Smoke
Member
It's time for my annual Labor Day Dove Hunting Pilgrimage to Monahans, TX.
A pair of brother's own this place. It's a small ranch (60,000 acres) divided by I-20. For those not aware I-20 divides the zones so part of the ranch is in the North Zone, part in the south zone...one must remember the rules, regs, a limits depending on what side of the interstate you're on.
Tom is my friend. We met in college; it's a friendship going on 20 years. The first time I met him I thought he was an immature, wild, crazy, trouble making SOB from west Texas. After knowing him this long and him mellowing with time, I know he is just a wild, crazy SOB from west Texas.
Tom used to shoot Bench Rest, Palma, and NRA High power. Very competitive. Tom has ADD. Not my opinion, if there is a poster child for ADD Tom is it. You can tell night and day when he is on his meds or not. How he ever concentrated long enough to go through the rigors of reloading is beyond me. He once told me the process down to details of how he cleaned each piece of brass, weighed each bullet and grouped in groups of 5, blah, blah, blah. My eyes rolled up in the back of my head.
Now, Tom is a Geologist for the TXRRC...he has a badge. It scares me.
But Tom is gracious enough to allow me to come hunt every year, shoot at his range (out to 1000yrds) and play with his full auto toys.
Tom has a brother. Jay. Jay is a lawyer. Jay is the opposite of Tom. Methodical, calm, laid back, Jay is also a shooter. He got Tom started in the long-range stuff. Tom still competes in informal competitions, Jay has moved on to clay games.
Jay likes fine foreign made doubles in custom leather cases. Tom likes guns. Any gun. If it goes bang...Tom likes it. Tom has tried at one point or another to buy every gun I ever carried on to his place right down to the NEF 45-70 I carried out there a few years ago.
Watching these two hunt dove together is a riot.
We arrive at a windmill. Tom in his 1982 Chevrolet ranch truck that has seen better days. We call it the "accessory truck". It has more modifications than Chevy ever thought possible. Jay in his Ford Bronco, with custom hunting racks, gun racks, dog boxes, and other things.
Jay removes his fine Over & Under form the Leather suitcase and lovingly assembles it. Tom cranks an old Stevens SxS 20ga out from under the seat, wipes the dust off with his arm, bangs it against the bumper and checks point of aim on the vane of the windmill. Both barrels.
Jay has the finest in upland hunting attire from Cabelas and Orvis. Tom has a faded T-shirt from a bar on South Padre Island, shorts, and boots.
Jay spies an incoming bird, carefully aims and drops the bird within feet of him. He calmly picks it up and puts it in the spotless tan vest he is wearing. One shot, one bird...a good start.
Tom sees birds coming....he lets go with both barrels of the 20, screams, grabs another pump that's close by and dumps all three shots at the bird that is still going, unharmed, but with a slightly elevated heart rate no doubt.
A few more birds show up, Jay aims, shoots, picks up another bird and carefully places it with the other in his vest...looks at Tom and smirks. Two shots, two birds.
Tom unloads and old semi-auto of questionable heritage, wounds a bird with the third shot, throws the gun in the sand, runs to grab the bird and returns with the still flopping bird in his hand. He walks over to his brother, pulls the head off the bird with his teeth and spits the head on Jay's spotless vest.
Jay is up to 7 birds with no misses. Tom is two for two on windmills, has 5 or 6 birds (not all are dove) and has used 3 boxes of shells in two different gauges. Jay is proud, Tom is having fun.
It's getting close to dusk now. Jay is having a very good day. He is one bird away from his limit and has not missed a shot. Tom is down close to a case of shells and has his limit of dove, field larks, and one weird little black bird no on can identify. Tom is no longer shooting birds, he is shooting the windmill again ..."It's my windmill and I'll shoot it if I want to"...he is shooting a golf ball he stuck in a mesquite tree, he's shooting the mesquite tree, he's trying everyone else’s guns, and particularly admiring an 870 Marine Magnum some one has brought for fun. Jay fells the final bird to end a perfect day of hunting....100%....but the final bird is not a clean kill....we can all see it in the clearing still moving a little....Tom finishes off the bird for his brother.....by emptying the 870....6 rounds...as the bird evaporates into a cloud of feathers. No trace can be found.
Jay is furious. Tom is grinning. I fell off the cooler laughing.
I can't wait for this year.
Smoke
A pair of brother's own this place. It's a small ranch (60,000 acres) divided by I-20. For those not aware I-20 divides the zones so part of the ranch is in the North Zone, part in the south zone...one must remember the rules, regs, a limits depending on what side of the interstate you're on.
Tom is my friend. We met in college; it's a friendship going on 20 years. The first time I met him I thought he was an immature, wild, crazy, trouble making SOB from west Texas. After knowing him this long and him mellowing with time, I know he is just a wild, crazy SOB from west Texas.
Tom used to shoot Bench Rest, Palma, and NRA High power. Very competitive. Tom has ADD. Not my opinion, if there is a poster child for ADD Tom is it. You can tell night and day when he is on his meds or not. How he ever concentrated long enough to go through the rigors of reloading is beyond me. He once told me the process down to details of how he cleaned each piece of brass, weighed each bullet and grouped in groups of 5, blah, blah, blah. My eyes rolled up in the back of my head.
Now, Tom is a Geologist for the TXRRC...he has a badge. It scares me.
But Tom is gracious enough to allow me to come hunt every year, shoot at his range (out to 1000yrds) and play with his full auto toys.
Tom has a brother. Jay. Jay is a lawyer. Jay is the opposite of Tom. Methodical, calm, laid back, Jay is also a shooter. He got Tom started in the long-range stuff. Tom still competes in informal competitions, Jay has moved on to clay games.
Jay likes fine foreign made doubles in custom leather cases. Tom likes guns. Any gun. If it goes bang...Tom likes it. Tom has tried at one point or another to buy every gun I ever carried on to his place right down to the NEF 45-70 I carried out there a few years ago.
Watching these two hunt dove together is a riot.
We arrive at a windmill. Tom in his 1982 Chevrolet ranch truck that has seen better days. We call it the "accessory truck". It has more modifications than Chevy ever thought possible. Jay in his Ford Bronco, with custom hunting racks, gun racks, dog boxes, and other things.
Jay removes his fine Over & Under form the Leather suitcase and lovingly assembles it. Tom cranks an old Stevens SxS 20ga out from under the seat, wipes the dust off with his arm, bangs it against the bumper and checks point of aim on the vane of the windmill. Both barrels.
Jay has the finest in upland hunting attire from Cabelas and Orvis. Tom has a faded T-shirt from a bar on South Padre Island, shorts, and boots.
Jay spies an incoming bird, carefully aims and drops the bird within feet of him. He calmly picks it up and puts it in the spotless tan vest he is wearing. One shot, one bird...a good start.
Tom sees birds coming....he lets go with both barrels of the 20, screams, grabs another pump that's close by and dumps all three shots at the bird that is still going, unharmed, but with a slightly elevated heart rate no doubt.
A few more birds show up, Jay aims, shoots, picks up another bird and carefully places it with the other in his vest...looks at Tom and smirks. Two shots, two birds.
Tom unloads and old semi-auto of questionable heritage, wounds a bird with the third shot, throws the gun in the sand, runs to grab the bird and returns with the still flopping bird in his hand. He walks over to his brother, pulls the head off the bird with his teeth and spits the head on Jay's spotless vest.
Jay is up to 7 birds with no misses. Tom is two for two on windmills, has 5 or 6 birds (not all are dove) and has used 3 boxes of shells in two different gauges. Jay is proud, Tom is having fun.
It's getting close to dusk now. Jay is having a very good day. He is one bird away from his limit and has not missed a shot. Tom is down close to a case of shells and has his limit of dove, field larks, and one weird little black bird no on can identify. Tom is no longer shooting birds, he is shooting the windmill again ..."It's my windmill and I'll shoot it if I want to"...he is shooting a golf ball he stuck in a mesquite tree, he's shooting the mesquite tree, he's trying everyone else’s guns, and particularly admiring an 870 Marine Magnum some one has brought for fun. Jay fells the final bird to end a perfect day of hunting....100%....but the final bird is not a clean kill....we can all see it in the clearing still moving a little....Tom finishes off the bird for his brother.....by emptying the 870....6 rounds...as the bird evaporates into a cloud of feathers. No trace can be found.
Jay is furious. Tom is grinning. I fell off the cooler laughing.
I can't wait for this year.
Smoke
