Shook it Like a Rag Doll

Hunting dogs are a one of God’s greatest gifts. Watching a short-hair point, a golden flush or a lab retrieve is to witness one of the oldest traditions in the sporting world. A well trained pooch is on a mission and nothing stops them. They’re single minded when in the field or blind. Of course they can occasionally get distracted by rabbits or songbirds but most of them just chase these critters for the fun of it and quickly get back to the task at hand – finding the bird.

I’ve had the chance to hunt over some of the best dogs in the world. I’ve hunted wild boar in Africa with Airedales, Jack Russell Terriers and Blue Tick Hounds. I’ve seen Labs retrieve downed Black Ducks in the frozen Great Bay of New Hampshire. I’ve hunted pheasants in South Dakota with Saks, a wonderful Chocolate Lab and Brittany Spaniels in California.

Here in the Northwest, German Short Hairs are the most common breed for hunting Chukkar, Quail and Pheasant. My good friend Jim Crafton who runs a guide service in Central Oregon has some of the best Short Hairs pointers west of the Mississippi. On any one occasion, we’ll hunt over six or eight of his pups. They’re hard working, loyal and have an excellent nose for the bird. This week I hunted over a mature English Setter named Ace. Well mannered, beautiful dog.


What all these dogs have in common is one thing – excellent training. Our lovely Black Lab, Shasta comes from a strong line of duck hunting dogs in Portland. Shasta has been in the field since she was seven months old so she’s not gun shy. She’s extremely intelligent but is a family dog first and foremost. Shasta is an ‘only child’ and is spoiled with countless squeak toys, balls and collars for all occasions. She’s is in decent physical condition and periodically I take her along into the field despite no formal training. She’s a Lab after all – I mean how hard can it be to find a bird with a nose that big.


We had a small group of five and four dogs – two hunting dogs and two pets. Shasta being in the pet category. Shasta followed Charlie, the Short Hair and Ace the Setter at a good clip. Periodically, they would hold their noses in the air and she looked at them like ‘what the hell are you doing’. Ace would lock up on a bird and in typical Lab fashion, Shasta would bumble along into the spot and flush the bird. I think the first couple scared the crap out of her. Made me laugh a mile away. There were plenty of birds and plenty of daylight so it wasn’t a big deal.

It was a typical December day in Central Oregon – temps in the mid-twenties, winds from the west and a fresh dusting of snow. The white blanket across the landscape made tracking our quarry interesting and fun. We saw quail tracks bunching up big coveys and pheasants running to avoid the dogs.

Round ten thirty, Shasta brushed up against a three foot sage brush and a loud flutter erupted with a pheasant airborne for the Eastern Cascades. I took a quick shot with my old Remington 870 which my grandfather gave me in 1976 and the big bird hit the turf. Shasta heads for the wounded pheasant and evaluates the situation. Like most downed birds, this one was winged and could still run. Shasta thought – ‘oh cool, I have a toy at home just like you..lets play’. She chased it down, put her big snoot round the bird and proceeded to shake it like a ragdoll. She shook it so hard I think she nearly flipped herself over. She thought she was being cute as she flipped the bird up in the air, picked up again and whipped her head left to right as to say ‘I got it and I’m gonna rip apart – just like my toy pheasant at home’.

I retrieved the mangled bird, scolded Shasta and laughed my ass off. She proceeded to do this several times throughout the course of the morning and provided a sense of entertainment for all those who witnessed this four year old puppy attempt to ‘retrieve’.

Note to self – never buy a dog toy that looks like a pheasant.

Trophies - A Collection of Memories

After four years of importing and planning, my African trophies arrived in Pleasanton by way of RCVL. Never heard of RCVL? They’re awesome and in fact their global headquarters is Pleasanton, California. RCVL stands for Rich Clayton Van Lines. After months of deliberation, I decided the best way to get my trophies from Iowa to California was, um, well, to drive them. Driving across country with nine African trophies in the back of a Penske Truck is a story for another time.

As neighbors and friends visit our home over the coming months they'll quickly realize (perhaps for the first time) that I’m a hunter. For those of you, see my earlier post on Why We Hunt. The obvious unstated question will be – Why would you want these dead animals in your house?

Why? Because they are a daily reminder of that once in a lifetime experience. Trophies remind you of your passion and the hunting experience. The weather, the people, the conditions, the angle, the obstacles, the distance, the terrain, and of course the animal and it’s surroundings.

Seeing these animals brought to life through excellent taxidermy from my cousin, Joe Meder puts the hunt in the present tense. You can see it all instantly. Hunting trophies (at least for me) aren’t for the record books or the collectible value, but for remembering the hunt and how truly blessed we are to have the opportunity to pursue these magnificent animals.

Yesterday, we hung the Buffalo, Gemsbuck and Waterbuck and I couldn’t help but drift away thinking about Africa as I looked at these beautiful pieces of art.

So when you come into our home, be prepared to hear at least one hunting story even if you think you've heard it already. It will be mostly true with a splash of embellishment just to make it interesting. With these great trophies, the subject is unavoidable. If you’re a PETA member looking for a donation, perhaps you keep walking and pretend you didn't ring our doorbell.

Friends Rendezvous in Cordoba

Many sports create friendships but the sport of hunting creates bonds that last a lifetime. Being outdoors and hunting with your friends is one of life’s greatest rewards. In the open spaces, all technology distractions and work issues are completely lost the moment you start hunting. What matters most is the hunting situation – the wind, the sun, the clouds and the presence of your quarry. It’s impossible to consider anything else. As my wife would say you’re just ‘being in the moment’.

Earlier this month, my business required me to travel to Brazil and Argentina. On a whim, I texted my good friend Todd Williver from Central Oregon to see if he could break away from teaching and go dove hunting in Cordoba. It was a long shot but a few minutes later, I got a reply…absolutely. We’ve talked for several years about the possibility of bird hunting in South America but the chances looked slim as we both have demanding schedules and he has toddlers.

No way, could this actually materialize? I had plenty of air miles so getting there wouldn’t be a problem for me and my mate. With less than two months to go, we began researching and I reached out to an outfitter I met at SCI in Reno called Los Gauchos. We both had a pretty tight agenda and could only hunt for the weekend. They came back with an outstanding package that wasn’t a budget buster and we would join up with two other hunting parties at Sierra Brava Lodge located about 100 kilometers north of Cordoba.

After meeting customers in Buenos Aires I met Todd at the Aeroparque to go to Cordoba. I had been on the road for business for a week and Todd had a 24 hour journey from Portland—we were both anxious to hunt and kick back in the Argentine countryside. On arrival into Cordoba, we were greeted by our new best friend and retired attorney, Topo Zsaravnik. Topo’s not his real name of course but that’s another story. Todd and I weren’t the only pasty white guys on the flight but Topo gave one good look at us and said…those boys must be my hunters. And we weren’t even wearing any camo!

Within minutes of pulling away from the Cordoba airport, we talked about the geography, the climate, the bird species and the hunting techniques and traditions. Topo is quite the world traveler so we traded stories about hunting and fishing in the US. Within the first hour Todd and I both knew this would be an experience of a lifetime. This isn’t the first time I’ve made new friends while hunting internationally, but with each trip, I’m convinced that hunting transcends all cultures and continents. This shared passion turns strangers into friends in no time and this trip was no exception.

We arrived in the evening and Topo made plans for a brief hunt before heading back to Sierra Brava. Two new friends – Martin and Sergio. They were to be our bird boys for the weekend. Clean shaven young men who we would later find out were amazing shots. Arriving at the lodge just after dusk, we were greeted by JJ Sala the owner and his friendly staff with a cold towel for our faces.

Sierra Brava is an exquisite lodge that has 100 years of history. It was JJ’s vision to restore the previous stage stop and create a spectacular hunting lodge with modern amenities but keeping the Old World feel. Champagne was served and Kenny Rodgers and Johnny Cash played in the background as we got acquainted with this unique piece of Argentine history.

Topo organized a spectacular Argentine meal complete with steak, Topo’s own homemade Chimichurri sauce and a caramel peach dessert. We had no idea he was an amazing cook. For dinner we were joined two lifetime friends from Casper Wyoming – Rick Kennerknecht and Colter Anderson. Rick and I talked Africa while Todd and Coulter swapped fly-fishing stories.

Rick had been to Argentina many times as he runs an outfitter called Global Sporting Safaris. Colter, like Todd and I were new to South America. With a great meal, everyone retired early for the evening to prepare for the high volume dove hunting the next day.

The four Texans arrived the next afternoon in time for a hot lunch served fresh in the field. Topo and his crew worked their magic and served a corn pie and two types of steaks that were mesquite grilled to perfection. Like Todd and I, the Texans had their share of stories and had hunted together for many years. After exchanging tales and taking a siesta we all headed back to the fields.

You’ve seen it all, right? You’ve hunted Pheasants in South Dakota, Chukkar in Oregon, Ducks on the Atlantic and Pacific Flyways, Quail in California and Guinea Fowl and Francolin in South Africa. Think again. You’ve seen nothing until you see Doves in Cordoba. The first two hours in the field are incomprehensible. Even if you’ve seen the videos and talked to the guides, being in a Dove blind when hundreds, literally hundreds, of Doves are flying by you is difficult to imagine. Martin, my bird boy, kept saying…left, right, up, behind, left. I was dizzy. Concentrate I said to myself. There were more shooting opportunities that morning than last hunting season in Oregon. It was picture perfect weather and not a cloud in the sky. Temps were in the 80-90’s with very little wind. What more could you ask for?


The morning tallied 360 birds for Todd and 34 for me. Todd had spied the 1000 Club Member board in the lodge the night before and was destined to achieve that on his first day. Not that we were keeping score, but I ended the day at 150 and Todd at 1002. Granted, Todd shot 2x the shells as I did.

As daylight faded, waves upon waves of doves flew over the sorghum fields and Coulter was fast on the crossers. Like Todd, Coulter joined the 1000 Club Member shooting over 1,500. A few cold beers in the field and we packed up on the truck and headed back to the lodge.

Our second day was equally as exciting and challenging. No one cared to honestly admit to how sore their shoulder was but I noticed many of us shot considerably fewer shells that day. The hunting situation was considerably different from the day before. On this occasion, we would hunt on a cattle ranch and corn fields that had been harvested. My shooting improved but nothing like that of Martin, my bird boy. He was taking some long crack shots I didn’t think were possible with a 20 gauge. All in all, the group shot 1000’s of birds with two of the Texans shooting 2,000 apiece.



Topo and JJ had arranged for some fine Argentine entertainment and dinner.
We’d grown fond of their cooking and our second night’s meal was a gastronomical delight complete with Argentine beef and fine wines. The folk music was very enjoyable and told the story of rural Argentina.

We all retired to a blazing campfire to share stories, kick back and smoke cigars. With the right group of friends, campfires can be magical. Everyone loves a great story and many that are shared and slightly embellished in this hunting ritual. This night, the air was crisp and the stories were tall. It was a full Harvest Moon and not a cloud in the sky. Orion, the hunter, along with the Southern Cross came into sight along the horizon.

Sunday morning brought colder temps and a low pressure system from the foothills of the Andes. As we packed our bags to head back to US, we reflected on the great hunting and exceptional experience of staying with JJ and Topo at the Sierra Brava Lodge. Hunting trips like these are irreplaceable. Beyond relaxing and great hunting, its times like these that provide you the unique opportunity to make new hunting partners and renew your friendship with your buddies.

Cast & Blast 2007 – What a Difference a Year Makes

Both father and son anxiously await our fall tradition through the football season. As the gridiron schedule draws to a close, we make final arrangement for our annual Oregon Cast & Blast weekend. This year football ended on a high with Parker’s team winning the championship after getting off to a slow 0-2 start. Parker had an outstanding season scoring 26 points at fullback but now it was time to turn our energy towards hunting and fishing as we so regularly do at this time of year.

Parker & I arrived in Portland around 10:00pm on Friday night to head over the pass and meet up with my friend Doug Barton and his father, Clair. After three hours of solid rain, we arrived in Camp Sherman, unloaded the gear and hit the sack.

After our customary greasy spoon breakfast we got our licenses and some last minute rain gear and headed to Madras to meet Jim and his pack of short hairs. Rain was constant with temps in the 40’s with little winds.

Just moments after getting into the field the chatter started about who will take the prize of the worst shot for the day. Normally that would be me. This year things would be different as Parker and I were in sound shooting form as we’d been practicing every Sunday for the past three months at the local trap shooting club. No perfect scores but lots of rounds in the twenties.

This year Parker grew several inches and bulked up considerably since last fall. Consequently he outgrew his 28 gauge Ruger Red Label so I suited him up with a new 20 gauge Benelli. Our last round at the trap club he turned in two consecutive scores over twenty marking 21 and 23. Not bad considering he was averaging 13 the year before.

Our hunting party hit the field and Parker had a much greater sense of confidence given his consistency at the trap club. On the first pass Parker and I each picked up three chukkar’s apiece. Parker was on his game and dropped birds from the sky in a reflex action. It was quite an amazing sight.

It’s such a great feeling to see your son succeed at a sport you love so much. He shot more on this first pass than he did all of last year. Beyond handling a shotgun, he had much more awareness of the hunting situation and was very engaged in the day. I’m not sure how many birds, it didn't matter. This was a day I'll remember the rest of my life. The day it 'clicked' for Parker.

On Sunday we got an early start and headed off to the Deschutes to try our hand at the most challenging sport fish in central Oregon – Steelhead. It rained so hard this day that we had to bail the boat three times just to empty the rain water. Can you say wet and soggy? The weather didn’t deter us. Parker caught 11 fish and I 3. By 2.30 my Goretex gear gave up and I was starting to drenched so we headed for the boat ramp. Earlier in the day Todd caught a small Steelhead which we had for dinner Sunday night along with barbeque chukkar.

Doug and Clair left Monday morning and Parker, Todd & I headed for Corvallis to go duck hunting with a friend of Todd’s. Naturally the weather turned and it was clear and sunny – not exactly ideal for duck hunting. We saw hundreds and shot two. It was quite the experience and something we’ll need to pursue more often. Parker loved it as much as I did.

In reflecting on the past year, I still can’t get over all the changes in Parker. His hunting and ability to handle a shotgun with great consistency is but one of many wonderful changes. He’s growing up to be a great young man and already I’m looking forward to next year’s Cast & Blast.

Grand Slam in the Free State

We arrived in Kimberly, an old diamond mining community, to hunt on the open grasslands and savannahs of South Africa’s Free State. The plains game native to the region would be our plan. Nick Engelhardt, a friend from work and I were flexible but our interests included hunting several species including Common and White Blesbuck, Common, White, Black and the rarest Copper Springbuck, Mountain Reedbuck and possibly the Black Wildebeest. Having studied the Springbuck, it was my dream to shoot all four species – the ‘Grand Slam’ of Africa. There was so much land, so many options and so little time; I kept an open mind to my pursuit. Being an avid bird hunter, I also wanted to try my luck at the local ducks and geese in the area.

We arrived early and headed straight for Koffiefontein to settle into camp and check our rifles and equipment. Situated on the Reed River, our lodge was a quaint rock and mortar camp with a veranda and camp fire pit facing east above the river and into the hunting concession. Our camp had lots of character and even two friendly goats we affectionately named Billy Bob and Mary Lou – no offense to the southern folks.

We got a quick lunch and set out to zero in the rifles on a huge salt pan. This tradition was new to my friend as this was his first trip to Africa and first time to hunt ever. We each put decent marks on the paper at a hundred yards with minimal scope adjustments.
Paul, the farm owner and jovial host, pulled up to meet us and give us the lay of the land. Leaping out his truck were his anxious hunting partners Eddie & Jennie, two very friendly Jack Russell’s. They wanted nothing more than to hang with the hunters day and night which suited me fine as their great companions.

The Free State is not for sissies. One thing is for sure in this country – it’s dry, it’s hot and it will kick your butt if you’re not prepared. The brush was low and the plains were huge. Martin Van Niekerk, our professional hunter said these plains are so flat you can see your dog runaway for three days; I agree. The hunting conditions were ideal as October brings rain and moderate temperatures. Spread over two locations, this concession has over 75,000 acres and very diverse landscapes from large alfalfa pivots to open plains to marshlands near the river.

We decided to start out on the ranch southeast of Koffiefontein to get acclimated to the surroundings and the game situation and patterns. Quickly we saw several herds of Common Springbuck with hundreds of head. Like Pronghorn in the Wyoming, you can’t get within a mile of the herd without the entire plain becoming a huge dust bowl. This plains game species Swarvkoski’s for eyes as they can detect the slightest movement.

Our hunting strategy had to leverage all facets of the land to our advantage. We used the depressions in the plain, the giant ant hills and the mountain shoulders as cover to get remotely close to the Springbuck. After one failed attempt on a White Blesbuck, we had a nice Copper Springbuck ram on the horizon. One of the dozens of ewes in the herd spotted us as was the case so many times that we had to find a different angle and cover to get a shot at the Copper.

We pursued this herd for three hours up and around several of the flat top mountains on the plain until finally we had a chance to stalk them from 400 yards. This herd had several nice rams including a black, common and copper. Using the scrub brush and shadows, we got into position to shoot the copper ram. Just before dawn I dropped the safety and took the shot. The shot was high but the Copper dropped within 50 yards. He was a beautiful ram with both thick bases and long horns. Shooting the rarest of the Springbuck on the first day meant we were off to a spectacular start. After collapsing in the truck on the way back to camp, we had one celebratory beer and it was off to bed early as tomorrow was to be Nick’s big day to shoot his first animal.

After much deliberation and discussion, Nick decided his first African trophy would be a Black Springbuck. We were off to an early start around six o’clock to a rocky location where the trackers had spotted a Black Springbuck ram. We climbed up to a rock outcropping to glass the area for a black ram. This concession had a marshy area and a water dam for the farm just below our position. The ponds frequently held ducks and this would prove to be a problem later. Martin sorted out the approach and explained to Nick that they should retreat from the rocks and follow the lowlands around the marsh to stalk the black ram. They stalked and crawled along the marsh up to a bush on higher ground that would provide ample cover for the 150-200 yard shot. As Nick moved into position, a pair of South African Copper ducks decided to flee from the adjacent pond announcing their presence to the herd and pushing them out of range. Adding insult to injury, an aggressive copper ram decided to chase the black ram away from the ewes and from Nick’s line of sight. Later we discovered that copper rams are dominant across all other species in the herd.

The black ram fled the lowlands and headed north around the rocky mountainside. Keeping a close eye on the ram’s location, Martin and Nick scaled the rocks to find cover and get an angle. Martin setup his traditional shooting sticks, had Nick get in position and gave him the direction of the ram. (In our preparation for Africa, Nick explained to me that he was accomplished marksman but since he was new to hunting preferred to shoot on a bi-pod or on a stationary rest.) The ram came into his field of vision and within seconds his reflexes took over and the .270 went crack sending a 130 grain Nosler Partition into the heart of his first African animal.

Later that afternoon I shot a Common Springbuck off a rock cropping and a White Springbuck from a high plain. Our day ended in African tradition with a huge campfire and the oysters from the animal. Nick retold the story for us all to relive and enjoy.

With three of the four Springbuck in the bag, our third day started in search of a Black Springbuck. This day was going to be a scorcher as there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. We headed off to the great plains south of Koffiefontein and spotted a nice black ram amidst a herd of fifty Common Springbuck. We stalked him for the better part of the day and around 2pm were in position to take a shot. Just as I get ready to squeeze the trigger, I realize my rifle is on lock and load. Argh. Just as I raised the bolt the black ram took off. Six hours of intense strategy and stalking down the drain. The hot day burned on and we relocated to different part of the ranch. After positioning ourselves on a flat rocky mountain ridge, we found another black ram. He looked quite far and was quite antsy but I tried the shot anyways. He was farther than the 300 yards I estimated and ended up shooting straight under him. With salt accumulating on our brows, shoulders and face we decided to call it quits for the day. The black ram would have to wait until the next day.

The fourth day we spent searching for a rare antelope – the Mountain Reedbuck. How the spotters saw them I will never know. There was a herd more than 500 yards from the truck sleeping below a green bush. Nick and our professional hunter Martin unloaded from the truck and got into position. It was another burning hot day so I decided to take a nap on the back of the truck. I fell sound asleep. More than two hours later, I was awakened with a loud crack coming from the bottom of the valley. Looking through the binoculars I saw the herd scatter and no apparent success. Just then the herd came closer to the bush where they were hiding giving Nick another chance at the animal. The angle was wrong and the position awkward so no success. Later that day we found a covey of Guinea Fowl and nick dropped one atop a high mountain ridge.

Our fifth day, I was getting quite anxious to complete the Grand Slam of Springbuck and Martin and I got off to an early start. We decided to shoot some ducks in the morning and pursuit the black ram later in the day. We had one failed attempt at the Copper Shelduck but we would try again that night with great success. Around 10am our final day we left camp to scout the local herd and found a nice ram. After walking, stalking and getting in position, I shot my last Springbuck. It was an excellent stalk demanding a lot of patience and strategy. We sat in the midday heat for more than three hours before finally getting a shot.

I’ve never hunted pronghorn in Wyoming but I assume it’s a similar experience. If you ever consider hunting Springbuck in South Africa, the Free State is the place to be. It will kick your butt but you’ll experience a hunt of a lifetime. This was a trip of a lifetime and I’d like to personally thank my good friend and professional hunter Martin van Niekerk for organizing this amazing experience.

Why We Hunt

Recently I read an awesome article on hunting in the African Sporting Gazette. Written by Paul Peters, it inspired me to think about why I hunt and how my thoughts have evolved over the last 20 years.

Most non-hunters can’t relate or understand why we hunt. It’s difficult to describe exactly but we’ve all tried with sayings like – ‘it’s not about killing, it’s about the thrill of the hunt’ or maybe ‘I enjoy being out in nature and hunting is one way of being there’ but as we all know these phrases never quite convey the full reason.

The first time I went hunting was in high school. I went duck hunting on the Illinois River with my Uncle Harry, a highly decorated WW II veteran. It was an experience I will never forget. We froze our asses off and had no success. It didn’t matter.

I too asked the question – why would there be any glory in taking the life of a beautiful animal. After 12 years of Catholic education, I couldn’t quite understand how people rationalized the act of killing wildlife. To this day, I still remember the first pheasant I shot and I vividly remember my feelings at the time and praying for the life of this bird.

From that day forward, I somehow understood that this was a part of me that will always be there and that I was ‘a hunter’. Hunting was about bonding with older family members, hearing their stories, learning their techniques, exploring nature, surviving the elements and enjoying life in the fullest.

I really stopped trying to explain why I hunted because if you’ve never experienced it, you’ll never understand why hunting will forever more be part of our existence.

Since that time, I’ve introduced my son to hunting and am happy to report that he appears to be genuinely engaged in the sport. I’ll never forget the look on his face when he shot his first Chukkar. Excitement and sadness at the same time. We recently agreed to say a prayer after every bird we shoot. Very cool.

In the article ‘There are three kinds of hunters’, Peter’s quotes Chilton Williamson by saying that your view of nature directly corresponds to the distance you are from its reality. The only activity that allows an individual to experience this reality to its fullest is hunting. Only hunters accept the danger, chance, insecurity and uncertainty of an unsubdued world, of the unforgiving truth of an unsentimental nature.

In the article, Peters describes three types of hunters; first is meat-hunters, they exist today as they did in prehistoric times. In many African countries, meat-hunting is the only source of protein for natives. Sadly, the government of these nations has mismanaged wildlife populations to the detriment of their citizens. In fact, hunting is illegal for most natives and reserved for the fortunate few with lighter skin.

Wildlife beauty and human egos brought on the second type of hunting– trophy hunters. Trophy hunters go to great extremes to shoot the biggest specimen of hundreds of exotic species only to brag to their friends about who has how many trophies in the record books.

The third type of hunting the author called ‘experientialism’ where the hunter wants to be one with the natural world in the fullest sense. These types of hunters (which I consider myself to be) are acutely aware of the imprint he has on nature. They are not about killing animals but partaking in nature – both life and death.

The following statement is an truism that I deeply believe.

“The well placed shot is owed not to the creature hunted but to the God who created the animal and gave it to the human to hunt.”

If this subject intrigues you, I encourage you to explore the book Meditations on Hunting by Jose Ortega y Gasset, a Spanish philosopher. I haven't read it, but it looks great.

http://www.amazon.com/Meditations-Hunting-Jose-Ortega-Gasset/dp/1885106181

Happy Hunting!