IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF FAMOUS FRONTIERSMEN JIMBO RED HUNTS TEXAS – PART II

Just as I promised, this next post is Part II of the hunting saga, at the King Ranch, Texas, in January 2002. Once again, ol’ Jimbo Red was invited to accompany a group of executives from our parent company, on a hunting trip. At this time, I had heard of things like this happening. Apparently, in the name of Marketing, or of “customer relations”. However, I had never really experienced this level of debauchery and decadence, previously. Although I had been accused by Deysi, of all sorts of wild and hairy partying, while away on business trips. Nothing I ever got into, came close to reaching the level of this. In order to maintain close and personal relations with their best customers, one of our parent companies, had leased a +/-50,000 acre piece of the King Ranch, in which to entertain their best clients.

This parent was the largest oilfield services company in the world, and is involved with many of the kings, presidents and rulers of oil rich countries. That is what they mean by “their customers”. And this place, is where they took them to wine and dine. The lease came with guest quarters, a huge building containing, dining room, meeting rooms, and a big ass bar. Texas style. The complex also had guest houses, hunting store, and a “full blown”, meat processing facility. In addition to staff quarters that included park rangers, hunters, hunting dogs, guides and hosts/hostesses. I can not even put a number on the cost of this place, but at least several million, per year, just to maintain.

I had no idea, that this was how you marketed to your customers. My understanding was, that, someone buying me lunch was near “to crossing the line”, of getting too close to their customer (me). My how naive I was! Not only did I not know that this kind of thing existed. This place, was not the only lease, of this type, on the ranch. There were other similar setups, besides this one. Each of them designed to entertain the rich and famous. Geezus, how my world just changed at the moment of realization. “Ok, ok, I’ll, now get on with the story of the hunt”.

On the second morning of the hunt, as promised, they woke us at dawn. I was pumped! I could remember the previous night when I swore, I would never eat again. Well, the body heals itself quickly. I was up, cleaned, dressed and bellied up to a table, long before they gave everyone else, second call. It was basically myself and predator, ready to rock and roll. They brought us a breakfast that made the British “heart attack on a plate”, look anemic. It included a cowboy steak, a few strips of bacon, cut 1/4″ thick, a stack of flapjacks, syrup, a bushel of potatoes, chuckwagon beans, cheese, butter, mushrooms, some crawfish, and biscuits. I “passed” on the grits, explaining that I needed to watch my waistline. Fully fortified, we waddled over to the hunting shop.

From there, we were split into groups, depending on what type of game you wanted to hunt. I was with a couple of the guys that wanted to hunt birds. My boss and his boss, decided that they would look for big game. Predator, the converted non hunter, was fully armed with a .340 Weatherby rifle and was going after javelina, (wild boar). Each group was placed on top of a truck, special made for safari hunting. Behind the cab, on a flat deck one ton truck were a row of cages about 4 feet high. These housed the hunting dogs. Each truck carried two or three dogs. We sat on a bench seat on top of the cages, about 8 feet off the ground. The view of the hunting land was spectacular.

Then, off we went, each group in a different direction. It was early in the morning and still a little bit cool. Now I could understand, the need for the warm clothes that we had to bring. However, the sun was shining and it was glorious. Very quickly, after our start, we received our first excitement. We approached a copse of woods and our vehicle stopped. The hunter, then unloaded his dogs to give them a bit of a stretch. One of the hunting dogs, barely hit ground when he bolted for freedom. I mean he took off like a jet fuelled dragster, headed for the open yonder. The hunter yelled something to make him stop. That only fuelled his flight. Then the Hunter whistled. The dog looked briefly over his shoulder, put his head down and shifted to high gear. It looked like that dog was headed for Oklahoma.

The hunter calmly steps away from the truck, reaches into his pocket and pulls out a remote. Then, he points it at the dog and gives it a tap. Instantly, that dog froze in place. He looked like Wily Coyote, as the Road Runner zipped past him. He had one front leg and one back leg off the ground and was frozen, in place, between strides. Now, the hunter lets out a couple of shrill whistles. That dog, turns around and with it’s head and tail lowered, slinks back toward us. It seems as if he was wearing an electronic collar, but had forgot about it, when he made his break for freedom. The dog returns to us and is shooed back up into his cage, for a time out. He looked, truly, chastised. I personally have been in that same situation, a few times.

We unloaded, got our guns ready and were placed around the edge of the woods. A couple of dogs entered from the other side, and sure enough, scared up a “covey” of game birds. Bam, Bam, Bam, we blazed away. I hit one and immediately a dog was on it. He deposited it at my feet. Now I’m thinking, “this is my kinda hunting”! “No more tramping the bush for me”. The balance of the morning passed in the same manner. Climb up on the truck, drive to a copse of woods, get off, wait for the dogs to scare something up, then bang away at it with our chosen weapons. Then repeat! I did not, nearly, hit everything I shot at, but also, I did not embarrass myself. Indeed, I was, by far, NOT the worse shot.

While writing this part of my story, a memory flitted past, which made me chuckle a bit. The then, president of our parent Company (our guy), and later to be a VP of the USA government, hunted this same land. Of course, he was signing the checks to pay for this lease. So, if I thought, that, I was pampered, then just imagine how he was treated! Anyway, one day him, along with his group of politicos and buddies, were hunting birds just like us. It so happened, that around one copse of trees, the dogs flushed out a local lawyer, who was promptly shot by the company president. It just so happened that this lawyer, “zigged” when he should have “zagged”, and popped right out in front of the shooter. Mistaking him for a dove, our guy shot him full of birdshot.

Please have some sympathy, stifle your laughter. I know some of you are thinking, “well its only a lawyer, no big deal.” “Or a lawyer, so what?” However, please be kind, even lawyers have mothers. Most of them anyway. Luckily he was hit with birdshot, and recovered, after a stretch in the hospital. The side of his face was not so pretty for a while, but it did make him look more Texan, if anything. You cannot imagine the political mileage the press got out of this incident. I believe it created a whole round of Politician/Lawyer jokes. Things like, “one day (our guy, now VP) invites Hillary out for a hunt……………”. Anyway, I now move on.

The morning passes, we return to the lodge for a lunch, which kind of resembled dinner, of the previous night. The difference being, that, it might have been one or two courses shy. I protested loudly but still dug right in, to the meagre offerings. We all bragged of our prowess. I enquired about predator, and was told, he was hot on the trail of a javelina, and wouldn’t be joining us for lunch. Talk about a transformation, from, “I’m not killing anything”, too carrying around the largest rifle they had. And then, tracking down the most dangerous animal on the ranch. We were told to go have a rest, and reconvene at the hunting shop, in a couple of hours, for the afternoon hunt. My boss donned his silky PJ’s and slept like an Egyptian mummy.

The afternoon hunt comes along and now I change it up. I decide I will go look for Bambi to shoot. Two of us, join a hunter in a King Ranch pick up truck. We are in the back seat, our guns in a rack. it was now getting hot, so we rode along with windows down. We followed some dirt roads, away from the main camp. Pretty soon we were immersed in some thick brush. This stuff was thick and gnarly. The mesquite and hickory grew about 12 feet high, and none of it really qualified as trees. We peered into it for a while but soon realized we were not going to spot anything in that brush. I decided that if Bambi did not walk square into the middle of the road, then I would not be shooting her. It was perhaps a bit boring, but peaceful.

Eventually we came to an area, clear of brush, where you could at least see off the road. The driver stopped, went around back and started, what sounded like, a small motor on the tailgate. He hops back in and we creep down the road, at a snail’s pace. The motor is making a loud whining, grinding, crunching type sound. I look back and it is spewing corn, oats, barley, and lord knows what else, all over the road behind us. It suddenly hits me. We are spraying deer feed all over the road. Within a matter of a few minutes, we could see deer emerging from the brush line and heading toward the road. I’m clambering for my gun. The guide says, “wait, wait”.

Now we are barely moving and the deer are getting closer. They are pretty, much coming right up behind us, and eating as they walk. I open my door and lean out. And one of these deer, walks right up to me. It looks like it is going to jump in the backseat with me. I could have stuck my rifle barrel in it’s mouth. Somehow, my lust for shooting Bambi, left me. There was no possible way, that I was going to shoot, something, at 10 feet away. I would never again have been able to look anyone in the eyes. To this day, I believe, that one event, lead to my loss of interest in shooting animals. I believe the hunter, sensed, what we are thinking and quietly turns off his feeder. He says, “why don’t we go over for the evening Dove shoot?” “It’s real fun”!

Geezus, why can’t they name them something like, buzzard or vulture or raptor, so I felt like shooting it. Why Dove? Anyway, 5 of us, plus hunters, dogs and trucks convene on a small pond. Somehow, it looked more like a manmade watering hole. The only person missing from our group was the pacifist predator. He was apparently, still out bonding with a javelina. So, we gather, and are spread out around the water hole. And were then instructed, to face outwards, backs to the water, guns raised and wait for the arrival of doves. Still, I’m wondering if this is a setup. Could it be, that, these cowboys were just making fun of the corporate big shots? However, stand in a circle we did, our eyes peering into the impending gloom of sunset.

We were, also told, that the birds would come in to get water and we would shoot them as they approached. Somehow, this also didn’t really appeal to my sense of fair play, or a challenge to the hunt. I must say, along with the others, I half heartedly raised my weapon and pointed it into the looming sunset. Well I need not have worried about fair play. These doves came at us like black “specks” out of the twilight. Indeed, they were small cute little things, however, they could fly. Man, once you spotted one, it was past your ear, at Mach II speed, before your finger, even reacted. We had been instructed, that, we were not allowed to shoot the birds after they made it to the water. At that point, they were in a safety zone.

During the first round of blasting away, I can quite honestly say. Each and every bird that approached, was past us before anyone got off a shot. These little buggers were so fast and erratic in flight that it took us all by surprise. What’s that? Did I see the hunters, “high fiving” and the caged dogs chuckling, behind our backs. I needn’t have worried about the fairness in the hunt. I am not sure, even the US Skeet team was going to hit one of these birds. It went something like this. You would be peering out into the gloom and suddenly a little black spot would appear. As you strained to focus on it, it was then whizzing past your ear and crash diving into the water. One or two slurps and it was back past you and into the darkness. Geezus, comes to mind!

Standing around this watering hole waiting for the thirsty Doves to arrive, was beautiful and peaceful. The landscape was exquisite, the weather perfect and the feeling of being alive was overpowering. Here, we now had life and death control over some little birds, that had been raised for our pleasure. As the first wave passed us, five shotguns roared out, each one of them about 2 seconds after the birds had flitted past, drank and left. In the short space of time that we stood there and squinted into the fading light, we had 10 or even 15 opportunities to shoot one of these delicacies. I am here to tell you, these birds were in no danger. I expect they even slowed down a bit, in order, to give us some sort of chance. We filled the air with steel shot, probably a few pounds worth.

However, thru this cloud of shot, not many, if any, birds came down. I did see one of the birds fall, apparently from some shot it inadvertently ran into. As a result, not many birds accompanied us for dinner that evening. It was now approaching dark, and the hunters tapped out and took us back to camp. They said, “well it’s getting too dark to shoot these birds, so we’ll stop now.” Again, I have a feeling that they were kinda, having fun with us. After all, whether or not it was dark, we had about the same chance, of hitting one of these birds. For instance, they were about the size of my palm, flying the same speed as a jet, with the flight pattern of a bat, and coming in with fading light. However, we did shoot some large holes in the Texas sky.

During our ride back at dark, and as we approached our camp, we passed by the game processing centre. It was fully lighted. And there appeared to be some activity inside. We went in to investigate. To our amazement and amusement there stood predator. In front of him he had a javelina (wild boar) strung up on a hoist. Predator’s eyes blazed red. There was foam at the corners of his mouth. He was busily engaged in skinning and cleaning his trophy. There was blood running down his arms. And he was completely oblivious to our presence. I could just picture him arriving home, with a skinned out boar, slung over his shoulders. Once his wife and daughters caught sight of him, I doubt if he would have survived the night.

One thing that I also found interesting was the game processing facility at this lease. It was every bit as good as any meat packing plant I had ever seen. Not only did they process game for use in their own kitchens, they also cleaned, cut and packaged game for their guests, and would ship it, complimentarily, anywhere in the world. I did not bring any of the few birds I managed to hit, home with me. All of it was used as part of our menu, during our stay.

The next day, was pretty much the same. Up early, divide into teams depending on what you wanted to hunt. Select your weapon for the day. And then go try your luck, one on one, man against wild beast. For the next day, I decided to hunt the elusive, wild turkey. These are big, apparently, slow moving birds, used in American tradition at Thanksgiving. I had often dreamt about hunting one of these birds and inviting it to dinner. However, I had never had the opportunity, thus far in my life. I was pumped! What could possibly go wrong? Well, for starters, wild turkeys are one of the most shy species of game birds. Before you got anywhere near close enough to shoot them, they scurried away into the underbrush. And, if someone said they were slow, then they were bullshitting you. They moved like sprinters!

We drove, them walked along the edges of hickory groves. The dogs were unloaded and prowled around. The hunter pulled out his turkey call and gobbled a bit. All to no avail. Apparently, turkeys can see a fly scratch its butt from a mile away. So moving around was not a great strategy. Soon the hunter broke out the feeder and it ground away, spitting out seeds, berries, corn and grain all over the road. My opinion was that, the racket and movement, only drove them deeper into the bush. What, I had seen as a two hour hunt, bag a couple and return for lunch did not play out like that. It was starting to get warm, some bugs were feeding on me, and I was impatient for a turkey. The hunter, at one point, said that only patience, or extreme luck ever got a turkey.

Apparently, I had neither. Not only that, it seemed my hunting partner, the guide and the dogs had none of those gifts either. After a few hours, I became less confident, of even seeing a Wild turkey, let alone shooting at one. To this day, I still am scoreless in hunting Wild Turkey. However, later that evening, just about dark I did manage to get a picture of some Turkeys eating up the food we had spread earlier. We then spent the remainder of the day helping the ranch “cull” some more game birds. The dogs scared them up, and we blasted away. Every once in a while, one of them mistakenly flew into the flak from our guns. It was idyllic. I believe I was born for that life.

While I was busy, hunting wild turkeys. Some of the others, chose to go on a Nilgai hunt. These 600 pound, elk like animals had been imported onto the ranch in the early 1900’s, from India or Pakistan, or maybe Africa. I believe they were originally brought as a source of meat, with which to feed the ranch hands. Seems to me it would have been cheaper just to feed them beef. However, who am I too say. In any event, these animals thrived in this environment. It was explained to the group, that it was very unlikely they would even catch a glimpse of a Nilgai, let alone shoot one. It was going to be a long day tracking them thru the heavy underbrush. I said, “no thanks!” “I’ll just go bag myself a couple of turkeys.

It probably sounds as if we had no opportunity or luck in hunting and bagging a lot of game. That could not be further from the truth. We could have filled up a truck with something every day. I think that the guys I was with, although they enjoyed a good hunt, were not there for a massacre. More, I think they enjoyed the adventure, the chance to get away from. the stress of work, and too have some personal time with the heads of some companies that we depended on. Even then, anyone that wanted game to be shipped back to their homes, had as much as they could, possibly want. After 3 days of this decadent life, we boarded out charter jet and flew back into reality.

A few years later, when I was giving a seminar in San Antonio, I was reminded of just how famous the King ranch was. Deysi and I, were guests of one of our supply partners, in a very elegant and old Hotel. We were about to order dinner when one of the waiters, started to extoll the virtues of King Ranch wine. He then went on to explain the special King ranch beef, on the menu, and how, we would be sleeping on King Ranch mattresses, during our stay. One of our hosts interrupts him and says, “this guy has hunted the King Ranch, they have a lease there”! He was a little taken aback and looked closely at me to see if I was one of the rich and famous! Apparently he didn’t recognize either, so didn‘t ask for an autograph.

I remember thinking to myself, that, “I was built for this life.” All you needed was fame and fortune. Sadly, both of which, I was missing! Once again, I spewed out a rather long story, but you know ol’ Jimbo Red, once I start, I cannot stop! I know it sounds quite unbelievable, but I’m 99% sure it happened. The 1% doubt is that, maybe, “my clutch did slip”, and I imagined it all! Geezus.