Stay tuned for a fairly significant announcement regarding the future of the Hog Blog (not an April Fool’s joke this time).  2012 promises to be, if nothing else, a different year for me and this blog.  Don’t go away!

The contract is finalized and now just waiting for the legal beagles to run through the titles and such so I can close the deal. With the holidays on tap, it may be dragged out past the first of the year, but at this point I can handle a few more weeks. Hell, considering that I’ve been actively looking, and already went through the process of one offer almost six months ago, a few weeks is nothing. Bottom line is, barring some major malfunction, I’ll become a Texas landowner in 2012.

This is all just the first part of a bigger dream and a long-term plan.

The place I’m getting is a small (by Texas standards), 23.24 acre parcel out in Edwards County.  There’s currently a pretty nice, double-wide mobile home on the place, as well as a really nice barn. I’ll need to do some work, establish a couple of good pastures for the horses, and get some water sources in place to hold wildlife. The upside is, there’s already a ton of wildlife there, including whitetail, axis, turkeys, and (of course) hogs. I need to provide a little incentive for them to stick around, and I should have decent hunting within a stone’s throw of the back porch. (I’ve already had to promise that I won’t hunt from the back porch… but I didn’t say anything about setting a blind on the roof!)

This will become my base of operations, and will be my new home as soon as I can get all the necessary ducks in a row to make the move. I’m eager to get there full-time, but I have to wait until Kat can make arrangements with her job to relocate. She’ll also need to find something to do with her current house, which is something of a problem in the current real estate environment. These are, admittedly, steep challenges. But I’ve taken on bigger…

I had intended to get something a bit larger, in the neighborhood of 100 acres. However, finding something that size with a decent living space and realistic access to some infrastructure was tough. Since this will also be my office, I need to be able to set up reliable broadband connection. Kat sort of likes the idea of having a few neighbors around too, which is OK with me as long as they’re not too close. The nearest full-time neighbor to this place is at least a half-mile up the road. That’s a reasonable buffer.

The plan now is to settle into this place and take my time finding a larger parcel. I’ve even considered trying to buy up the undeveloped lots adjacent to mine, but I’m not sure if the owners will be willing to sell. Either way, it shouldn’t be a problem finding land that is for sale out there. I just need to find the one I really like. Adding this second property is Phase 2 of my plan.

Phase 3 is for my brother and his wife to get themselves relocated to the Hill Country. They have the intent, but they aren’t rushing into anything right now. They have property of their own to sell back in North Carolina, in addition to that little question of employment.

And that will take us to Phase 4, the culmination of a dream that I think my brother and I have both shared since we first went down to the Hill Country several years ago. Once we’ve established our households and had a chance to get involved in the community, we hope to pick up a fairly large piece of land (or two) and start running hunts. This isn’t a short-term plan, of course, although I hope we’re ready to make our move before the economy finally stumbles back to its feet and land prices climb out of reach.

I know, we’re hardly the first to come down to Texas with starry eyes and big ideas. Hell, Texas is the land of the grandiose dreams, isn’t it? A lot of other folks have come down and tried to make a go in the Hill Country hunting industry, and there are a lot of empty ranches and For Sale signs that are all they have left to show for it. There are no guarantees.

But hard-headed runs deep in my family, and my brother and I have that trait in spades. If it can be done, we’ll do it or bust our asses trying. There were a lot of times and a lot of reasons I was ready to toss this Texas dream out the window, but I stuck it out this far and it’s starting to come together. I’ll take that as an indication that the rest of the plan will work out too.

And if it doesn’t… nothing ventured, nothing gained. I’ll be out of California, living in a place where I can hunt to my heart’s content, and surrounded by lots of beautiful country and very few people. That’s a dream-come-true right there.

Up until the trigger engages the sear and the firing pin speeds toward the primer, everything is negotiable.  You can change your mind, let the animal walk, yield to the overwhelming pressures and second-guesses. The fears and uncertainty are welling to the bursting point.  What if I’m wrong?  What if I wound this animal?  Am I sure it’s legal?  Am I sure it’s safe?  Do I want it bad enough to kill it?  

Maybe it’s not universal, but for many hunters, these are largely subconscious thoughts that occur in the time it takes a finger to travel a fraction of an inch… part of the emotional roller coaster that makes hunting such a powerful experience.  Because once you decide to pull that trigger, all bets are off.  To all intents and purposes, you are a killer.  At this point, even if you miss you made the decision to kill.  There’s no going back on that.

How many other decisions in life carry that kind of weight?  Marriage might be one.  The decision to have a child is another.  These choices are life changing and irrevocable.  Like a bullet, this kind of decision can’t be retracted once it’s made.  Even if you change your mind, the trigger has been pulled.

For me, the decision to pull up stakes and relocate to the Texas Hill Country has fallen into that category.  It has been an extremely hard call to make, and it’s going to entail an awful lot of changes.  Some of these changes are already taking place, and I have no doubt there will be many more that I haven’t even considered yet.  But I’m locked in. Damn the torpedoes…

Over this past weekend, the realization of one such change sank in. 

The B-zone deer season closed on Sunday.  I’ve been so busy with so many things since the August opener, I hadn’t even made time to get out there.  For the first time since I came to California in 1996, it looked like I’d miss the B zone season altogether.  With so much going on, I didn’t think I’d miss it all that much, but early last week I started to really get the itch to get out there at least once.  If nothing else, I could really use a little time in the hills just to regroup in my mind.  I knew just the place to do it… Kokopelli Valley.

This was the jinx-breaker buck. Not big, but my first in CA.

Kokopelli Valley (not its real name… and it is really a canyon, not a valley) is one of those special places.  It’s where I went on my very first CA deer hunt, and where I killed my first blacktail buck.  I went through several years of jinxed hunts, missed shots and blown opportunities before I put that first animal on the ground… all of which led to the naming of the place.  Kokopelli was a trickster and a fertility figure.  He was as likely to steal you blind as to bless you with bounty. 

When I was first introduced to the place, it was on an invitation from my friend, outdoor and gun writer Dave Campbell.  He and Bill Karr, an Editor of Western Outdoor News, were going up, and since I was new to the state they wanted to show me some new country and introduce me to CA deer hunting.  “It’s not going to be like hunting in NC,” Dave warned me.  “We probably won’t see anything.  Some hunters go years without seeing a legal buck.”

Within an hour or so of setting out from the trucks, Dave had a forked horn buck on the ground.  On the way back to the truck, I saw another one.  And by the end of the six-weeks or so of the season that year, I’d seen a couple more and missed a big 4×4.  Either I was really bucking the odds, or this place was something special.  It quickly became my regular haunt, and over the next couple of seasons I could be found parked at the trailhead every weekend.

Kokopelli Valley is where I got Kat into hunting.  In fact, she was with me when we came up with our name for the place.  At sunset, a pine snag on top of the mountain looked exactly like Kokopelli dancing and playing his flute.  I had noticed him the first season I hunted there, and I was thrilled that Kat could see him too.

Over subsequent seasons, we named a bunch of spots and landmarks.  There’s the Quail Tree, right where the trail empties into “Surprise Meadow”.  The tree was so named because there is always a covey of quail that flushes when you’re sneaking along the trail.  At first light, it’s a great way to get the heart thumping.

Surprise Meadow was named for a little forked horn buck that just stepped out in front of me as I was dragging back to camp on closing evening one year.  I was tired and aggravated by a constant stream of hunters who would hike into the canyon, and then hike right back out instead of spending time to actually hunt.  My rifle was slung and my ass was dragging, and when the little buck stepped out we just stared at each other… a little surprised.  When I finally thought to unsling my rifle, the deer realized he had other business to tend to and faded back into the brush. 

There’s Clumsy Kat Crossing, which is a narrow rift where a stream had cut across the trail.  For me, it was a fairly easy stride to step across.  For Kat, however, with her shorter legs, it required a little finesse.  Making that crossing in the dark got comical a time or two.  Fortunately, she wasn’t there the morning I slipped and fell in. 

Clumsy Kat Crossing brought you into Frog Hollow.  On warm afternoons, when you stepped across the crossing a little frog would plop into a pool of standing water.  This little routine lasted until the Trough Fire scorched the place in 2001.  The rains that winter changed the course of the creek, and Frog Hollow and Clumsy Kat Crossing never held water again.  Without the flowing stream, the crossing filled in until it’s barely noticeable as a dip in the trail. 

After the Trough Fire.

The Trough Fire brought a bunch of major changes to Kokopelli Valley.  The whole area is about one mile long, from the trailhead to the boxed end of the canyon.  Running essentially north to south, there are three predominant meadows.  Surprise Meadow is part of the first, and leads into Buck Grunt Bowl and Big Meadow.  Just to the east, separated by a low ridge and a dense thicket of oaks, chemise, and pines is Long Meadow.  At the northern end of Long Meadow was an old homestead, complete with blackberries, figs, grapes, and a small apple orchard.  The apples came ripe at the same time that deer season was fully underway, and the area was loaded with deer and bear sign.  Quail, band-tail pigeons, coyotes, and squirrels were also thick.  And to the east of Long Meadow, separated by a deep crevice and running creek, is a narrow meadow that foots the High Ridge.  Bordering the canyon on the western side is another high ridge, topped by the main road.  From ridge to ridge across the canyon is a shade over 1200 yards.

Prior to the fire, the road only allowed a view into isolated sections of the canyon bottom. Plenty of hunters would park and glass from the road, but what most of them didn’t seem to know was how much they were missing from their comfortable perch.  Because the hillsides were so densely covered, very few hunters ventured over the edge to try to reach the bottom.  To really hunt Kokopelli Valley, you had to go to the trailhead, get out of the vehicle, lace up your boots, and hit the trail.  Huge manzanitas and dense chapparal obscured the road hunters’ vision, and more than once I’ve watched deer feed unmolested, less than 200 yards below the oblivious hunters. 

The fire knocked all of the underbrush down, and opened up the view to anyone who wanted to stop along the road and glass.  Worse yet, the deer were so habituated to moving along their hidden trails that they continued to use the area after the cover was gone, making easy targets for the road hunters.  The impenetrable poison oak and chemise that covered the northern end of the canyon was also gone, and hunters could drop in from either end of the place and push through with relative ease.  For a couple of years after that fire, Kokopelli Valley became a very busy place. 

The fire also burned the Kokopelli tree. A tall stump still stands up there, if you know where to look, but that’s it.  The travelling trickster has travelled on.

The canyon has mostly grown back now, although too much of it is still visible from the road.  On most weekend evenings during the deer season, there are at least two or three trucks pulled over along the turnouts.  At least the north end has grown back enough to discourage extensive foot travel, so most hunters have to walk in the long way, from the trail head. 

One more from Kokopelli Valley

The last few years I’ve only managed to make a small handful of trips back to Kokopelli Valley.  I’d say half the time I made the drive as much for sentimental reasons as to hunt deer.  It’s a special place, at least to me, and as a reward for my loyalty I can honestly say that I have seen deer on every visit.  Often, the deer were all does, or else they were out of range or running.  But always, deer… and that’s saying a lot for public land. 

This past weekend was no different.  I arrived on Friday evening, grabbed my boots and charged into the field as the sky was already darkening.  As I stood glassing from a spot we’d named “Katbird Point”, I was startled by a rustling in the bushes behind me.  I turned, and 10 yards away a small doe was emerging from the thicket.  The poor thing practically turned inside out when she realized she’d almost walked right into me. 

On Saturday morning, I hiked up on the High Ridge to get away from the anticipated crowds.  From the ridge I watched a couple of does moving off to bed. Around 10:00, I saw movement to the north, and after a second to find it in the binoculars, I spotted a really nice 3×3 charging down the ridge, right toward me.  I could tell by the way he was running that he’d been pushed by other hunters, and sure enough, about 100 yards behind him (and oblivious) I could see two guys coming down the middle of the ridge.  As the buck got to about 300 yards, I started looking for a place to set up for a shot.  There was a rock outcropping about 20 yards away, but before I could get to it, the buck jagged off to the west and dove into a crevice.  I watched in disappointed amusement as the deer neatly circled back behind the two hunters, and then crossed the ridge to the safety of deep cover in the chapparal.  The guys had no idea what they’d missed.

I spent the entire day up on top of the ridge, and as the shadows started to stretch across the canyon and the temperatures dropped, I eased back over to the east side of the ridge.  It was already cooler here, and I figured the deer would be moving soon.  From my spot, I watched a hunter with two youngsters eagerly in his tracks.  He was pointing out tracks in the Long Meadow, and led the boys to one of the big oaks that survived the fire.  I kept watching as he circled the end of the meadow and then slowly backtracked to the main trail.  I hoped a deer would come out and give those youngsters some excitement and motivation to keep on hunting, but it never did.  In the last minutes of light as I made my own way back to the trailhead, a large deer stepped out under those same oaks and stood broadside to me at less than 100 yards.  It was too dim to make out antlers against the backdrop of brush, so I could only watch until the deer finally caught my wind and slinked into the shadows. 

At the truck, I debated staying one more night.  I had promised my daughter a horse ride on Sunday afternoon, so I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay long if I hunted Sunday.  I also knew that there would be a crowd of hunters trying to make the best of the last day of the season.  It had been a great weekend already, and I didn’t want the frustration of a bunch of yahoos.  I broke camp and headed down the mountain toward home.

It didn’t hit me until I was rounding the first curve, maybe a quarter mile from the trailhead, but when it did, it hit me hard.  If things go as planned and I finalize the deal in Texas this fall, I’ll probably be living in the Hill Country by this time next year.  This was, very likely, my last hunt in Kokopelli Valley. 

I had to stop the truck and get out, and I don’t mind admitting that there was a lump in my throat as I raised a glass to Kokopelli Valley, and to the times I’ve spent there over the past 15 years.

No.  That’s not quite right.  Actually, it was more of a generic sort of sunny afternoon.  A light breeze ruffled the plum and lemon trees.  A pair of mourning doves whistled into flight.  In the not-so-distance, someone had their car stereo turned up until every bolt and buckle rattled and buzzed.  A child laughed down the street, playing the innocent games of childhood.

But here, in my backyard, a scenario of deadliest doom was playing out.

I’d heard the rustling in the jasmine earlier.  Thinking that damned skunk was back, I grabbed the Benjamin Marauder and snuck out the side door.  I’d put an end to this pest!  I eased around the storage bin, rifle at the ready.  I captured a flash of movement under the fruit trees along the fenceline and eased into position.

I don’t know if it was the smell that hit me first, or the gurgling snort.  But it had to be scent or sound that set my brain into action, because I simply wasn’t buying what my eyes were selling.

A huge boar faced off at me across the yard.  But he wasn’t a normal hog.  His flesh was rotting from his scarred up body.  Bloody drool and maggots dripped from the open maw.  The sound he was making was something like a snarl, but it was a liquified, gooey rendition, as though his whole throat was full of phlegm or gore.  This was a zombie hog!

I dropped to the ground and set up the Benjamin.  This wasn’t the time to stand and be shocked.  Another second and he’d charge!

I leveled the crosshairs between his eyes and let fly with a .25 caliber pellet.  The Marauder spoke true once again, and the shot went right where it was supposed to.  As fast as it started, it was over.

This exciting, backyard zombie hunt was brought to you, in part, by the good folks at Birchwood Casey.

In my mail yesterday, I received a long-awaited package.  In it were about 40 of the new Birchwood Casey “Darkotic” targets.  I mentioned these after seeing them at the SHOT Show back in January, and with Halloween peeking over the pumpkins, I thought it would be fun to see if I could get my hands on a bunch.

To be sure no one felt left out, the company has provided a pretty awesome selection of zombies, from “Drainpipe”, the sewer rat to “Shopping Spree,” the mall rat.  I received a small selection, but I had specifically asked for extras of “Smokehouse”, the zombie hog.  Big surprise, huh?

So what’s up with zombie targets?  Good question… if you’ve been living under a rock for the last few years.

Zombies have taken a pretty phenomenal place in the popular  consciousness lately.  I’m not quite sure how it started, but it’s got to be one of the best marketed memes in recent history.  The living dead have gone from the stuff of B-grade movies and teen-rated video games to the topic of conversations in otherwise staid company.  In the world of guns and hunting, there have been a pile of columns and blog posts related to the perfect “zombie gun”, while college kids are leveraging the social networks to organize campus-wide, zombie invasions.  Even the CDC Office of Public Health and Preparedness has published a guide to prepare the living for the impending zombie apocalypse, along with several other documents and presentations.

Hornady ammunition has taken it to an even higher level, with the recent introduction of the Zombie Max (Z-Max) ammunition… specially designed for shooting zombies!  They’re even rolling television commercials for the new loads, at least on some of the hunting television channels.  According to the disclaimer on the Hornady site, this is real ammunition and not a toy.  I think it would be a hoot to keep a couple of boxes around, but right now I really don’t know a lot more about it.  Anybody tried any of it yet?

In the meantime… the targets are going to be a kick in the pants to play with.  They “splatter” on impact, so it’s easy to see your accuracy… and to ensure those zombie-killing head-shots.  I may not be taking the zombie apocalypse as seriously as I should, but I’ll be getting plenty of practice over the next few weeks… you’ll know because you’ll probably hear me giggling.

Sunrise after a night of storms

Well, the sun is rising on my last day in the Texas Hill Country, and it’s finding me sipping coffee in a cool breeze, listening to the birds and thinking about the long drive back to CA.

I’m not sorry to be going home.  Not at all. I’m looking forward to getting back to Kat, and a real bed.  This camper is starting to feel a little small.

But part of the reason I don’t mind leaving is that I know it’s just for a little while. In the big picture, the year is fleeting, but my next trip down here will be to finalize paperwork and take possession of my new home. It may be a little over-ambitious, but I’m sort of thinking a Hill Country Christmas could be in the offing.

Of course, until the pen hits the paper and the money changes hands, there’s always the possibility that things will fall apart. That happens. But things will have to turn pretty south for that to occur now.  I think this thing is really going to happen, after a couple of years of talk and planning and daydreams.  The first step is at hand…

I didn’t get in any big game hunting on this trip. I did have an invitation to hunt, but time passed and I couldn’t capitalize. But that’s OK. I have a feeling I’ll soon enough be shooting all the axis deer, hogs, and whitetails I can stand to hunt… on my own property!

So it’s good-bye for now, Hill Country. Hasta la vista… until I see you again.

Oh, and in the meantime, both properties are loaded with whitetail, axis, hogs, and turkeys.  There will be plenty of hunting.

The axis buck in the picture here, by the way, is obviously not on one of those properties.  He’s safe, behind a high fence.  He knows he’s safe, because he stood there and posed for me like that while I dug the camera out from under the seat, got it turned on, and then took his photo.  Complacent sucker… look at that grin on his face.

One other thing, as I’m trying to spend some time learning more about the folks, the issues, and the local way of life… be careful when you tell a meat cutter you want a nice, big ribeye for dinner.  You’ll get something that looks like this!

That’s well over a pound of dead cow right there.  No bones.

I know, I almost never buy beef anymore, but I haven’t had a chance to go out and shoot camp meat on this trip.  I was talking earlier in the day to someone about grilling steaks, and the idea just got my mouth to watering.  When I popped by the grocery store and the meat cutter was back there doing his thing, I couldn’t resist.

More to come…

Anyway, just thought I’d share this update and a couple of photos.

Yesterday was the third day of rain since I got here on Sunday.  According to some locals I’ve spoken to, this is the most rain many parts of the Hill Country have seen in over three years.  A few rain storms aren’t going to break the drought down here, but you can sure see the positive impact.

The Hill Country is known as a region of extremes, from drought to flood.  While I know flooding here can be a big problem, I’m pretty sure I’m with most folks here that it would be nice to see an end of the drought!

Speaking of water, I’m staying at the Parkview Riverside RV Park while I’m down here.  This is definitely the “off-season”, and there are probably not more than five or six occupied campers here right now.  As a result, I was assigned a prime, riverfront site… even though my little Four-Wheel pop-up camper looks a little funny next to the big RVs and fifth-wheel campers.

Right below my campsite is a swimming hole, about 10 feet deep and COLD!  I guess that’s why this is called the Frio River, huh?  But it sure feels good on a hot day.

I’ve been working my day job from the camper every day, and about 3:00 or 3:30 I’ll knock off and go dive in for a cool soak.  It’s tough, huh?

And of course, when it comes to work, here’s my office for the two weeks I’m down here.  Kinda cozy, huh?  Yeah, there’s not a ton of floor space, but it sure beats working in a cubicle!

I’m pretty lucky to have a job and a boss that allow me to get down here and do this.  It wouldn’t even be possible otherwise.

Oh, and did I mention the game?  Hill Country is crawling with wildlife, native and non-native… like these free-ranging axis deer.  That’s a lot of tasty venison running around on the hoof right there!  There’s a year-round, open season on these things, and I look forward to keeping the freezer stocked!

This morning I woke to rolling thunder getting closer.  In minutes I was up closing windows as the rain came pouring down again!

This is a drought?

OK, seriously, it’ll take a lot more than this to break the drought that’s laying over the Texas Hill Country, but from the sight of the blasted landscape as I drove down highway 83 yesterday, every drop is much appreciated.  Last night’s storms had to be good for everything from the “cedar” to the wildlife.  (And more is coming as I type this… pattering on the camper roof.)

So there ya go… I’m back down in Texas (obviously), and I’m looking for a new home with a few acres, lots of critters to hunt and to watch, and a break from the insanity that is the city life.  Besides property, I don’t think I’ll be hunting anything on this trip, although one never knows.  I did bring the bow and the Savage… just in case.

More to come!

Apparently, bees don’t like them so much either…

Special thanks to Al at the SoCal Bowhunter for sending this along.

So while I hesitate to ask you readers to chip in some content, I’m asking you readers to chip in some content… if you’re so inclined. 

What I’m looking for:

• Guided hunt reviews – tell us about your recent guided hunt adventures.  How was the guide and service?  How was the property?  How was the price?  Got pictures of your success?  If the experience was a bad one, I’m also interested.  However, please be as factual as possible and try not to be libelous.
• Success stories – Have a good hunt, a “different” hunt, or something like that?  Share it and send a pic or two.  I’ll make ya famous.
• Here’s a special one… any Hog Blog readers planning to take advantage of the new law in Texas that will permit helicopter shooting of feral hogs (and other assorted, non-game animals)?  I’d love to have a first-hand report.  The law comes into effect on Thursday, and I know there are a lot of folks lined up to experience this. 

Anyway, the mailbox is open.  I can’t guarantee to publish everything I see, but I will respond to everyone who sends something in.