Mighty Fine Equine

The Last Buck

The Last Buck

by Thom Cantrall

It was hot! But that would be expected in August in northern California. summers were always hot, but the proximity of the coast tends to give extreme temperatures common to interior valleys. It was more than warm enough to satisfy the most meticulous of sun seekers. It has since come to mind it's madness to hunt deer in one hundred degree plus temperatures, but this being the twelfth had been known overall, and was the sixth to take further Columbian Blacktail Deer with my father, I knew no better and accepted as the status quo. We do not know what is not known.

The year was 1955 and we were trying to continue a long tradition date in our family. Since the end of World War II, we held each August at the ranch of my Uncle Arthur, where, as a group, we hunted deer. I had matriculated to six years from a "little kid" for one of those old enough and mature enough to accompany hunters. I had to be with my father directly and must keep my "trap" closed at all times unless told directly, a difficult task for six years in all cases, but through wonderful scenery and smells, it was pure torture to obey this edict, but since I knew well the consequences of disobedience, remained stuck my trap shut. Being forced to stay with the "little children" again, after have made this jump would have been unforgivable in my eyes, there was no doubt in my mind that I was not going to suffer this fate.

After all, little kids do not get out of bed until the "men" have eaten breakfast and were out, making final preparations for departure to the hunt. This included things such as loading magazine rifles, selling old Tony, the horse, getting rings or Dopey, dogs, ready to leave and, finally, with two men on the back of Tony and the rest of the quota, with a portion of the tail of Tony's entourage world have left the ranch yard, led the dirt road leading into the mountains, the venerable old Tony stoically carrying a couple and towing several others on the steep hills in the area to be hunted today.

At that time in that location, using a dog "skip" was common practice. What this meant, in fact, was a dog, a mutt any livestock questionable blooded, covered dogs are well beyond the means of our simple but laborious folk in this austere economy after the war. The dog was trained through the thick bushes closely adjacent to the hunter, jumping game out of bed in the dense jungle of manzanita, madrone Chaparral and brush that covered a wide Some of these coastal hills. The dog is generally not encouraged to run deer, mating to get it to your feet and moving barking a few times to boost the creature. They were then recalled and generally given praise for their diligence and dedication. It then the work of the hunter to get to where he could see if the animal was a buck or a doe, and if a male to make a good stroke on it.

Uncle Arthur had two dogs, for example in the years I knew him. Ring was unique, highly intelligent and extremely well trained dog. It was originally doubtful, as I recall, it looked like a shepherd and Labrador Cross, but there were probably other strains in its pedigree. It was a pretty big dog and not very friendly to anyone but members of the family. It was so well trained that she would never run a deer would not even bark to so she jumped. With a male, she would let us know in a loud voice, and, if not recalled, the deer run for a few hundred meters before leaving himself and the return of his well-deserved praise.

Once a telephone call for emergency caused the family to leave home in a panic. Ring has been inadvertently left inside the house. As she had learned not eat only his own dish, it would not even eat the same hand we children. In their haste, the family had left a roast, just baked on the kitchen table. When they returned three days later, they found the ring, still inside his empty food dish and licked own, but the roast is still sitting on the table, completely intact. She had yielded to the nature and broke internal training, but even that was carefully deposited on the linoleum floor bathroom. It was certainly a special creature.

At the time of this story, however, its offspring, Dopey was the main dog, Ring having lived a long and full life has been withdrawn, to his great disappointment, and very soon thereafter disappeared. I always felt that it was because she was not allowed to hunt with us. Dopey, as its name suggests, was not the dog's dam was, but it was good. It would meet each vehicle entered the yard, and he was always pleased to see our little clan and would come around to greet and encourage everyone of us kids spoil everything we could to him, but if no guns were removed from the vehicle, he quickly lost interest and disappeared to the point where he took his habits, usually in the back porch of the house. However, show him a gun and he was almost uncontrollable ... he was ecstatic with joy and happiness ... It was time to call chase. He did not finesse her dam was, but it was still a puppy, and he actually came to jump and sound off at a doe, if you need to be on your toes with Dopey dog do his duty!

In 1954, my uncle was killed in an accident Logging on the ranch and the family tried to hold on, knowing it would not be possible, but hoping against hope that miracles happen. Shortly before the season, my father was undecided about whether he hunted the ranch without Arthur. Although Arthur was the only brother my mother, my father and he were very. close Arthur had served in Italy during the war, returning highly decorated and full of stories of his experiments. He was a man who likes to have fun as was my father. When my cousin Pete called, asking us to come away with them, we, of course, immediately accepted, even knowing that it would be difficult to maintain the atmosphere of previous years.

Opening morning came very early and we went through all the ritual, the day mode and breakfast before selling Tony, loading guns, and raising the tail for Tony be towed up the mountain in conditions of darkness dawn. At first light we found up the hill at the edge of Lawhead Canyon. Pete had around another way and has been Dopey the bottom of the canyon, hoping to jump something on his way in.

While we waited, knowing that we where well ahead of schedule Pete, my father asked me to go through a couple of canyons, using me to his dog jumps! It was a ploy that has worked repeatedly over the years that my father was often heard that if he could get off me sound a little better, he would not need a normal dog! Such was not the case today. brush in the areas I through thick and was difficult to get through. If there had been a deer, they left soon after I entered the jungle. This area had been burned in the past and was miserable without it. At one time I fell, crashing into my hand a bush, buckthorn, driving one of its rigid spines completely through my finger, entering just below the first knuckle of the middle finger and the output almost to the first phalanx of the same figure. At that time, I would not allow anyone to touch it, but he continued Race for the remainder of the day. Removal, night after soaking the hands in bleach for a while and then have someone enter with a pair of pliers and quickly, extract the. not an exercise for the faint of heart, for sure! If I had known he intended to withdraw from this so, I would never have let him near enough to consider it!

About the time we thought Pete should be in our region, around mid-morning, we moved to a place were we could saw down into the canyon. Dad assigned me a strain on the warning to stay, "or" ... Having had experience with its "or" in the past and be sound mind, having no desire to repeat these consequences, I mounted my stump assigned and was very happy to watch who followed the drama unfold.

I was in my office for more than fifteen minutes when we heard Dopey open ... He had jumped directly something below us. Knowing that not ring, we could not believe that, because he had opened, it was a male, but we hoped. Currently, my father told me he would move to the lower side of the ridge, we were a little further so he can see better in the ravine west of the main spur. He felt this would be the avenue of deer fleeing to elude would dogs.

Now, Dopey had long since subsided and received the praise and adulation, he felt his due and that the mountain was silent in the morning air warm. Only the sound of the occasional insect or, rarely, a blue jay broke the silence. The sun rose and the air was warmer when we heard a branch break way down to the bottom of ravines.

Immediately, I was alert, watching with as much attention that my twelve years old eyes would allow. Dad, the light and lower on the ridge was also very concerned about the region's sound, saying it had heard it. Minute by minute long, time drags as if my view be some gigantic hand that would not allow it to drain! Warmer, I swear it was hotter than I looked. The sweat ran down my face and in my eyes, making it difficult to see. But be careful that I did!

There! Bottom of the ridge about half a mile, I saw movement in the brush. It was a deer, I was sure. I wanted Silence in my father's turn to watch me. Finally, after what seemed forever, he did and I motioned to him that I had seen a deer come the bottom of the canyon. I, with gestures told him that I did not know if it was a buck or a doe. He accepted what I had said and returned to ensure that its I returned to mine. For another ten minutes the table instead. The deer was moving up the canyon toward us, but so slowly! regularly now, Dad turned to me updates as to where the deer was. He motioned that he would go farther into the canyon and I told him no! It was great shape if the deer do not veer off course. We were in great shape with the wind blowing gently on our faces as we continue our vigil.

Ten fifteen minutes passed as the Buck, I could see the woods, although I could not even say how great they were approached, stopping regularly to look back into the canyon he was leaving, making sure there was no leakage him too closely. Then I seen. It was a male legal, like California at the time anyway, had a horn-shaped fork or better prescription. I motioned Dad our next exchange and said it was close.

In what was probably a series of seventy-five meters from Dad, a deer left the track it was and I started directly on the side of the ridge towards its position. I froze up, afraid he would see me. When Dad again looked at me, I was hunkered down as low as I could get, just moving my eyes and knew that things were nearing completion. He did not move a muscle as the deer made its way to the new track he followed through the brush. Thirty yards, up, Dad had a clearing through the brush, which gave him a good view of the ball and a wide angle shot. He quickly, too quickly, effectively, for deer near Bolted to this sudden movement, has brought his old Remington Model 8 Remington .25 caliber shoulder and fired once.

This was the only time in all my experience of hunting with my father that I have never seen a one-shot kill. He did a year later than others, but by then, I was in the navy and thousands of miles away!

The Buck, the impact of the ball striking just behind his left shoulder and penetrate in both lungs, spun on his hind legs and charged out of sight in the thick bush at the bottom of the canyon spur. I was ecstatic. I seen everything and I knew it was a good move. I could see the jet of blood from the right side, impact and knew the male would not be far. Dad has however, not satisfied to be a little under the influence of Buck Fever by then. He sent down the canyon and was rewarded with an answering Halloooo ... Pete sense would follow the trail soon.

Dad returned to my stump and we rehashed everything we had seen and heard and all I felt was true. He said he thought was a good move and I assured him it was indeed! Was almost as Dopey opened, apparently on the trail the deer had used from climbing. Pete stayed right with him and my other cousin, Roger, who was on the ridge near came to us too, attracted by the gunshot and screams.

Dopey, when suddenly the trail of blood and open started running into the bushes where the deer had shortly before entered, only to nearly go immediately quiet. Again all returned to the mountain silence of midday as we wondered if this meant that we hoped he did. The confirmation came only moments later that Roger has reached the point where the dog had found the deer to find the dead deer and Dopey contentment lying beside him as if he himself was had bagged the Buck!

The deer is a beautiful three points with the protection of the eyes to make a very nice grid for Columbian Blacktail. It weighed about one hundred sixty pounds and with two or three men trailing twelve years and carrying an old rifle from his father, now discharged, it was only a short drive from the track to fire the head of the spur. We had Tony and loaded the deer on it, have tied up and began the journey back to the ranch.

This was our last hunt on this ranch. That winter, unable to monitor payments because there was no man to make this work, he returned to the original owner and we never returned. I was thus the last When I was in California, about eight or so years ago and even the old house is now gone, a new situation where Holiday House He once stood. My aunt and my cousins moved to town then, and it was not the same. We stayed close to them during some time, visiting often, but the ranch was so much a part of us that it was as if something had been torn from the soul to rekindle the flame. I had lunch with my cousins last in 1978 when we lived near while I was on a mission of the Special Working in this area. It was beautiful and I love them, but our childhood was another era, another time, and although we tried, it will never be always the same, except in our minds, where the big bucks roam brushy canyons yet, an old horse hauling us up steep hills with its tail and even rattlesnakes wondering what happened to all that go away ...

About the Author

Light of the West - War With Myself (Original Song)