MAD DOG
March 12, 2001, 10:16 PM
Dramatis Personae:
Mad Dog
Rich lucibella
Ashely Emerson
The "beat up old bang stick" that I took with me is my (now lovingly refinished in handrubbed Tung oil) 1938 model 70 Winchester 30-06. It sports Ashley "Aagard" ghost ring sights with a two color (B&W)front post. As Fast and Deadly a smoke pole as I have ever owned.
I also modified the sling system to current LURCR type specs, which allows one sling to be run High African, American style, or HK Tactical style, without length adjustments. Tres cool.
All of the sling swivel attach points are flush ball and socket mounts. This sling worked out great on the loooong walks, because it allowed me to carry in a variety of ways, choosing the method best suited to the terrain or conditions under foot. the ease of switching from one carry mode to another was particularly nice. It takes about three seconds to switch out.
Highlights:
While checking in at the airport, I had to declare my weapons. The young lady behind the counter was, amazingly, pro gun in the extreme.
She bore a strong resemblance to a 20 year old version of my daughter Morgan. Quite a little knockout.
We had the double entendre conversation to beat all as i opened my big travel case.
Young lady: (all smiles) OOOOH! What a nice big gun! Knives, too!
Me: My rifle has a hand rubbed oil finish. Do you want to touch it?
YL: OOOH, Can I?
Me: Go ahead, but be careful, all guns are always loaded...
YL: I know how to handle a big gun, my Daddy taught me, and my boyfriend and I shoot a lot. (she caresses the mdl 70) This one is nice and smoooooth. I liiiiike that.
Me: Lucky bastard.
YL: My daddy?
Me: No, the rifle...
The pigs refered to were not to be seen or heard in a 150 square mile area that we hunted extensively for three and a half days.
Evidently, they had heard that the earthly incarnation of the Swine Death God (Moi) was coming, and they had all split for Cabo San Lucas. Images of a Mexican beach strewn with large, smugly chuckling swine holding umbrella drinks spring to mind...
What we did see a bunch of was Coyotes and very large Jack Rabbits. They proved no match for my venerable 30-06. Rich and Ashley both managed to zorch a couple as well.
I have to tell you that three days with Ashley and Rich, both extreme alpha males in their own right, was about as intense as it can get. We had a lot of fun, told inumerable foul jokes, plotted the eventual takeover of the world, and blamed each other incessantly for the lack of pigs.
The most popular theory was that Ashley had managed to kill ALL of them, and there were none left. Ashley vehemently denied this, insisting that there were still pigs a'plenty, all we had to do was find them.
In a last fit of desperation, we developed a plan to build a huge, swine shaped dirigible with loudspeaker hog calls and gunports on it. Surely, the pigs would make themselves visible to this icon of swinely divinity, and prostrate themselves before it as (unknowing) porcine sacrifices to the Uberporker.
Rich made an excellent snap shot on a running Jack with his .308 Scout, hitting it at about 80 yards.
Ashley drilled a coyote with his .375 H&H, range unknown as there were no witnesses or lasers present. I believe he said that it succumbed at about 75 yards on the run.
He also assassinated a prairie dog with a head shot at about the same range. The effects of a .375 H&H on a parie dog with a Barnes X bullet at 2800fps is dramatic...
My best shot was made on a running coyote, broadside at 119 yards, he was DOA in front of winesses.
I kept his head to be debrided and skulled out for my collection.
We also kiled a large number of north American target rocks at various ranges.
The best after action fun came when the black "security" chick on the Xray machine at the airport asked in fluent ebonics,
"Kin I look in yo' bag?"
Me: Of course.
BC: Sheeeit! You gots a dogs haid in heah!!
Me: Yeah, so?
BC: What da hail you doin wit a dogs haid in yo bag?
Me: I hate airplane food, so I bring my own.
Is that a problem?
BC: Y'all is sick, boy!
Me: Don't knock it if you ain't tried it.
BC: Git this outta here, it be makin me sick.
Me: Actually, the dogs head is from my pet puppy, Scooter. He was killed in a freak luggage handling accident. His sky kennel opened on the way here, and his head got ripped off going down the conveyor. I guess it was really messy, blood everywhere, and they couldn't find most of the body, just chunks of fur and meat... he was all ground up like dogburger...
BC: (looking very nauseated) Git... out...'o... here... NOW!
Although I did find one very nice specimen of the mescaline cactus, we did not not partake of the spiny delicacy.
Even derelict renegades like the three of us knew better than to mix halucinogens with gunpowder and testosterone.
Other weird things happened though, despite the lack of consumed hallucinogenics:
On Saturday night, I was exhausted when we returned to the lodge. While I was repacking/unpacking/repacking, speading out, cleaning, losing and generally making a mess of my gear while trying to get it sorted out for the next day's pigless debacle, I managed to pack my prized Swift 10 X 40 Roof Prism compact binoculars in with my diamond sharpener. The net result was a ruined right objective lens. DOH!
Later that evening, Ashley went down to his truck, and realized that he didn't have his keys. He returned to the room to get them from Rich, who he had loaned them to earlier.
Rich couldn't find them. The next two hours were spent tearing the entire place apart looking for them.
No Keys = No Hunting.
We did recreations of Rich's movements, interogated each other, shook down the neighbors, strip searched each other (For some reason, Rich particulary liked this), went through each other's luggage, and generally made nuisances of ourselves throughout the motel.
Right about midnight, I reached into my pocket for the thirtieth time that night, to prove that I did NOT have them, and guess what... there they were. Again, DOH!
The resultant oprobrium launched my way was a credit to the literary ingenuity of Rich and Ashley both. Both proved capable of cursing me for a solid ten minutes without repeating themselves once or stopping for breath. Previously, I had thought my lovely wife to be the only one capable of such a dedicated and heartfelt performance.
They spent the rest of the trip placing things in my pack, and then blaming me when they couldn't find them.
On Sunday morning, I was outside the truck relieving myself of some excess water weight. Unbeknownst to me, Ashley and Rich got into a tif over who would use the Binoculars and/or the Laser range finder on a coyote they had sighted on the port side of the truck. Ashley resorted to tickling Rich in order to get him to let go of the Laser, which worked reasonably well due to the fact that Rich is strung tighter than a banjo. The squeels and thumping sounds I heard from outside led me to believe that their relationship had reached new levels of intimacy, and I gave myself a couple of extra seconds outside to let them finish.
Although he had by now lost the Laser to Ashley, Rich still had a firm grasp on the Leica binos, and was in a total defensive frenzy, trying to keep Ashley from touching him again or get to the binos.
About that time I attempted to get back into the truck. Since I had damaged my left knee while unintentionally drop kicking a boulder on Saturday, I thought to pull myself up by grabbing Rich by the right thigh as I tried to climb in. Big mistake. Who knew? Rich's tickle spot from hell.
He went off like a Firestone tire.
The last thing I remember seeing before the lights went out was a pair of rubber armored Leicas crashing into my left eye and forehead.
Don't worry, the binos are fine.
Those Leicas are tough.
I did not need stitches. The bleeding stopped soon enough that transfusions were not necessary.
I have finally realized that I hunt with some very weird people.
All in a day's work for Mad Dog.
God, how I love this job!
Mad Dog
Rich lucibella
Ashely Emerson
The "beat up old bang stick" that I took with me is my (now lovingly refinished in handrubbed Tung oil) 1938 model 70 Winchester 30-06. It sports Ashley "Aagard" ghost ring sights with a two color (B&W)front post. As Fast and Deadly a smoke pole as I have ever owned.
I also modified the sling system to current LURCR type specs, which allows one sling to be run High African, American style, or HK Tactical style, without length adjustments. Tres cool.
All of the sling swivel attach points are flush ball and socket mounts. This sling worked out great on the loooong walks, because it allowed me to carry in a variety of ways, choosing the method best suited to the terrain or conditions under foot. the ease of switching from one carry mode to another was particularly nice. It takes about three seconds to switch out.
Highlights:
While checking in at the airport, I had to declare my weapons. The young lady behind the counter was, amazingly, pro gun in the extreme.
She bore a strong resemblance to a 20 year old version of my daughter Morgan. Quite a little knockout.
We had the double entendre conversation to beat all as i opened my big travel case.
Young lady: (all smiles) OOOOH! What a nice big gun! Knives, too!
Me: My rifle has a hand rubbed oil finish. Do you want to touch it?
YL: OOOH, Can I?
Me: Go ahead, but be careful, all guns are always loaded...
YL: I know how to handle a big gun, my Daddy taught me, and my boyfriend and I shoot a lot. (she caresses the mdl 70) This one is nice and smoooooth. I liiiiike that.
Me: Lucky bastard.
YL: My daddy?
Me: No, the rifle...
The pigs refered to were not to be seen or heard in a 150 square mile area that we hunted extensively for three and a half days.
Evidently, they had heard that the earthly incarnation of the Swine Death God (Moi) was coming, and they had all split for Cabo San Lucas. Images of a Mexican beach strewn with large, smugly chuckling swine holding umbrella drinks spring to mind...
What we did see a bunch of was Coyotes and very large Jack Rabbits. They proved no match for my venerable 30-06. Rich and Ashley both managed to zorch a couple as well.
I have to tell you that three days with Ashley and Rich, both extreme alpha males in their own right, was about as intense as it can get. We had a lot of fun, told inumerable foul jokes, plotted the eventual takeover of the world, and blamed each other incessantly for the lack of pigs.
The most popular theory was that Ashley had managed to kill ALL of them, and there were none left. Ashley vehemently denied this, insisting that there were still pigs a'plenty, all we had to do was find them.
In a last fit of desperation, we developed a plan to build a huge, swine shaped dirigible with loudspeaker hog calls and gunports on it. Surely, the pigs would make themselves visible to this icon of swinely divinity, and prostrate themselves before it as (unknowing) porcine sacrifices to the Uberporker.
Rich made an excellent snap shot on a running Jack with his .308 Scout, hitting it at about 80 yards.
Ashley drilled a coyote with his .375 H&H, range unknown as there were no witnesses or lasers present. I believe he said that it succumbed at about 75 yards on the run.
He also assassinated a prairie dog with a head shot at about the same range. The effects of a .375 H&H on a parie dog with a Barnes X bullet at 2800fps is dramatic...
My best shot was made on a running coyote, broadside at 119 yards, he was DOA in front of winesses.
I kept his head to be debrided and skulled out for my collection.
We also kiled a large number of north American target rocks at various ranges.
The best after action fun came when the black "security" chick on the Xray machine at the airport asked in fluent ebonics,
"Kin I look in yo' bag?"
Me: Of course.
BC: Sheeeit! You gots a dogs haid in heah!!
Me: Yeah, so?
BC: What da hail you doin wit a dogs haid in yo bag?
Me: I hate airplane food, so I bring my own.
Is that a problem?
BC: Y'all is sick, boy!
Me: Don't knock it if you ain't tried it.
BC: Git this outta here, it be makin me sick.
Me: Actually, the dogs head is from my pet puppy, Scooter. He was killed in a freak luggage handling accident. His sky kennel opened on the way here, and his head got ripped off going down the conveyor. I guess it was really messy, blood everywhere, and they couldn't find most of the body, just chunks of fur and meat... he was all ground up like dogburger...
BC: (looking very nauseated) Git... out...'o... here... NOW!
Although I did find one very nice specimen of the mescaline cactus, we did not not partake of the spiny delicacy.
Even derelict renegades like the three of us knew better than to mix halucinogens with gunpowder and testosterone.
Other weird things happened though, despite the lack of consumed hallucinogenics:
On Saturday night, I was exhausted when we returned to the lodge. While I was repacking/unpacking/repacking, speading out, cleaning, losing and generally making a mess of my gear while trying to get it sorted out for the next day's pigless debacle, I managed to pack my prized Swift 10 X 40 Roof Prism compact binoculars in with my diamond sharpener. The net result was a ruined right objective lens. DOH!
Later that evening, Ashley went down to his truck, and realized that he didn't have his keys. He returned to the room to get them from Rich, who he had loaned them to earlier.
Rich couldn't find them. The next two hours were spent tearing the entire place apart looking for them.
No Keys = No Hunting.
We did recreations of Rich's movements, interogated each other, shook down the neighbors, strip searched each other (For some reason, Rich particulary liked this), went through each other's luggage, and generally made nuisances of ourselves throughout the motel.
Right about midnight, I reached into my pocket for the thirtieth time that night, to prove that I did NOT have them, and guess what... there they were. Again, DOH!
The resultant oprobrium launched my way was a credit to the literary ingenuity of Rich and Ashley both. Both proved capable of cursing me for a solid ten minutes without repeating themselves once or stopping for breath. Previously, I had thought my lovely wife to be the only one capable of such a dedicated and heartfelt performance.
They spent the rest of the trip placing things in my pack, and then blaming me when they couldn't find them.
On Sunday morning, I was outside the truck relieving myself of some excess water weight. Unbeknownst to me, Ashley and Rich got into a tif over who would use the Binoculars and/or the Laser range finder on a coyote they had sighted on the port side of the truck. Ashley resorted to tickling Rich in order to get him to let go of the Laser, which worked reasonably well due to the fact that Rich is strung tighter than a banjo. The squeels and thumping sounds I heard from outside led me to believe that their relationship had reached new levels of intimacy, and I gave myself a couple of extra seconds outside to let them finish.
Although he had by now lost the Laser to Ashley, Rich still had a firm grasp on the Leica binos, and was in a total defensive frenzy, trying to keep Ashley from touching him again or get to the binos.
About that time I attempted to get back into the truck. Since I had damaged my left knee while unintentionally drop kicking a boulder on Saturday, I thought to pull myself up by grabbing Rich by the right thigh as I tried to climb in. Big mistake. Who knew? Rich's tickle spot from hell.
He went off like a Firestone tire.
The last thing I remember seeing before the lights went out was a pair of rubber armored Leicas crashing into my left eye and forehead.
Don't worry, the binos are fine.
Those Leicas are tough.
I did not need stitches. The bleeding stopped soon enough that transfusions were not necessary.
I have finally realized that I hunt with some very weird people.
All in a day's work for Mad Dog.
God, how I love this job!