic farm animals. Through the years, some pigs escaped and continued to “breed prolifically,” creating the feral population problem today, he said.

“Basically we’re losing the war against feral hogs, while our native wildlife continues to lose their habitat,” Harvey told ABC News. “They do a number of things that are problems: they root in sensitive areas, they trample wetlands, they defecate in water sources and they displace native wildlife.”

Numerous efforts to trap feral hogs over the years have failed to curb the growing populations, which people can legally hunt year-round, provided they have a license and are not trespassing, Harvey said. Parks and Wildlife even introduced its own campaign in 2012 promoting the consumption of wild pigs, including providing a recipe for feral hog tacos on their website.

Feral hogs are a real and growing problem throughout Texas and other states. The traditional approaches - hunting and trapping - aren't working. It's time to try something new. New Zealand is also experiencing a problem with invasive non-native wildlife. They came up with a unique incentive system.

New Zealand students killing rats in exchange for beer

University students in New Zealand are bringing in dead rats to the local university bar in exchange for beer.

The University of Wellington Science Society Department is running a scheme allowing students the option to kill rats - and in return providing them with free alcohol.

The university provides the traps to students to help them catch the rats. Once caught, the student can head into the campus pub, The Hunters Lounge and exchange the dead rat for a beer voucher.

The killing of rats was initiated by the Science Society as the rats have become a huge problem and are affecting New Zealand's indigenous wildlife. They are eating lizards and are even climbing trees to eat birds' eggs.

They also have a competitive edge over insects such as the Weta, a native New Zealand insect which is finding it very difficult to forage for food with the rats for company.

In an interview with Vice magazine, Jonathan Musther, one of the founders of the trap campaign said: “Not only are rats directly predating our species, they are also competing with them.”

“We decided to get students from the Victoria University Science Society involved in running Beer Trap. The best way to incentivise them would be to get them a free drink. They are students after all,” said Musther.

There's even a Facebook page for the program.

Here's another idea... trained alligators...

Car Parts And Bucks

Busy day yesterday. I left the house before sun-up and got back well after dark. I spent the day at our deer hunting lease, about a three hour drive from the house. My older son and I refilled feeders (1000 pounds of corn), set up two new blinds, cleared shooting lanes, performed general maintenance on existing blinds, and also managed to sneak in a little time to hunt.

Our lease is just outside Sonora, Texas, a small town in the west central part of the state. Like many other small Texas towns, Sonora experiences a bit of a boom during hunting season. Out-of-towners flood these places, buying corn and other types of feed, beer, groceries, beer, lumber and fencing materials, beer, gas, and oh yeah - beer. For the most part hunters are welcomed with open arms by the townfolk, and not just because we fill the towns' coffers. We also tend to share certain core values - a love of nature and the outdoors (which we demonstrate by shooting things), a sense of self-reliance and independence, and a fondness for firearms.

This last was exemplifed by the sign pictured below, taken on the main street of Junction, Texas. The wording on the sign is hard to read, so I've reproduced it in the caption.

Welcome hunters. 5% off with NRA/CCL (Concealed Carry License) card.

I mentioned earlier that we snuck in a little hunt while we were up there. I saw a magnificent buck that I would have loved to put on my wall. However, I just couldn't bring myself to shoot him. When you see the picture below you'll know why.

The Great Hunting Roadtrip - Illustrated Edition

A few pictures from my just-completed hunting trip to Wyoming:

The ranch where I hunted is located at the base of the Bighorn Mountains, about 30 miles east of Sheridan, Wyoming. It encompasses a wide variety of terrain, from gently rolling open prairie to the mountain range's foothills to the mountains themselves. It also borders the Bighorn National Forest.

View from the prairie looking towards the foothills and mountains.

I mentioned previously the lengthy stalks through rugged terrain when we were hunting antelope. Here's an example of a ravine we followed in an attempt to circle around a band of those elusive critters. The picture does an inadequate job of portraying just how steep that ravine was.

Uphill all the way - and at an elevation of approximately 5500 feet. Gasp...

Once we finally made our way to the top, there wasn't an antelope in sight.

Where'd they all go?

From the top of that ridge we could see all the way to Montana, about 30 miles away.

That dark ridge line off in the distance is Montana.

To give you some idea of how long that stalk was, here's a shot looking back at the truck. It's that tiny, tiny little white speck way far away.

I told you everything on that ranch is uphill.

Here's a view from the foothills looking at the mountains where we went after elk. There's no pictures of that because that day the wind was howling, the snow was pelting us, and it was too damn cold for me to take my heavy gloves off to snap pictures. Thank goodness we had nice weather for the antelope hunt. It was bad enough hiking all over God's green earth, but at least we weren't hiking and freezing.

 Here's my elk-hunting horse. Notice how cold and miserable he looks.

Two Bits wasn't very happy about lugging me up the mountains, and then back down.

Finally, here's another picture of the nice whitetail I bagged. There's a little creek bottom behind that stand of reddish-orange brush behind me. The buck came out of the creek bottom, worked his away around the brush, and was headed towards some doe a few hundred yards away.

You can tell from the light that this was early morning - about an hour after sunrise. We had him skinned and caped out, with the carcass hanging in the cooler, in short order. We dropped the head and cape off at the taxidermist and were having a celebratory cold one at the Mountain Inn by 11:30 that morning.

A great way to start the day!

It was a great hunt with some fine people in beautiful country. I can't wait to go again next year.

The Great Hunting Road Trip - The Next Day

Even though I've filled my tags, I didn't come all this way to sit around.  A few of the other hunters here have elk tags. I decided to tag along with them this morning. It didn't take long to regret that decision.

Day Seven

First of all, elk hunting starts early. Elk hang out in the tall timber up in the mountains. In order to get there in time for shooting light we left one hour before sunrise. Since last night included a few celebratory toasts in honor of my wall-hanger buck, getting out of my nice comfortable bed this morning was a little tough.

Another factor of the elk's habitat preference is the mode of transportation. Trucks can't get into the timberlands, so we use horses. One advantage of horses is that they can go where trucks can't which means less walking - or so I thought. More on that later. My trusty steed was Two Bits (note the brand on his hip).

One advantage trucks have over horses, however, is that trucks are much, much warmer. You may have noticed that Two Bits is standing in the snow. When we left the corral it was dark, the wind was howling, the snow was pelting us, and the temperature was 21 degrees. The pictures below show, in succession, frozen water coming out of a roof gutter downspout, the snug little cabin I'm staying in before the snow, and after.

Here's what my truck looked like when we got back. Fortunately, my brand new snow and ice scraper cleared it off in no time.

Okay, back to this morning's elk hunt. We rode for about an hour, then stopped and glassed for elk. Saw several bulls right away. We immediately dismounted and began stalking them on foot. Closed the distance to about 150 yards. The guy who had the first shot selected his target - a nice bull standing broadside and unsuspecting - settled into shooting position, squeezed the trigger ... and flat out missed!

The bulls took off over the skyline. After a brief counsel we decided to follow them, hoping that they would settle down in the next little valley. Of course, it was about half a mile to that ridge ... uphill ... in the snow. This was antelope hunting all over again, except the animals were bigger and the mountains were steeper - much steeper. Plus we were at somewhere between 5500 - 6000 feet of altitude. Now I consider myself in pretty good shape for an overweight 61-year-old who eats and drinks too much and doesn't exercise enough, but the combination of steep slopes and thin air was kicking my ass. I wasn't the only one doing a steam engine imitation, however. Everyone else was gasping for air like they'd just finished running a marathon, except for our guide. He was doing an excellent mountain goat imitation, bounding up ahead then hurrying back to tell us "Just a few more steps."

Yeah, right...

Of course we never caught a glimpse of those elk again. Or any others, for that matter. So after a couple of hours of mountain climbing we decided to go back to where we'd left our horse ... about a mile back ... uphill again (how does that work?) ... in the snow. Sigh...

We finally got back about four hours after we left - wet, cold, tired, and hungry. Thank goodness lunch was ready. Hot chicken and dumplings! It was manna from heaven. It restored enough of my strength that I was able to totter back to my cabin and take a nap.

I hit the road tomorrow for the return trip home. The forecast for Wyoming and Colorado calls for snow and freezing temperatures, so the trip could be quite an adventure. Everything I know about driving on snow and ice I learned in Texas: when in doubt, step on the gas.

The adventure continues...

Amarillo By Morning

Well, actually, Amarillo by evening...

Yesterday was Day One of my 10 day Wyoming hunting trip. More accurately, it's a 4 day hunt, bookended by three travel days on either side. It's 1400 miles from home to where I'm hunting. I could make it in two days if I pushed it, but I'm retired, so what the hell ... I'll take my time and stretch the trip out to three days.

Day One was Bergheim to Amarillo, about 500 miles. I left home at 10:00 a.m. The plan was to leave by 8:00 a.m., but things happened... It really didn't make too much of a difference, because I made great time on the road. I made it to Amarillo by 6:00 p.m.

Traffic varied between light and non-existent. The weather was good; cloudy in the morning, partly cloudy throughout the day, and cloudy again in the evening. Temperatures were in the mid-80s during the day, but dropped to the low 60s in the evening.

One of the (many) great things about living in Texas is the speed limits - 80 MPH on some stretches of Interstate highways, and 75 on most of the rural state roads. I didn't want to push my truck too much - it is, after all a 1995 model - but I was cruising most of the day around 80 MPH. The sad part is I was getting my doors blown off by West Texas soccer moms in minivans who passed me like I was standing still.

Anyway, zooming along at 80 MPH makes the miles fly by. Plus my bladder behaved for a change, so I only had to make two stops - and I got lunch to go. Distance traveled was 505 miles. Total driving time was around 7 hours. Average speed was 72 MPH. I'll take that on any trip.

Travel Notes:

You don't realize how big Texas is until you drive through it. I drove for a full day and didn't make it out of the state. There's an old saying:" The sun has riz, the sun has set, and here we are in Texas yet."  Very true.

Traveling through Northwest Texas is interesting, to say the least. My route took me through towns named Winters, Eden, and Sweetwater. None of those names are remotely close to describing the actual locales.

I haven't been in this part of the state in decades. Nothing much has changed, with one great big exception. Once I left Winters and climbed the cap rock I hit wind farms. It was mind-boggling. There were hundreds and hundreds of giant wind generators clustered along every available ridge.

Not the best picture, but it should give you some idea of the number and scope of the wind generators in West Texas. Click to embiggen to get the full effect.

It was surreal. The rotors were turning at the same pace, but were at different phases in their rotation. The effect was hypnotic. It was hard to take your eyes away.

It's a great location for them. The wind was humming at around 40-50 MPH - and that's on a relatively calm day. 18 wheelers were being blown all over the road. Fortunately, the wind was behind me, so it boosted my mileage. It was also sort of blasphemous. Pristine vistas were spoiled by either the wind generators, or the large towers supporting the heavy transmissions lines carrying the power from the wind farms to the cities south and east of them. I know it's a green energy, and that's good, but it does come with some costs (including a heavy death toll on migratory and endangered birds). More on that later.

Ironically, I drove past several ranches with wind generators churning away above old pump jacks faithfully extracting oil. To really confuse things, many of those pastures were either planted with cotton, or had cattle grazing in them. Talk about maximizing your resources!

Speaking of cotton fields, between Sweetwater and Lubbock the cotton crop was so abundant it looked like the aftermath of a snow storm.

Slightly further northwest, between Lubbock and Amarillo, the rest areas doubled as tornado shelters. Makes sense, since there's not a damn thing to stop the winds blowing down from Canada but a few barbed wire fences. The topography around here can best be described as "ping pong table."

Wildlife was plentiful, at least as indicated by the roadkill. Plenty of skunks and armadillos, of course, but also lots of deer, raccoons, and porcupines. I also saw the largest feral hog I've ever seen in person. It was the size of one of those large marine ice chests - about 5 feet long by 3 feet around. Thankfully, it was dead in a heap on the side of the road. I feel sorry for whoever hit it.

One of the enjoyable things about a road trip like this is scoping out the local radio stations. Out here in West Texas it's almost all classic country, which takes me back to my roots. One notable exception was Cool 100, which plays rock-n-roll from the 60s, 70s, and 80s. Very cool!

I drove through the Panhandle towns of Snyder and Post. That's notable to me because I went through a phase where I dated West Texas gals. The first one, Sheryl S. from Snyder, taught me that there is no understanding women.

We met in Austin, after I got out of the Army. She worked retail, so I would meet her after her shift ended at 9:30 at night. I'd bring a six-pack and we'd sit in the parking lot, talking and listening to the radio. After a while we started fooling around a little. That led to weekend dates - dancing, movies, etc. That led to nights spent with each other. After a while we admitted that we were boy-and-girl-friend.

The week after that admission I met her as usual after work with the usual six-pack. She blew a gasket, reaming me out and saying that I was embarrassing her. I'll freely admit that I've embarrassed my share of ex-girlfriends and ex-wives in my time, but in this case all I did was what I'd always done. Somehow the change in our status changed other things as well. I still don't get it...

The other West Texas babe, Vicki T. from Post, opened my eyes to the ways of the world. I met her after the aforementioned Sheryl. Vicki was outwardly very proper and demure, but behind that facade lurked perhaps the wildest woman I ever dated. The first night we spent together she asked me to get something out of her nightstand drawer. I pulled it open and saw two vibrators and a .38 revolver. I looked at her and lifted a questioning eyebrow. She gave me a wicked grin and said "I like to be prepared for every possibility."

Boy howdy, was she a handful...  

On that note, I'm going to bed. More about Day Two tomorrow.

World Tour Update #15

As promised, here's a picture of my red stag. I can't say enough about the outfitter - Simon Guild of High Peak Station. It's a family business, very professional, and he made us feel like part of his family. Great hunt, and even more importantly, great people.

World Tour Update #13

CenTexTim - 1
New Zealand Red Stag - 0

Managed to bag a trophy class red stag today. 23 points and somewhere in the neighborhood of a 350 B&C score. Pix later if I have the time and can master the technology.

Spot and stalk hunting. Long hard stalk (actually, several stalks - the first few didn't pan out). This country is incredibly beautiful, but also incredibly rugged. And it's all vertical - no level ground anywhere.

We're about 4500 feet above sea level, which added to my shortness of breath. Finally worked our way close enough to get a shot off - about 230 yards. Had to shoot from a sitting position - heavy scrub brush but nothing sturdy enough to use as a rest, plus I was on a downslope, so I couldn't go prone. Still managed to put one through his shoulder using a borrowed rifle (a sweet little Sako .308 topped with a Leopuld scope).

As a bonus I also harvested a wild pig. Nothing like the feral hogs back home. This one was less impressive but more tasty.

Celebrated with copious amounts of good New Zealand beer and wine, along with a hearty dinner. Bed is calling - more later...

Dog Daze

Last night was ... interesting.

It started out pleasantly enough. Several couples in the neighborhood got together for a combination potluck/progressive dinner. We went to one house for a couple of hours where we basically had browsing food - heavy hors d' oeuvres, finger foods, and the like - accompanied, of course, by ample amounts of adult beverages. Then we moved on to another house for dessert, along with a few more adult beverages. Good company, good food, good conversation ... a good time was had by all.

The party broke up around 11:00 (hey, for us that's staying out past our bedtime). We arrived home comfortably full and suitably drowsy. That's when things went wrong.

Usually our two dogs meet us at the gate, where they jump up and down, turn in circles, and otherwise express their joy in seeing us again. This time, however, they were nowhere to be seen. I opened the gate, drove through, and closed the gate behind me. When I turned off the truck I could hear the dogs baying down by the back fence. Naturally, they didn't come when called, so I grabbed a flashlight and went stumbling down the hill in the dark (no moon, loose rocks, uneven footing, lots of cactus scattered around - wonderful terrain for a late night stroll).

I found the dogs in a brush thicket, scuffling with some critter. My first thought was "Thank God it's not a skunk." I crawled in there, got leashes around their necks, and hauled them out into the open. When I looked them over in the light here's what I saw.

Yes, the mutts had tangled with a porcupine. Evidently the first set of quills didn't deter them, so they went back for more.

I've picked up a lot of DIY skills over the years, but removing porcupine quills isn't one of them. So we bundled the mutts into the truck and headed for the nearest doggie ER. Since we live out in the country that meant about a one hour drive - one way.

After getting there and waiting for the vet to become available, we were told that the preferred treatment was to put the dogs under general anesthesia and then remove the quills. It also involves IVs, antibiotics, pain pills, and other expensive canine medical goodies, along with post-op monitoring and recovery time.

To make a long story short, we got back home around 2:30 a.m., then had to turn around and go back and pick them up at 7:30 a.m. So today we are tired, cranky, and broke. That vet was expensive - times two.

And today the damn dogs are getting all the sympathy...