Group:
Well, I had all of the city that I could stand, and I couldn't stand anymore, so I loaded up the Jeep on Friday and prepared to head for the hills.
We had a delayed departure, owing to the fact that my wife didn't get out of work until about 7 or so that evening. After she got home, we stopped off at a local Chinese restaruant in Capo Beach for dinner, then hopped on the I-5 northbound, and finally left the Capistrano Valley behind.
I hate driving on Southern California's freeway system. I mean I REALLY hate it. It is almost like "no matter where THERE is, you can't get THERE from HERE" -or so it seems. I'd hoped the late departure would have meant less traffic, but this was not the case. It took almost two hours to do the nearly 80 miles from our house to the Main Street Hesperia off-ramp off of the I-15. I had to stop at AM/PM there in town for gas. While pumping my gas, some drunken idiot came running up to me, screaming at the top of his lungs, and waving a knife around.
He seemed kind of rude, so I took the knife away from him. Somehow, his head got a little bump on it from getting rammed into a metal pole. After that, the drunk fellow took off staggering at what for a drunk is high speed. I kept pumping my gas and tossed his K-Bar in the trashcan. I should have kept it. I assume he wanted me to have it, or he wouldn't have been waving it around like that.
"Should I call the police?" says the wife.
"Nah. Just kids having fun" says I.
I reckon I had more fun than the drunk did..............
It used to be a nice little town when it had less than 1,500 people in it and some of Main Street was still dirt. Now it's got 75,000 people in it. Some of them, like my new beverage conissieur friend, aren't very sociable. There's street gangs. Grafitti. It looks like the San Fernando Valley, only not as pretty.
Well, that was all very exciting. Time to move on...............
East of town, Roundup Way becomes a dirt road. Ordinarily, it is in good enough shape to drive a car on. I wouldn't drive my Porsche on it, but a 2 wheel drive mini-truck would be okay. But it was a mess this time. Big ruts. Holes. Kinda washboardy where there weren't any holes or ruts.
And it was worse on the next road, also dirt and in very bad condition. And it was even worse on the turnoff to the Coxey Truck Trail. I went into low range and stayed there for the next seven miles to my property.
If you've never been in a Jeep before, I can assure you that with 4.11 final drive gears, a 3.93:1 first gear, and an additional 2.75:1 reduction in low range, the combined 45:1 crawl ratio makes for some VERY slow going. Average speed: 5 mph.
We arrived at 1 am, put the kids to bed, unloaded the Jeep, and hit the rack ourselves.
The plan was to get up and out before sunrise, but I was so wacked that I couldn't manage to roll out of the rack, so I slept in, had a nice breakfast, and spent the morning and afternoon target shooting.
By 9:30, the temp. had risen to 80 degrees F. It was pushing 90 by 2 pm. But when 4 pm rolled around, the temp suddenly dropped 20 degrees and a steady wind picked up. The wife and I collected our rifles and our custom belt rigs, rounded up the kids, and head out for the hunt.
She: .177 Gamo Shadow 1000 w/ GTX II trigger and Bushnell 4-12 A.O. scope in SportsMatch mounts, firing Crosman Copperhead Pointed.
Me: .20 Beeman R-9 with scope and mounts as above, firing Beeman FTS pellets.
We head soutbound, into the wind, making our way to the barbed wire fence that marks the boundary between our 20 acres and the National Forest. My son and I spook a BIG jackrabbit, and it takes off running down the access road that leads from our gate to our quarters. I didn't even get a shot off. Those buggers can really run.
Ah, well... That's the way it goes.......
Outside of the gate, on National Forest land, no sooner do I get it closed and locked than I see another BIG jack run down the road. Again, I didn't get a shot off. Not legal there, since the dirt road is a designated open route -a public thoroughfare. We walk on, working the very gently rolling country at the base of Luna Mountain, a country with broad grassy flats between the chaparral-covered finger-hills that spread out from the foot of the mountain. It is a cheat-grass, sage, buckbrush, and manzanita country, and also a juniper country. Where it is fairly flat and open, it is also a good cottontail country.
And so it proved........
My daughter practically stepped on one and it bolted literally at her feet. I couldn't get a shot off at that one. It was a little too fast and I was a little too slow.
My wife practically stepped on one, and I didn't get a shot off at it, either.
I found one in the shadows of a live oak, about 45 yards out. I took aim, waited for a break in the breeze, squeezed, and.................
Thwack-Ziiing-Thump.
The pellet is deflected by a little twig. It riccochets off course, landing just inches behind the bunny's little, cottony tail. He takes off for Riverside County and seems in a hurry to get there. By the time I get the R-9 ready for action again, he is waaaaaay out of range.
Next bunny I jump doesn't run fast, but kind of hops on over toward my wife. It stops in the middle of a little field of cheat grass. It stands up on it's hind legs. My wife takes careful aim. She seems awfully calm, cool, and collected.
She also seems to be taking FOREVER to do the deed.
My daughter can't stand it, anymore. "Shoot it, mommy!" she cries.
And the rabbit still stood there. So did my wife.
She yanked on the trigger about six times before she remembered that she didn't flick the safety off. The rabbit took off just before my wife pulled the trigger, and it was out of range before I could get my gun on it.
So there were six chances at a bunny in about an hour and a half of walking. We flubbed all of them. We saw quite a few quail and a pair of chukar, too, but they aren't in season yet.
At the gate, my wife took the kids back to quarters, and I stayed near the upper southwest corner of the property. I saw a rabbit there. But it was about 100 yards away. I started stalking it. At about 55 yards, it knew I was there and it didn't want to be. It bolted. I made a few "clicks" on my rabbit clicker and it stopped, turned, and faced me. Then, after a looooong time of standing there, the rabbit went prone under a low live oak, and laid his ears back. I tried to close the gap. At about 45 yards, I fired.
Phuuuuut Thwack Ziiiiiiiiiiing.
Not again!
Yep, another twig!
Rabbit bounds off. He's not in a hurry to leave. Evidence at his first "bed" says it all. He's just dropped his "green pellets" and he really wants to eat them. He isn't going to wander far from them. Yes, as disgusting as it sounds, rabbits eat their own feces.
So, we play this little game of "now you see me, now you don't." We play it around this little hillock. Around. And Around. And Around.
Finally, a couple of bounding leaps into a juniper, a few applications of the rabbit clicker, and he stops, with his head obscured by shrubbery, but a good, clear poke at his chest,or so it seems. I take that shot.
Phuuuut Thwack Ziiiiiiiiing
And the rabbit bounds off, but he isn't moving very well and he's dribbling spots of pinkish goo on the ground.
Pellet hit a lung!
Bunny resists becoming crock-pot material to the end. I jerk the trigger and punch a hole in one of his ears. By the time I reload, he's over on a neighbors' 20 acres. I thwacked him in the head from 30 yards and ended it.
According to the Boga Grip that I used to use to weight fish when I was guiding, the jackrabbit weighed 11 pounds, 2 ounces.
He's in the crock pot as we speak, simmering away in curry powder, garilic, and other herbs and spices.
That's a whole lot to go through for a couple of pounds of meat that might be good or barely palletable.
It still beats shopping at the market, though.....
-JP
