It starts tomorrow!

A Healthy Dose of Coues Candy

 Well I promised some recipes once I got my rounds worked up for the deer hunt.  Here is my homemade (and family tradition) recipe for Coues Candy:

For a Ruger M77 chambered in .243 Winchester.

*95 gr Nosler CT Ballistic Tip
*45.5 gr IMR 7828 (89% load cap.)
*Remington Large Rifle Primers
*Winchester Brass (once fired)

Without a chronograph, I'm estimating about 3120 fps muzzle velocity.  Nothing to be insecure about there!  This should yield about 800 ft-lbs at 500 yards and a trajectory of -39 inches at the same distance.  300 yards is a more realistic distance given my setup and ability at this point, and I should be able to deliver about 1200 ft-lbs of kinetic energy with only -6 inches of bullet drop.  Given an average chest depth of 13 inches on a Coues buck, holding the horizontal reticle on a buck's spine should deliver this little early-retirement present right to the boiler room.   I had some real trouble initially getting my powder charge to drop accurate loads, but a new digital scale and powder trickler remedied the situation and I tightened up the charges to within a tenth of a grain.   Then there was the issue of ill-seated bullets that could be turned by hand in the case - nothing that an adjustment to the resizing die couldn't cure.  It only took mushrooming a few case necks before I realized that dropping the seating die was the wrong direction to fix this aggravation.  In hindsight, building bullets has proved to be rather therapeutic, and it has helped me to weather the interminable wait before hunting season.

 Come on November 26th!

Callie Tips Over a Grand-Daddy Muley

I wasn't there to help with this hunt, but this was one tag I was really hoping got filled this year.  I'll be honest though, I didn't expect the tag to get hung on a deer of this quality.  Those Nevada boys (and girls) really know how to get it done.  Congratulations to Callie on her first deer ever!   I did have the privilege of periodic updates from Mike, Callie's boyfriend/deer guide, while they were pursuing this monster, which almost made it feel like I was on the hunt.  Great shooting and hard hunting.  Sure hope one day I can collect an old white faced bruiser like this one.   Callie did  on her first hunt what a lot of people (including me) are still dreaming about.  Way to go girl!  Now go draw your sheep tag and we'll really be talking!

This photo here belongs on the cover of a magazine.  It's that good!                                                         

When you hit the hills with guys like these, two things happen.  1- Something usually dies.  2- You're gonna have a lot of fun.  The two on the left will be accompanying me on a Coues Deer hunt in two weeks.  Really looking forward to that hunt.

Leftovers in Coues Country

I will spare you my typical long winded rant, and let the photos do the talking on this one.  Plus the story's already been written: Diagnosis Heart Explosion.  Enjoy!

Caleb Kills a Coues

A full morning of hunting turned up nothing but does and fawns - not to mention a gorgeous sunrise in spectacular country.  We were hunting our way back to the truck which we had left a few miles away and a few hours ago when we swung onto one last ridge to check a northern exposure.  As we were working our way through the oak and manzanita Caleb whispers, "I see a coyote!"  My immediate thought was that if Caleb saw a coyote he should feed it a copper wrapped breakfast of lead but I figured I should double check before I said anything.  With a little help from Caleb and my 10X glasses I located the coyote, which happened to be a deer, and buck at that.  

"Its a deer, and its a buck."  

"Really?  How many antlers does it have?"  

"Two."  

"Do you think it would be a good first buck?"

We might only have one day to hunt, and more people are joining us in the evening, which invariably complicates things... Plus, this is your first deer hunt ever.

"I think it would be a hell of a first buck.  Get ready to shoot."

By this time the buck is getting self conscious after being on display at about 100 yards, and is starting to look side to side, surveying his options for a stage exit.  Caleb drops to the kneeling position, elbow tucked against the inside of his knee.  The buck is concealed by a solitary manzanita bush.

"Which direction is he going to go?"

"Left, I think.  No, Right.  Ok shoot now!"

The rifle reports somewhere in my peripheries but I am staring intently at the buck through the glasses.  The echo of solid hit returns as I watch the buck collapse and fall over backwards, legs stretched momentarily heavenward before constricting with spasms in the throes of death.

"Nice [really nice] shot!"

Prayers of thanksgiving and a blessing for the meat preceded the photo shoot and then a rather arduous pack-out back to camp.  Another successful hunt and another addict-hunter joins the fraternity.  I love hunting Coues deer!

Quail Opener

The Phoenix Valley is a "hot spot" for Gambel's quail, and considering that this bastard summer heat has yet to give up the ghost and make way for fall, that is a pun most certainly intended.  My brother in law Johnny came to town for a brief visit this past weekend to interview for graduate school, but we took advantage of the opportunity and grabbed the shotguns and a three day license for him and headed out to a new spot I had been pondering.

The heat was already radiating through the semi-riparian area when we arrived.  Although I was prepared for a hot hunt, I was still surprised at how quickly my brow was laced with sweat which stung my eyes and permeated my shirt.  I was also surprised by the thrilling sound of flushing quail much sooner than I expected; we were scarcely 100 yards from the truck.  Not one to miss an opportunity I swung on the nearest bird and watched it crumple in the air after the shotgun's report.  Trying to find a sustained lead I shot at a second bird only to realize too late that my lead had been short and the bird was unscathed.  As I mentally scolded myself another bird flushed, the head feather and darker colors identified it as a cock bird.  Instinctively I snapped the shot and the bird collided with the earth in front of me and that was that.  I wiped my brow with a grin, thinking "Damn this heat, but thank God for quail season."

The day progressed, and the quail were on fire, not to mention everything else in the ephemeral wash system that we were walking.  My shooting gradually worsened as I worked through the better part of two boxes of shells, but Johnny shot quite well and displayed conservative wisdom on avoiding the longer shots over thick cover that I seem to possess no self control for abstaining from.  The two of us brought a total of 15 birds to hand, and with a few unfortunate cripples we had collected our limits and concluded the quail opener.

Saturday found us back in the same spot and a few hours earlier than the day before, but we could already tell that it was going to be even hotter than our previous hunt.  We swung out wider to avoid some other hunters and encountered even larger coveys than the opener produced, but already these birds were acting jumpy, almost like the educated birds of late season hunts.  They were flushing a hundred yards or more in front of us, and the only shooting we had was over singles that flushed after the covey had already disappeared.    This afforded us the opportunity to shoulder our guns a little less and talk a little more, which was a welcome change.  It was good to catch up and enjoy a long overdue conversation that the field seems uniquely suited to offer.  With four birds in the vests we called it a day around noon and headed back home.

One of the best parts of hunting with family is sharing the harvest with family afterwards.  We prepared the quail in a kabob style by wrapping the filleted meat with a little cream cheese in a strip of bacon.  Hard on the arteries but oh-so-good for the heart!  I am so thankful to be able to share these kinds of experiences with friends and family, to take a morning and bring from field to table such a wonderful fare.

Dove Hunt, Nevada Style

I had the opportunity to visit my wife's hometown of Reno, Nevada over the Labor Day holiday and catch a quick day hunt for Mourning Dove. Reminiscent of my former years hunting dove after class in high school in northeast Nevada, this isn't your typical dove hunt composed of chairs and coffee sitting on the edge of fresh harvested grain fields taking sporting pass shots at flights of the those little dive bomber aerial acrobats. No, this is walking roads and jumping springs, waiting for dove to alight and then stalking them praying they don't flush out of range. Spot and Stalk dove hunting... This method is born out of necessity, because like clock work, August 31st closes with a freezing night and September first comes having already said farewell to the great dove flights of the summer just past. When trying to explain this method to people from other areas they typically respond with the quizzical dumbfounded look - "Why all that effort? They're just dove!"

  
Just dove? Like its just September? Like its just nearly hunting season? Like its just getting frigid cold in the morning causing elk to sing, the leaves to change, and my blood to boil? Yes they are just dove. And its just hunting.  Its hard to reduce any activity that takes me into the field with a gun in hand and dog at side.  I guess hunting is in my blood - what can I do?  My compadres Joe and Mike, who are also the proud owners of a couple late November Coues deer tags, make for fine field partners, and though our shooting was mutually horrible, we were able to bag nearly a full limit between the three of us.

This is Bandit, and while he looks like a cow-dog, don't be deceived - this is one hard hunting, dove retrieving bird dog!  He made several (10 or more?) retrieves on our 24 bird day.  Not only that, but he has a great humility that is all but absent from the more traditional breeds of pointers and gun dogs.  He'll gladly bring a dust feathery dove to hand where most breeds would simply sit and look at the bird with disdain.  This was my first meeting with Bandit, and it was a privilege to hunt with him!

 

Our other four legged companion was Britt, a liver on white tenacious little Springer.  Britt and I have a history that goes back a good while, I was there when her owner  Mike picked her out from among her litter mates, and I had the privilege to watch a great deal of her training.  She does well on dove, but its the hill partridge, or Chukar, that she absolutely excels on.  Unfortunately, Chukar season will open in Nevada while I am in Arizona this year, and I shall have to stave off the withdrawals on some Gambels quail and glassing for Coues deer.  I suppose there are worse things in life!

The flush 

The swing 

 

Look at Britt's expression as both gun reports yield no bird!

Another miss! 

 

Western Nevada 

 

Los Scantalopes!

 

The best seat in the truck