Quo Brushes

Last Buck

by Thom Cantrall

It was hot! But surprisingly in August in northern California. Summers are always hot, but our proximity to the coast tend to improve the temperature extremes common to the interior valleys. It was even warm enough to satisfy the most picky fans of sun. It has since occurred to me that it is foolish to hunt deer over a hundred degree temperatures, but this being that I knew was twelfth overall, and was the sixth to take the continuation of British Blacktail Deer with my father, I knew better and he agreed that the status quo. We do not know what we do not know.

The year was 1955 and we were trying to continue a longstanding tradition in our family. Since the end of the Second World War, we were together every August at the ranch of my Uncle Arthur, where, as a group, we hunted deer. I registered six years of a child "small" in one of those old enough and mature enough to accompany hunters. I had to be with my father directly and had to keep my trap "closed at all times, unless spoken directly, a chore difficult for a child six years in all cases, but through a wonderland of sights and smells, it is pure torture to obey this edict, but because I knew the consequences of disobedience, my trap was closed GLUE. Being forced to stay with the "little children" again, after this jump would have been unforgivable for me, so there was no doubt in my mind that I was not going to suffer this fate.

After all, small children do not get out of bed until the "men had eaten their breakfast and were off, making the final preparations for departure to the hunt. This included such things as loading rifles magazines, selling old Tony, the horse, Ring or Dopey, dogs, ready to go and, finally, with two men on the back of Tony and the rest of quota with part of the tail of Tony, the whole entourage left in the yard of the ranch, led the dirt road leading into the mountains, the venerable old Tony stoically carrying a couple and several others on the towing steep hills of the region to be driven out of date.

At this time, in this instance, use of a dog "jump" was a common practice. What this meant, in fact, was a dog, a mutt any questionable breeding, blood, dogs were lined well beyond the means of simple folk, but we employed in this austere, the post-war economy. The dog was led through the dense bush near the side of the hunter, jumping from their beds set into the thick jungle of manzanita, madrone and chaparral brush that covered so much of the coastal hills. The dog is generally not encouraged to run deer, advance to get it to feet and moving, barking a few times to boost the creature. They were then recalled and generally given praise for their diligence and dedication. It is then the job hunter to get to where he could see if the animal was a male or female, and if money for a good shot on it.

Uncle Arthur had two dogs for example in the years I knew him. Ring was unique, very intelligent dog and very well trained. It was of dubious origin, if I remember she looked a bit like a shepherd and a Labrador Cross, but there were undoubtedly other strains in its pedigree. It was a fairly big dog and not particularly friendly to anyone but members of the family. It was so well trained that she would never run a deer, not even bark if she jumped. With a dollar, she let us know in a loud voice, and, if they are not recalled, the deer run for a few hundred meters before letting himself and his well-deserved return.

Once an EME.