Hunting Camps and Gatherings

by Shane Jahn

Hunting Camps 

Hunting camps and the folks we share them with are as important as the wildlife we see and hunt, oftentimes they are the most important things. The first hunting camp I can recall was a small, old wooden camp house on a ranch in Southeastern Texas. If memory serves, it was covered in green roll roofing material. It had no water or electricity and couldn’t have been more than 15x20 feet in size. It had a couple small bed frames, a little table and perhaps a homemade cabinet or two. It seems like it might have had a small window in one end. My maternal grandad, we called him “Pawpaw,” made sure to take me and my younger cousin hunting occasionally. At night we’d sit around a fire outside in chairs. A supper fit for a king consisted of roasting a sausage on a stick and maybe adding a can of beans to the plate. Dessert was provided by Little Debbie. My grandfather was not a cook, but everything tastes better cooked over an open fire. I can still smell the aroma of coffee boiling on a Coleman stove and hear the hiss from the kerosene lantern in that old shack.

Pawpaw was a hunter from the old days. When he was young there were not many white-tailed deer. Their numbers increased when screw worms were eradicated in the mid 1960’s. (Unfortunately, there is a resurgence in screw worms as of late.) He told stories of hunting with his dad as a youngster, the two of them chasing raccoons with hounds and sleeping on the ground. They would build a fire and cover the coals with sand and lay on top

"It looks like my great grandad (L) and grandad (R) were getting ready to go hunting together a little later in life, probably after WWII." -Shane Jahn

to stay warm at night. You didn’t want to squirm around too much in your sleep for fear of uncovering an ember! My great grandfather would stretch out one arm, which my grandad would use as a pillow, and they would stay out all night. When it was cold the dogs would curl up by them and the hunting party would catch a few hours of rest before returning home the next morning. There’s no doubt, people were tougher back then! Pawpaw was part of The Greatest Generation. Young men like him would save the world in World War II and spend some of the best years of their youth overseas, or on the seas, as was the case with my grandad. So many of these men never came home. Lord knows how this country needs these types of people today. When he was a little older and could navigate the river bottoms alone, he would hunt solo with his dogs. As I recall he was not even in his teens yet.

He might not return home on foot until midnight, hauling a deer slung over his shoulder. He showed me how this was done by cutting in between the deer’s leg bone and tendon in each hind leg and sticking the front leg between the two. It’s a terribly uncomfortable way of packing a dressed deer from the woods, but he did it! If the weather was too warm to hang the carcass outdoors his mother would get up and immediately start frying the meat. There was no refrigeration in those days, the meat was cooked and layered in heavy clay crock pots and covered with lard so it would keep.

When hunting with him you either walked very slowly through the oak trees and yaupon thickets or sat motionless on a log or on the ground. Sometimes he would park the truck near a clearing and sit in wait for a buck to cross. Progress came as he allowed some corn to be strewn down a right of way through the brush and he eventually had a plywood box blind. I don’t remember any deer feeders like we see today. He later upgraded to a five-gallon bucket with a hole in the bottom which was hung from a tree limb. A cone-shaped rubber stopper with two pieces of L-shaped rod was adjusted by a long bolt in the hole and a small branch was wired to the bolt. A breeze moving the stopper allowed for corn to fall out a little at a time.

When sitting, there were no unnecessary movements. “Look with your eyes, boy, don’t be moving your head,” he would instruct. Only turning your head slightly to gain a little more field of view before repeating the process in slow-motion. He taught me much of what I know as a hunter, and some skills I put to good use in the Border Patrol. He was always looking for tracks made by ‘coons, coyotes, deer, and feral hogs. He’d show me these things and looking back on those times I realize just how lucky I was to have him as a grandfather.

The Gathering

After I was stationed in Sanderson with the Patrol, Jase Harkins invited me up to his “Gathering.” Each year he hosted a few friends to convene at the family ranch about 30 miles from town for a few days to hunt deer. Back in those days the ranch was in the beginning stages of whitetail management overseen by the Texas Parks & Wildlife Department. We really did more shooting than hunting. In order to even out the buck to doe ratios a lot of does had to be killed. There was a surplus of deer, and it would benefit the herd to lower the population. Everyone had all the good venison they could store, and folks came from miles around to collect the meat. Nothing went to waste. We used a high rack in the back of an old truck to drive slowly along the ranch roads and shoot does. The elevated platform had some old airplane seats bolted to the floor, but more time was spent standing and leaning on the waist high rail that encased the rack. After a few weeks of this the deer became very wild, heading for yon hillside when a vehicle was seen or heard. Some tremendous, long-range and running shots were made by The Gathering Crew. Invaluable lessons were learned about quickly judging distance (we didn’t have rangefinder binoculars then), leading a running deer and holdover with our rifles. I don’t recall us ever wounding a deer.

One day while driving up on a high ridge we spotted a management-class buck running down the rugged limestone hillside, making his way to the sanctuary of the brush-choked bottom. A shot and a miss started a string of rifle fire reminiscent of a full-scale firefight. As the deer gained speed and distance, we gained misses! Just as he reached the bottom, several hundred yards away, someone rolled him. We were elated, then it dawned on us that the only way to get to him was on foot. We didn’t have a pack frame, not even a backpack! So down we went, each of us wishing we had let this one go! We skinned and quartered the buck, and everyone packed a portion back to the truck. We didn’t drive up there for fear that someone would shoot a deer at the bottom again!

Good food is an important part in any camp, and we would all pitch in bringing meat to grill and Jase’s wife would have some prepped meals for us as well. One of the guys was famous for bringing a tub of salty, delicious pinto beans each year. Eventually the entire ranch was leased out to hunters and the deer population reached the desired numbers that could be managed by the lease hunters. Our Gathering faded away and I sure do miss it!

The Texas Safari

The gun writing world has introduced me to countless fine people. Some of the best folks you will ever meet are associated with the firearms industry. Being invited to The Shootists Holiday a few years ago was a high point for me and becoming a member of that fine organization year before last is an absolute honor. Shootist Mark Hargrove invites a group of guys who all happen to be Shootists to his Spectacles Ranch for “The Texas Safari” each year on the opening of Texas’ whitetail season. It’s a grand weekend of visiting, eating,

(left to right) Fermin Garza, Nick Rukavina, Matt Peake, Mark Hargrove, Mike Barranti, Shane Jahn, Bobby Tyler

enjoying an adult beverage or two, and oh yeah, hunting. Mark has some nice bucks running through the mesquites and junipers up there in Scurry County and even better, he has feral hogs. I think we’d all agree that this weekend is much anticipated each year. How could one not have a good time in the company of fellers like Mark and his son Ethan, Mike Barranti and his sons Lu and Ethan, “The Pistolero of the Coastal Prairie,” aka Fermin Garza, Dusty and Joe Hooley, Nick Rukavina, Matt Peake, and Jim Wilson. Bobby Tyler usually only has time to drive by and wave as he’s traveling through to one of his talented daughter’s sporting events, but we keep hoping that he’ll show up one of these days!

Some of the Texas Safari Crew ( left to right) - Joe Hooley, Dusty Hooley, Fermin Garza, Nick Rukavina, Mark Hargrove, Jim Wilson, Mike Barranti, and writer Shane Jahn

Sticking with our food theme, which is vital if you haven’t figured that out, one night is Steak Night, when Mark burns savory ribeyes to perfection on the grill. Another evening Nick and Marcia Rukavina whip up a huge batch of their famous shrimp and grits that will make you hurt yourself. The Barranti, Hargrove, and Hooley ladies make desserts and sides that will put a five-star restaurant to shame. The meals are delicious, and letting your belt out a notch is a requirement by Monday morning! While it’s somewhat rare that we all kill anything, we have a great time because of the fellowship and camaraderie. Those are some of the best trophies we can take from a good hunting camp.

Besides just having a good time, occasionally someone even connects on wild game from time to time! In this case Matt Peake killed a fine old aoudad ram with a Ruger No.1 in 7x57.