Texas Sweat Update

[Missouri CK]

Curtis,

I just wanted echo the sentiments of everyone else and say hats off for a job well done.

You're the reason Texas Sweat happened in the first place! There are a lot of little things that  go on behind the scenes so that a trip like this works so well.

I've talked to Andrew three different times since he got back. We just keep going on about how awesome his hunt was.

Thanks for helping to make everything thing I told Andrew about Texas become a reality.

Chris Kinslow

[trashwood]

LOL Killdeer - no but ya need a "Palo Malo" hunt'n in the thorn and pucker bushes of south Texas.  Some of 'em pig are as mean as the plant life.  Pig BTW get tooth decay.  I figure that is why an old boar can get so cranky...guy has bad a bad tooth ache and just awaiting for some bowhunter to come by so he can take it out on him  

rusty

[so tx pighunter]

Rusty you got it "EL PALO MALO" or THE BAD STICK is definately what you need for the STBC. One that you aint afreaid to get down an dirty with.

[Charlie Lamb]

Well, looks like the trip has been well covered by the gang.

What a trip! Bet nobody else said that!!

My experience was a little different than most of the guys. Seems I brought a little cold bug with me to the sunny south.

It started a couple days before the hunt and left me with just enough time to get in a pig hunt or two with Curtis.


We cruised through the hide outs of Curtis' favorite nemesis, "Mr. Sniffles". As usual, he was making himself scarce. That didn't keep us from bouncing Mr. Sniffles stunt double from a favorite lounging spot. I like to call him "Wannabe"... if ya say it right, it almost sounds like Commanche.
I spotted a couple of hogs while hunting solo and even managed to call in a coyote... who decided to rush my position just as I stood up to leave. He left first!

By the time the first of the gang arrived I had a staggering cough and head drainage that would choke a goat. I was miserable!

Here's a pic of Jeff Struberg and Dave Stinson lounging at the back of the truck at Curtis'.

[Jeff Strubberg]

Then we needs some CDs, trashy!  That stuff is pure gold....

[Littlefeather]

So, you call Rusty's hairstyle regal hu? Kinda looks like the Rustylama of the Southland ta me. Specially when he wears his do-rag. Real hip man! You just kinda walking round behind tha Wiley ol fella hopin one of them fine little sucker staves fall by the way-side. Generally all you get is an earfull of wisdom with some meaning that only Rusty and the cosmos understand. Makes a man feel like Grasshopper. Sure is cool ta hang out with tho. Rustys a mean bumper jocky too!

On with tha story tellin Johnny."jump up". LOL! CK

[Charlie Lamb]

As you all know, we had quite a feed and bull session the night before we hit the road for south Texas. Anyone else notice that Texas has different degrees of "south".

On arriving at the ranch we got the usual paperwork taken care of before taking off for a tour of the ranch.
At least I had the foresight to turn on my GPS before we left. That and the hand drawn map we were given really helped keep me from driving around in circles. Like most south Texas ranches, it was honeycombed with Senderos and little side roads that went nowhere.

While back home the country was still frigid and brown...with a lot of gray thrown in for contrast, the brush country was bursting with the greens of spring. You could almost see it growing.
Throw in temps in the high 80's and unsullied sunlight and you had the makings of a bowhunters best daydream.

After the tour, I decided quickly where I'd rather hunt. To tell the truth, I selected my spot as much to get me out of the other guys way as anything. With the cough I had developed, it would be difficult hunting for me and the risk of giving whatever I had to someone else if I road with someone.
Later, Johnboy would look at me funny when I told him I was gonna take my truck and hunt alone. It worked better that way I think and I was able to relax and work my plan.

I'd stalk the sendero's and check in on a nearby feeder from time to time, checking from a distance with binoculars for visiting Javies or hogs.

Except for the abundant bird life and a sun that got damn hot for a while, nothing much went on for me that first afternoon.
Matter of fact, I'd set up a stool in some brush which gave me a veiw straight down the sendero to the feeder and made myself comfortable. I was coughing enough now that I was sure it would be an uneventful sit.

Since I was pretty miserable at this point, I didn't really even care. At least it was a fine place to be sick.
I was thinking of sliding off my stool and laying down in a nearby bare patch of soft red Texas dirt when the first Javelina crossed the sendero at the feeder.
Without a thought for my affliction, I threw on my quiver, grabbed my bow and slipped off along the sendero.
The wind was good if the Javies stayed near the feeder. It blew steadilly in my left ear.
The sun was now low in the ocean blue sky and caused the surrounding brush and cactus to cast hard edged shadows across my path.
By hugging one edge of the sendero I could stay out of sight as I quickly closed the distance.

When I'd gotten within 50 yards of the Javie, I eased into the open brush beside me. That was a mistake!
A thick grass grew in the open spaces between cactus and bush and was hard, dry and noisy.      
My advance slowed way down.
I did have the advantage of a fairly thick screen of brush to hide my movements... I ain't small!!

At 20 yards I began jockeying for a position to shoot from. That's when the first Javie showed signs of concern.
No matter how carefully I placed my feet, there was always a slight swish of noise. That Javie was hearing it.
With no fanfare he left the group and trotted off into the brush. I took another step and a second Javie left.
Now the whole pack was acting goosey. No way could I find an opening for a shot or get in the clear before they all left.
I let them go, thinking if they weren't too upset they would return. It almost worked!

Slipping across the sendero I gained a slight wind advantage and hid behind an obliging cactus.
The minutes ticked by and the light faded.
I stared into the tangle where the javies had disappeared hoping to catch sight of them returning....nothing.
Then I saw a small patch of something dark. It was only about 30 yards in there, but I couldn't make it out for sure, but I was sure it had just showed up. Maybe a shadow from the changing light.
I pulled my binoculars to my eyes and slowly spun the focus ring.
Grizzled gray hair jumped into focus and just as quickly a beady little javelina eye. I froze in place, hoping I hadn't been spotted.

(cont.)

(sorry about this! I was gonna give the whole account in one sitting, but that doesn't look like it's gonna happen. This cold is still kicking my butt and my brain is somewhere out on the road in Oklahoma trying to catch up to me.)

[herb haines]

and degrease your feathers LOL-- herb

[trashwood]

Holy Moly that is the second time in my whole life that my name and wisdom were the paragraph much less sentence.  Ya guys thought I was talking???? i was just a sitting there tring not to drool down my shirt and figure out where I was and what I was doing there.....well now come to think of it I guess tring not to drool down your shirt and figure out where ya are and what ya'as doing might be a wise thing todo.      

rusty

[Jake]

This has been an awesome read!  thanx to all for sharing!!!

[Charlie Lamb]

Curtis had told me that often Javies would spook off into the brush, wait a while and come right back.
Well, these Javies were holding just back in the brush and I fully expected they'd ease back out any minute.
The trouble turned out to be that I had misfigured the path they'd take to come back.
Looking around I could see a faint trail running from the javelina almost to my feet and the wind was real "iffy" at this point.
As the scene faded to black, the javies faded into the brush.
I walked back to the truck in the dark. My flashlight was tucked away safely in my pack, which was in the truck.
It was hard not to think about how the cooling air might coax a rattler the size of my leg out onto the warm road ahead.
Somehow I managed to make it to the truck without stepping on anything squishy and noisey.

As I drove back to the camp house I replayed the encounter with the javies and wondered how everyone else had done. I expected to see piles of game...and I wasn't disappointed.

I can't remember who all got what, but when I pulled up there was a group photo session going on. On the back of a truck were javie, hogs, jackrabbits, cottentails and a lone armadillo.
Yep! The boys had been busy... for sure.

Supper was great, though my taste buds were a bit singed by the Pico de Gallo that Markus had whipped up. It would put lead in your pencil or take it out depending on your tolerance for things firey.
The evening passed with lots of story's of the evenings adventure. I'm sure each of us searched for a hint that would turn the trick in the words of the story tellers.
As usual, there were no tricks. Just solid hunting skills would do and a smidge of luck.

My coughing had subsided somewhat by the time we all wandered off to bed... that is until I laid down. It came back with a vengence! I knew if I continued like I was that nobody would get any rest.
I put up with 10 minutes of constant coughing before I got up and headed for the truck. I might not get the best rest, but at least everyone else would.
I kicked back the seat on the truck and left a window slightly open for air and did my best to sleep.

Sometime during the night I drifted off to la la land, only to be awakened by the sound of people up and around... morning had come fast!
At least I'd gotten a little rest, but used the renewed energy to untangle my legs from the steering wheel and gear shift lever. Standing up completely straight was a whole nuther challenge.

A hot cup of coffee and Mexican pastry helped my attitude if not my aching bones and soon we were all off for our first full day of hunting. The air was crisp, but the hint of light on the eastern horizon held the promise of a warmer than average day. My spirits rose with the sun.

(cont.)

[Jim Jackson]

Guru,

Glad that you have also shared an experience like mine.  Beautiful stone point also.  Turkeys with bows + a find like that.  What a hunt!

[Charlie Lamb]

I got going that second morning and pretty much hung near the feeder I'd hunted the day before. At one point I saw "something" approaching my ambush, but I blinked and the something disappeared like smoke. I'm still not sure what it was, but I felt like it might be a hog.
Jerry had said there were both hogs and Javies in the area so I was primed for that.

The morning went fairly fast and I was soon back at camp for breakfast.
Over Huevos some of the guys quizzed me about my late night departure from the sleeping quarters... guess they thought I was upset about something.
When I explained my situation, I was immediately fixed up with a list of over the counter medications to help the cough.
By the time the afternoon hunt came around the cough had eased up considerably. I was starting to feel half way human.
Of course it didn't do me a lot of good at that point... I saw nothing and finished the day enjoying the evening cool down.

Back at camp, more game to be photoed and stories to be told.
I was whipped and hit the hay early... in a real bed. It was a good night sleep, but hard to roust out the next morning.

(cont.)

[Jeff Strubberg]

Well, I may as well throw in a bit about my experience with the Sweat Gang.  The others have given you a pretty good picture of our stay at Curtis' place the night before the hunt and our arrival on the ranch.  Let me pick up at the morning hunt on Saturday.

Scott was good enough to offer me a lift into the bush.  Saved me an hours walk.  We cruised the senderos slowly, both of us rubbernecking and trying to make out game outlines in the pre-dawn darkness.  Scott was headed for a feeder to the east of our bunkhouse camp and wanted to be there early enough to give the game time to settle before daylight.  I had other ideas.

You see, I've never been much of a sitter.  I wanted an area I could slowly still hunt through and watch for game activity.  Still hunting fascinates me.  Every time you take a step, your angle of view on every object within sight changes.  There is always something new to see.  My penchant for movement explains my rotten luck as a deer hunter.  I hoped to make the technique come to a more satisfactory conclusion chasing hogs. Dressed in homemade camo and my converse sneakers, I couldn't wait to see what the ranch had to show me.

Just under a mile from Scotts feeder, he stopped the truck and I hit the tailgate to lay down a bit of corn.  Wait, you say!  Real hunters don't bait!  Well, in South Texas I do.  The cover there is so close to impossible to move through that I wanted to see my quarry in a more open area in order to lay plans for a stalk.  I laid down a trail over about a half to three-quarters of a mile of dirt road, very sparsely.  In three days, I used around twenty pounds of corn, or about what you could carry comfortably in your day pack.  At the end of the trail, Scott dropped me off and circled away through the gloom to park his truck and start his long trek to a feeder off to the north of my little piece of Texas.

I didn't want to start hunting until I had a reasonable expectation of taking a shot, so I sat down to await the Texas sunrise.  As things began to shift from black to grey around me, I spent my time trying to identify all the bird warbles coming from the bushes around my position and resisting the urge to investigate every crackling twig back in the bush.  Them birds are noisy down there, and the idea of cruising through a big patch of cats claw thorns when I couldn't see well enough to avoid them kept me sitting on my pack.  As the day continued to brighten, I noticed a set of three wooden corner posts off to my left.  There wasn't a fence anywhere near, so who knows what they were originally dug in to support?  The sun was coming up behind the posts, making a perfect frame to shoot a few pictures of my equipment.  I'm sure I spooked some game, but a guy has to have his priorities!  This was a beautiful morning, and a background of sunrise framed by weathered wood was just too good to pass up.

Finally I decided I had enough light to shoot by.  Time to get in some hunting!  I crept to the edge of the road I had corned and found to my surprise that cattle must have wandered the area in the recent past.  Fifty yards on both sides of the road, the brush was cut with cattle trails weaving in and out.  Perfect!  Slowly I sidled back into the brush, taking care not to add too many holes to my often office-bound butt.  The trails allowed me to creep along on the downwind side of the roadway.  I worked from five to sixty yards back, moving in close once in a while and peeking up and down the dirt track.  Then back into the bush for another slow fifty yards.  The morning was cool, the breeze was stiff and right on my forehead and the light was fantastic, haloing the bushes and prickly pear and making them seem something other than a threat.

After two hours, I again crept up to the roadway for a glance in both directions and found furry footballs obscuring my view of the Texas hardpan.  Javelina!  Nine of 'em ranging from the "Mommy, Mommy!" size up to "Don't turn your back on me!".  Forty yards away, they fed in circles, overlapping their tracks over and over and scooping up the corn like dustbusters.

Back into the bush!  The wind was just right, quartering over the bush pigs and into my face.  I doubled my pace, going from ooze to a purposeful crawl.  I moved eighty or so yards and again worked my way slowly into view of the roadway.  Where did they go?  The javvies had melted into the morning like butter sliding off a hot griddle.  The silence with which these little pigs move in the Texas brush has to be heard (or not heard, maybe) to be believed.  Faced with a lack of options, I froze in place and waited.  Two minutes and a quiet eternity later, the javvies reappeared, thirty yards upwind from my position.  The big black boar was leading them in and out of the brush.  They exposed themselves only long enough to get their cheeks full of corn, then retreated into the brush and moved farther down the roadway before reappearing to grub up another mouthful.

This game of tag continued for close to forty minutes, the pigs doing what their primitive natures told them to do, I trying my best to apply my civilized brain to the problem and end up in the right place at the right time.  Finally, I managed to move exactly the right distance down the road as the javelina once again faded from view.  I holed up with a large prickly pear formation just off my left shoulder and a cats claw bush behind me to break up my outline.  The javvies again appeared on the roadway, this time twenty feet off my right shoulder and feeding my direction.  Tense?  A little.  Of course, by this time I knew the size and shape of every hog and had time to brush away most of the jitters.  The big boar stayed out of my shooting lane, but when the largest sow wandered in I decided enough was enough.  My string hand crept toward my cheek and I began the mantra in my mind "Soft hands...easy now....don't punch the shot...just let it go...right THERE!".

The shot was a bit farther back and much higher than I had intended.  With the javelina twelve yards away, I had still managed to shoot her four inches in front of the hams and an inch below the backbone.  I was completely disgusted with myself.  I shoot pretty well and took a rabbit on this trip at thirty yards.  And here I had blown a beautiful broadside at a javelina less than half that far away!  I took off my pack, sat down and began to berate myself.  The dirt road was deserted once again.

After twenty minutes, I dug out my roll of toilet paper and marked the spot where I had taken the shot.  Then I crept forward and marked the edge of the roadway where the javvie had been standing.  Then back to my pack and a pull from the water bottle while I waited.  Ten minutes later, I hear the knock of Scotts big diesel pickup coming down the sendero.  As he stopped, he already had his hand out to congratulate me, having seen my flag markers from some distance away.  I shamefacedly told him that congratulations were premature, as I still had to recover my game.  He immediately piled out of the truck and we agreed that a very quiet sweep into the brush on the opposite side of the roadway from where the shot had occurred would give us an idea of bloodtrail and maybe recover the arrow.  In we crept.

Scott found a generous streak of blood on the leaf of a prickly pear ten yards in from the roadway.  We flagged it and continued to look for sign.  Nothing!  Not a spot of blood and too many prints from too many javelina.  We backed out and headed back to the bunkhouse for help.

As luck would have it, the hunt coordinator (our own JerryG) was on the ranch with his dog.  He was tracking a hog for Curtis.  We made arrangements to meet at the bunkhouse when he was through.  I took advantage of the downtime to wolf down more of Marcos' Mexican cuisine and fret some more.  Jerry appeared an hour later with Curtis, a wound-up tracking dog and a dead hog.  The pig had gone less than forty yards after Curtis shot it, but due to the thick brush, Curtis had called in the dog rather than risk losing a downed animal.  Pats on the back all he way around.  Jerry grabbed a bite to eat and water and off we went to track my javelina.  I explained to him what had occurred, how I had just flat messed up the shot and was worried about not finding the pig.  He asked if there was blood to start the dog on.  After telling him we had flagged blood at the beginning of the trail, Jerry visibly relaxed and told me the dog should be able to track the animal without any trouble.

We piled out next to my first flag and let the dog out of the back of the truck.  Ten seconds later the dog had a nose full of hog scent and was tearing through the brush like an old pro.  Jerry and I did our best to follow, detouring out of necessity around thorn patches too dense for us.  The ringing of the bell on the dogs collar drew us along, then suddenly stopped.  We couldn't see the dog and were unsure how far ahead he had stopped.  Jerry called the dog back to us, then set him on the trail again.  Fifteen steps into the brush, the dog stopped again.  After staring for half a minute, I realized the little terrier was standing over my javelina, dead beneath a small liveoak.  

WHEW!  I pumped Jerry's hand, told the dog what a good job he had done and grabbed a leg of the javvie for the drag back to the truck.  Less than ten minutes since releasing the dog from the truck, we had my javelina on the carry-all and were headed back to camp.  After a round of hand-shaking (which I wasn't sure I deserved after the shot I had made), Jerry dropped me off at the cooler on the ranch to take care of the carcass.  Curtis and Rusty were there, finishing up Curtis' hog.  Like true hunting partners, they immediately lent a hand.  When Rusty tells you that Curtis can dress a hog in nothing flat, believe him!  I am used to butchering domestic hogs.  Let's just say my technique was a little slow for Curtis.  He took over and had the hog gutted in something under a minute.  I took over again, skinned the animal, recorded it's weight and got it into the cooler.  I would return later with Rusty to bone out the meat and bag it for the trip back home.

Back at the bunkhouse, the laughter curled up into the blackening sky like heat rising off those dirt two-tracks we had spent our day on.  Plans were made for the hunt the following morning.  I asked myself if I wanted to shoot another pig.  Since I have an abundance of farm-raised pork and beef in my freezers already, I couldn't come up with a reason to take another pig.  Would two pigs make me happier than just the one?  Nope.  Did I want to try for something bigger?  Why?  Not having an answer, I decided, was answer enough.  I would finish up my Texas adventure talking to new-found friends and watching the last day slide slowly by.  There were pictures to be taken, memories to be fixed into place.  

Timo was kind enough to gift us all with stone arrowheads in memory of our hunt together.  I decided on the long drive back to Missouri that the skull of my javelina, along with the stone point and a flint knife that has been wandering my bookshelves looking for a home would come together to make a fitting desk ornament for my den.  What better way to remember Texas?

[ber643]

Good account, Jeff. I enjoyed it very much.

[Guru]

Good stuff Jeff        

What did your javi weigh???

[Shawn Leonard]

Jeff, good story and you tell it so well!! Shawn

[Jeff Strubberg]

Guru,

She went forty pounds, live weight.  The tusks aren't much.  I assume because it was a female.


Ought to make a memorable paperweight, anyway.  =)

[trashwood]

Dadgumit, Jeff, syntax was good, I couldn't find one mis-spelled word, good logic and flow...what are ya doing hangit with us  

rusty

[Guru]

Thanks bud,I hope to add a javi skull to my room next yr.,good for you!!!