03.03.07
Well it is 6:00 a.m. and I am on a hunting trip that I have been planning for months. At this very moment I am in the hotel room and just woke up. I let my buddy from work (Jerry) tag along. I had to lie and tell him that I was going on a real hunt. We spent the night in the Comfort Inn Moreno Valley and after getting just a little lost we found our hotel. Jerry was under the impression that this was a real hunt. He was surprised to learn that camping meant a hotel in Moreno Valley (it only took me about an hour to convince him that this is the way we hunt in Kalifornia). Jerry is from out of town by way of Israel, (Ahla be praised).
Jerry asked,” Where we are going to hunt?” All I could think of is “Where the hogs are.” After breakfast we start out to find Big Horn Ranch. So, we get lost one more time and pass up the turn off to the dirt road we are supposed to take (there was no *$#@#*%$ sign)! We finally find the place real early, about the crack of 11:00. We drive to the end of this dirt road and are greeted by 6 or 7 dogs. Once we get past the pack as they came to be known, we meet Charlie. Now when I say Charlie is lacking in customer service, he would be perfect for a certain retail optical chain. Picture a guy glairing at you with a P.D. so narrow you could measure the distance between the two eyes with a dime. We shake hands and introduce ourselves. Charlie say’s “You,” and pushes his stubby finger into my chest, “You go through the gate, follow this dirt road to the right.” “When you get to the water tank that is where the pigs are.” “Shoot the pig and I will come and bring it out.” Then Charlie shows me around. This place is as barren as the face of the moon. I see no brush at all. No trees, weeds or even a blade of grass. All I see are steep canyons. Charlie said “ We have feral pigs, razor backs and sheepbut no Russans.” I tell Charlie that I will think about it and will let him know if I will hunt in a minute. We see our chance and make a break for my truck. We reach the truck at a dead run before the pack can catch us and get out of there quick. I ignore Jerry when he says, “I know a good place to hunt birds you might like.” “On old man Johnson’s farm, he has this place called a hen house.”
Well we make it home with out so much as taking the guns out of the case again. Ahh, how I love the hunting in Kalifornia. I think I will have to go back to Big Horn by myself next time.
Mark
Well it is 6:00 a.m. and I am on a hunting trip that I have been planning for months. At this very moment I am in the hotel room and just woke up. I let my buddy from work (Jerry) tag along. I had to lie and tell him that I was going on a real hunt. We spent the night in the Comfort Inn Moreno Valley and after getting just a little lost we found our hotel. Jerry was under the impression that this was a real hunt. He was surprised to learn that camping meant a hotel in Moreno Valley (it only took me about an hour to convince him that this is the way we hunt in Kalifornia). Jerry is from out of town by way of Israel, (Ahla be praised).
Jerry asked,” Where we are going to hunt?” All I could think of is “Where the hogs are.” After breakfast we start out to find Big Horn Ranch. So, we get lost one more time and pass up the turn off to the dirt road we are supposed to take (there was no *$#@#*%$ sign)! We finally find the place real early, about the crack of 11:00. We drive to the end of this dirt road and are greeted by 6 or 7 dogs. Once we get past the pack as they came to be known, we meet Charlie. Now when I say Charlie is lacking in customer service, he would be perfect for a certain retail optical chain. Picture a guy glairing at you with a P.D. so narrow you could measure the distance between the two eyes with a dime. We shake hands and introduce ourselves. Charlie say’s “You,” and pushes his stubby finger into my chest, “You go through the gate, follow this dirt road to the right.” “When you get to the water tank that is where the pigs are.” “Shoot the pig and I will come and bring it out.” Then Charlie shows me around. This place is as barren as the face of the moon. I see no brush at all. No trees, weeds or even a blade of grass. All I see are steep canyons. Charlie said “ We have feral pigs, razor backs and sheepbut no Russans.” I tell Charlie that I will think about it and will let him know if I will hunt in a minute. We see our chance and make a break for my truck. We reach the truck at a dead run before the pack can catch us and get out of there quick. I ignore Jerry when he says, “I know a good place to hunt birds you might like.” “On old man Johnson’s farm, he has this place called a hen house.”
Well we make it home with out so much as taking the guns out of the case again. Ahh, how I love the hunting in Kalifornia. I think I will have to go back to Big Horn by myself next time.
Mark
