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Welcome to "Tales Fom The Tallgrass"
11 years 11 months ago - 11 years 11 months ago #13235
by zfk55
Welcome to "Tales Fom The Tallgrass" was created by zfk55
This is a forum for stories, true experiences, fancied experiences, military experiences, hunting, fishing, any and all kinds of shooting experiences.
Please keep them in good taste and let us know it your story is "True", or a "Tale From the Tallgrass", fiction.
Please keep them in good taste and let us know it your story is "True", or a "Tale From the Tallgrass", fiction.
Last edit: 11 years 11 months ago by zfk55.
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11 years 11 months ago #13244
by zfk55
Replied by zfk55 on topic Welcome to "Tales Fom The Tallgrass"
Lets begin. This is one of my Father's true storys from his Lost Prairie Chronicles... storys of the St.Marie Family and me and my sisters growing up in Lost Prairie Montana.
........................................................................
The Lost Prairie Chronicles #2
I don't remember the year. Maybe 1979 or 80, but it doesn't really matter, does it. It was midway through the hunting season and 6 in the morning. I took the 30/30 from the rack and dressed in a heavy down coat and wearing Sorel boots, I stepped out of the back door into the 15 degree air.
The snow was deep and crunched under my feet as I wrapped a woolen scarf around my mouth to temper the cold air I was breathing in. It was going to be a crystal clear day and I didn't really feel like hunting, so I took my pack of dried goodies and walked toward the back fenceline.
We have an abundance of large Blue Spruce around the place, so having crawled through the fence I unrolled my emergency poncho, laid it out and sat on a short log under the low branches of a large Spruce not 20 feet from the fence. I'm sure it wasn't, but it seemed warmer under there.
Funny how odd thoughts go through your head when you're sitting alone under a tree like that. I was thinking of the previous year when I was on the ridge above Lost Prairie doing the same thing......... Sitting under a low tree near a logging road.
I had left the truck far below and off the road before walking up the ridge. Now, sitting quietly with my rifle, I could hear low voices coming toward me. Two hunters passed not 40 feet from me and didn't see me at all. Amazing how the human eye seems to see anything moving, but not standing still.
They continued up the logging road and, to my utter amazement, a small doe was following them! This shouldn't be a real surprise as deer are known to walk behind those hunting them, and this little lady was doing just that. I'm sure she was a yearling, but just as smart as any older doe.
She wasn't right on the road, but off to the side. My side. She didn't want her tracks to be seen when they came back down. She came within an easy 10 feet of me and stopped, ears up, well aware that something was there but she couldn't see me. Deer are colorblind and unless you move, they won't see you at all. In this case I was downwind so there wasn't and scent for her to focus on. Its a fact that a deer will stand still, watching hunters move in the distance, but as soon as the movement stops....... they bolt. If they can't see you they will run.
This little lady stood there pitching her ears forward, left, right and sniffing the air, but she still couldn't see me sitting there stock still. I softly spoke a single word.... "hi", and she quivered until I moved my head and she was gone in a flash of scattering snow powder.
I was getting a bit cold sitting there under that tree by the fenceline and I'd just about decided to head back to the house for coffee when I heard a noise up and to my right. A beautiful cow elk came rushing down the hill directly toward me. She stopped not 50 feet from my seat under the tree and began turning in a wide circle.
Crashing down that hillside came a very impressive bull elk! Beautiful rack and all excited as he circled the cow, pushing her with his huge neck. To my utter amazement an elk calf came stumbling down the hillside, running in circles around both the cow and the bull. This is not usual at all. Those youngsters are always gone by this time, but not this one, and he wasn't happy.
Despite the rack and size of that bull I couldn't bring myself to shoot so after watching them for another 5 minutes I crawled out from under the tree, tails went up and the three of them crashed through the jackpines and out of sight. I went into the house and told Lyn what I'd seen, but I'm not sure she believed it. Not a usual ocurrence at all.
The next day we went to town with the kids, and upon returning home I went around the back to unlock the gate and there at an old alfalfa bale were all three of them! Lyn absolutely couldn't believe it. A bull will most always drive a yearling away from a cow, but not this guy.
Looking at the three of them I was very glad I'd not taken that shot.
........................................................................
The Lost Prairie Chronicles #2
I don't remember the year. Maybe 1979 or 80, but it doesn't really matter, does it. It was midway through the hunting season and 6 in the morning. I took the 30/30 from the rack and dressed in a heavy down coat and wearing Sorel boots, I stepped out of the back door into the 15 degree air.
The snow was deep and crunched under my feet as I wrapped a woolen scarf around my mouth to temper the cold air I was breathing in. It was going to be a crystal clear day and I didn't really feel like hunting, so I took my pack of dried goodies and walked toward the back fenceline.
We have an abundance of large Blue Spruce around the place, so having crawled through the fence I unrolled my emergency poncho, laid it out and sat on a short log under the low branches of a large Spruce not 20 feet from the fence. I'm sure it wasn't, but it seemed warmer under there.
Funny how odd thoughts go through your head when you're sitting alone under a tree like that. I was thinking of the previous year when I was on the ridge above Lost Prairie doing the same thing......... Sitting under a low tree near a logging road.
I had left the truck far below and off the road before walking up the ridge. Now, sitting quietly with my rifle, I could hear low voices coming toward me. Two hunters passed not 40 feet from me and didn't see me at all. Amazing how the human eye seems to see anything moving, but not standing still.
They continued up the logging road and, to my utter amazement, a small doe was following them! This shouldn't be a real surprise as deer are known to walk behind those hunting them, and this little lady was doing just that. I'm sure she was a yearling, but just as smart as any older doe.
She wasn't right on the road, but off to the side. My side. She didn't want her tracks to be seen when they came back down. She came within an easy 10 feet of me and stopped, ears up, well aware that something was there but she couldn't see me. Deer are colorblind and unless you move, they won't see you at all. In this case I was downwind so there wasn't and scent for her to focus on. Its a fact that a deer will stand still, watching hunters move in the distance, but as soon as the movement stops....... they bolt. If they can't see you they will run.
This little lady stood there pitching her ears forward, left, right and sniffing the air, but she still couldn't see me sitting there stock still. I softly spoke a single word.... "hi", and she quivered until I moved my head and she was gone in a flash of scattering snow powder.
I was getting a bit cold sitting there under that tree by the fenceline and I'd just about decided to head back to the house for coffee when I heard a noise up and to my right. A beautiful cow elk came rushing down the hill directly toward me. She stopped not 50 feet from my seat under the tree and began turning in a wide circle.
Crashing down that hillside came a very impressive bull elk! Beautiful rack and all excited as he circled the cow, pushing her with his huge neck. To my utter amazement an elk calf came stumbling down the hillside, running in circles around both the cow and the bull. This is not usual at all. Those youngsters are always gone by this time, but not this one, and he wasn't happy.
Despite the rack and size of that bull I couldn't bring myself to shoot so after watching them for another 5 minutes I crawled out from under the tree, tails went up and the three of them crashed through the jackpines and out of sight. I went into the house and told Lyn what I'd seen, but I'm not sure she believed it. Not a usual ocurrence at all.
The next day we went to town with the kids, and upon returning home I went around the back to unlock the gate and there at an old alfalfa bale were all three of them! Lyn absolutely couldn't believe it. A bull will most always drive a yearling away from a cow, but not this guy.
Looking at the three of them I was very glad I'd not taken that shot.
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11 years 11 months ago #13299
by zfk55
Replied by zfk55 on topic Welcome to "Tales Fom The Tallgrass"
The Lost Prairie Chronicles #21
Laying in bed, from under the covers I could still tell that the outside temperature had dropped. Resisting the urge to stay there keeping warm with Lyn, I gently rolled to the side and out of bed. Gathering my boots and pants I quietly eased through the door and into the hallway. Listening at each door, I assured myself that the kids were asleep. Down the hall to the kitchen, turning on the counter light, starting the coffee pot, looking out the kitchen window into the barnyard I then dressed quietly and stoked the firebox. Sid Hartha raised his head from his bed beside the firebox, but made no move to disentangle himself from the blanket. It was cold and he's no fool. Head back down on his paws and a soft sigh.
The screen door reminded me it needed it's hinges oiled and squeaked a quiet protest as I gathered three more Larch logs from the porch for the fire. Even the firebox doors made a noise that seemed louder than it was as if to point out how quiet the rest of the world was at that hour. Opening the flu and getting the old girl putting out some heat, I dressed and poured the coffee. Pulling the curtain by the door aside just enough to let the light illuminate the outside thermometer I could see the mercury hovering at 32 degrees. Not really all that cold for an early morning in May. One cup of coffee, more in a thermos and Lyn's dried fruit in a small package, I pulled on my down coat, took the 30-30 from the rack, stuck the .41 magnum revolver in the holster behind my right hip, shut down the flu, turned off the light and headed for the barn.
It was cold enough for me to see my own breath in the light over the barn doors. Entering the dimly lit barn I heard Shonkin utter a low nicker at my approach. A few of the other horses that were in the barn stuck their heads out of their stalls and watched me with ears forward and keen interest. *What the heck is he doing here this early?* No time for grain or alfalfa for the rest of them, but I poured a gallon can of Molasses Oats into Shonk's crib along with a couple handfuls of alfalfa. He ate as I slid his saddle blanket over his back, swung the high-cantle saddle into place and reached under his chest for the cinch. Knowing his favourite trick, I waited for him to exhale and quickly pulled the cinch tight. I loosely hooked up the rear circingle and checked the cinch for tightness. He swung his head to the rear, looking at me he paused in mid-chew and shook his head in appreciation as I relented and loosened the cinch by one notch. If a rider can't stay on a horse with other than a overly tight cinch he doesn't belong on a horse.
Waiting for him to finish eating, I slipped the 30-30 into the leather scabbard, tied it to the off side with the saddle strings and straps, put Lyn's dried food package into the saddle bag, tied my older lariat to the saddle, attatched Shonk's breast strap to the D rings and sat on a bale till he had eaten all of the oats he could find in the crib. I could tell he was faking it when he began pushing the hay around. He was loathe to leave that semi-warm barn, but I slid his bridle over his ears and the low-port spade bit into his mouth. Shonkin did not need a spade bit at all, but he actually enjoyed fooling with the spade wheel with his tongue so I allowed it. Tightening the headstraps, I turned him around and swung the barn door open.
By this time is was barely breaking day and we could just see the fences, the gate and the trail heading north. I paused looking at the treeline, swung up into the saddle and squeezed Shonk's ribcage with my calves. We began at a slow walk in the awakening daylight with Shonk blowing clouds of warm air from his nostrils. He was anxious to move at a brisker pace, but we were on a mission that dictated patience and awareness. We were after a very large coyote or, hopefully not..... a wolf. I'm well aware of the sensitvity of this topic, but when you've seen a half eaten calf that was literally dragged from it's mother during the birth process you gain a slightly different perspective on things......particularly when it happens three times in a row over a three night period. This is what was happening to my neighbor, and as he had quite a few years on me, I volunteered to solve the situation one way or another.
Turning up the wool collar on my coat, I patted Shonk on the neck and allowed him to pick up the pace a bit.
Stopping at the gate that opened to the lane road, I dismounted, opened the gate and led Shonk through. Closing the gate, I swung back up into the saddle and followed our own fenceline a couple hundred yards before turning north along the Louden's fenceline. We'd be passing through the reservoir area and then north to the ridge above the Louden Ranch. It was nearing full dawn by the time we reached the reservoir and so far we'd seen no sign at all. I say "we" because a good saddlehorse will alert on things we can't see or hear, and Shonk was good at it.
I've been on the trail up to Bear Springs when Shonkin suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, ears forward and snorting. Far up ahead was a barely seen black bear. (Did I really say that?) We turned off the trail and gave that bear a wide berth. Yep. Shonk was a great trail companion. The sun was rising and birds were beginning to appear in force. I scanned both sides of the trail and up ahead as we moved at an easy pace.
Crossing the ACM Road, I lined out for the spring I knew was at the base of the mountain leading up to the ridge. The ACM Road, built originally by the Anaconda Copper and Mining Company as a 55 mile truck thoroughfare from the old mines near Marion to the rails near the Thompson River Road. It still exists today and is now used as a logging road connecting various logging areas to the main highway far from where Shonk and I stopped for a break.
I dismounted, slipped Shonk's bridle and attatched a tag line to his headstall allowing him to graze a bit at the spring. I ate some of Lyn's goodies, had a short cup of coffee and sat down to double check my firearms. I gave Shonk 20 minutes to graze and drink and we were back on our way toward the ridge. The day was clear and we took out time moving ever upward, stopping often for me to scan around us for any sign of a carcass or scavengers.
We were well into the area where coyotes seem to gather and run down to Lost Prairie, but truth be told there was always a chance that often being holed up during the daylight hours we'd miss them anyway. I was primarily looking for a calf carcass. The chance that one had been carried to the area where the coyotes had this spring's litters was pretty good, and that's exactly where we were. I spent a good three hours scouring the immediate area and found nothing whatsoever.
I headed Shonkin to the top of the ridge and we arrived an hour later. At the very top is a huge, flat rock that affords an incredible view of Lost Prairie and Meadow Peak across the valley. I unsaddled Shonk, slipped his bridle and hooked the tag line on his headstall. While he grazed, I had the last of Lyn's dried fruits, the rest of the coffee and sat on top of the rock in the warm sun looking at the view.
I must have dozed a bit because I awoke to a soft, wet muzzle in my face. Shonk had had enough of the scenery and grazing on that mountain grass... nothing like our pasture grass. It was beginning to get on toward sunset and we made steady progress, much faster than the trip up. Nearing the ACM Road I decided to go home through the back end of the Louden ranch and bypass the reservoir......... and I'm glad I did.
We were just at the edge of the treeline with an open area some two hundred yards distance between us and the fence. We had just emerged from the treeline when I saw it some seventyfive yards ahead of us, and damn....... he was big! I dismounted and slowly drew my rifle from the scabbard. Cycling the lever action, gently....gently, I ran a round into battery. Kneeling down, I laid the rifle across a stump and lined up on him as he trotted dead away from us toward the fence.
Just enough daylight and a slow, easy squeeze and the rifle barked and jumped. So did Shonkin!..... but he stood his ground, not spooking. The coyote dropped right where he was. I immediately both sensed and saw movement to my left at the treeline. Coyotes! Four of them running as fast as only coyotes can. I mounted Shonk and trotted to where they had been and......... of course. A calf carcass. I had gone the wrong way up to the ridge. It had been a newborn for sure. The sac was still there in pieces. I rode to where the big one lay and confirmed that it was indeed a coyote and not a wolf. I'd never seen one that large and from any distance it would have been an easy mistake to make.
I dismounted, led Shonkin to a nearby tree, loosely tying him off. Like most horses, Shonk didn't like the smell of blood. Pack horses can eventually become accustomed to it, but it takes time. I dragged the coyote the last few yards to the fence and, with some difficulty, draped him over a stout fencepost. Distasteful as it may seem, this is done for a reason. Other coyotes will stay completely clear of an area thus adorned. Far enough away from the ranch building to not be an odor problem, it assures a good chance of the cattle in the immediate area being left alone. I'd done this same procedure on our own fences a few times over the years, and it always worked. Remembering that after the first shot I had, of habit, immediately cylced another round into the 30-30, I drew it from the scabbard and cleared the action.
It had been a long day and I mounted Shonk and headed across the Louden pastures and home. Shonkin was ready for some alfalfa, so I unsaddled him and let him feed as I vigorously brushed him down in his stall.
I was tired and definitely needed a shower. Lyn had Supper waiting by the time I was dried off. Latigo, Amanda and Rosemary wanted to hear the story so I told it between mouthfuls of roast beef, gravy and vegetables. I phoned a thankful Bob Louden and we all called it a day. And........ in case you're wondering how Shonk came by his name, he's a very tall Appaloosa/Palomino American Saddler born on the Shonkin River over east of the divide, and though he's long since passed away, I'm eternally thankful he and I had those years together.
Dad on Shonkin, circa 1974
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Laying in bed, from under the covers I could still tell that the outside temperature had dropped. Resisting the urge to stay there keeping warm with Lyn, I gently rolled to the side and out of bed. Gathering my boots and pants I quietly eased through the door and into the hallway. Listening at each door, I assured myself that the kids were asleep. Down the hall to the kitchen, turning on the counter light, starting the coffee pot, looking out the kitchen window into the barnyard I then dressed quietly and stoked the firebox. Sid Hartha raised his head from his bed beside the firebox, but made no move to disentangle himself from the blanket. It was cold and he's no fool. Head back down on his paws and a soft sigh.
The screen door reminded me it needed it's hinges oiled and squeaked a quiet protest as I gathered three more Larch logs from the porch for the fire. Even the firebox doors made a noise that seemed louder than it was as if to point out how quiet the rest of the world was at that hour. Opening the flu and getting the old girl putting out some heat, I dressed and poured the coffee. Pulling the curtain by the door aside just enough to let the light illuminate the outside thermometer I could see the mercury hovering at 32 degrees. Not really all that cold for an early morning in May. One cup of coffee, more in a thermos and Lyn's dried fruit in a small package, I pulled on my down coat, took the 30-30 from the rack, stuck the .41 magnum revolver in the holster behind my right hip, shut down the flu, turned off the light and headed for the barn.
It was cold enough for me to see my own breath in the light over the barn doors. Entering the dimly lit barn I heard Shonkin utter a low nicker at my approach. A few of the other horses that were in the barn stuck their heads out of their stalls and watched me with ears forward and keen interest. *What the heck is he doing here this early?* No time for grain or alfalfa for the rest of them, but I poured a gallon can of Molasses Oats into Shonk's crib along with a couple handfuls of alfalfa. He ate as I slid his saddle blanket over his back, swung the high-cantle saddle into place and reached under his chest for the cinch. Knowing his favourite trick, I waited for him to exhale and quickly pulled the cinch tight. I loosely hooked up the rear circingle and checked the cinch for tightness. He swung his head to the rear, looking at me he paused in mid-chew and shook his head in appreciation as I relented and loosened the cinch by one notch. If a rider can't stay on a horse with other than a overly tight cinch he doesn't belong on a horse.
Waiting for him to finish eating, I slipped the 30-30 into the leather scabbard, tied it to the off side with the saddle strings and straps, put Lyn's dried food package into the saddle bag, tied my older lariat to the saddle, attatched Shonk's breast strap to the D rings and sat on a bale till he had eaten all of the oats he could find in the crib. I could tell he was faking it when he began pushing the hay around. He was loathe to leave that semi-warm barn, but I slid his bridle over his ears and the low-port spade bit into his mouth. Shonkin did not need a spade bit at all, but he actually enjoyed fooling with the spade wheel with his tongue so I allowed it. Tightening the headstraps, I turned him around and swung the barn door open.
By this time is was barely breaking day and we could just see the fences, the gate and the trail heading north. I paused looking at the treeline, swung up into the saddle and squeezed Shonk's ribcage with my calves. We began at a slow walk in the awakening daylight with Shonk blowing clouds of warm air from his nostrils. He was anxious to move at a brisker pace, but we were on a mission that dictated patience and awareness. We were after a very large coyote or, hopefully not..... a wolf. I'm well aware of the sensitvity of this topic, but when you've seen a half eaten calf that was literally dragged from it's mother during the birth process you gain a slightly different perspective on things......particularly when it happens three times in a row over a three night period. This is what was happening to my neighbor, and as he had quite a few years on me, I volunteered to solve the situation one way or another.
Turning up the wool collar on my coat, I patted Shonk on the neck and allowed him to pick up the pace a bit.
Stopping at the gate that opened to the lane road, I dismounted, opened the gate and led Shonk through. Closing the gate, I swung back up into the saddle and followed our own fenceline a couple hundred yards before turning north along the Louden's fenceline. We'd be passing through the reservoir area and then north to the ridge above the Louden Ranch. It was nearing full dawn by the time we reached the reservoir and so far we'd seen no sign at all. I say "we" because a good saddlehorse will alert on things we can't see or hear, and Shonk was good at it.
I've been on the trail up to Bear Springs when Shonkin suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, ears forward and snorting. Far up ahead was a barely seen black bear. (Did I really say that?) We turned off the trail and gave that bear a wide berth. Yep. Shonk was a great trail companion. The sun was rising and birds were beginning to appear in force. I scanned both sides of the trail and up ahead as we moved at an easy pace.
Crossing the ACM Road, I lined out for the spring I knew was at the base of the mountain leading up to the ridge. The ACM Road, built originally by the Anaconda Copper and Mining Company as a 55 mile truck thoroughfare from the old mines near Marion to the rails near the Thompson River Road. It still exists today and is now used as a logging road connecting various logging areas to the main highway far from where Shonk and I stopped for a break.
I dismounted, slipped Shonk's bridle and attatched a tag line to his headstall allowing him to graze a bit at the spring. I ate some of Lyn's goodies, had a short cup of coffee and sat down to double check my firearms. I gave Shonk 20 minutes to graze and drink and we were back on our way toward the ridge. The day was clear and we took out time moving ever upward, stopping often for me to scan around us for any sign of a carcass or scavengers.
We were well into the area where coyotes seem to gather and run down to Lost Prairie, but truth be told there was always a chance that often being holed up during the daylight hours we'd miss them anyway. I was primarily looking for a calf carcass. The chance that one had been carried to the area where the coyotes had this spring's litters was pretty good, and that's exactly where we were. I spent a good three hours scouring the immediate area and found nothing whatsoever.
I headed Shonkin to the top of the ridge and we arrived an hour later. At the very top is a huge, flat rock that affords an incredible view of Lost Prairie and Meadow Peak across the valley. I unsaddled Shonk, slipped his bridle and hooked the tag line on his headstall. While he grazed, I had the last of Lyn's dried fruits, the rest of the coffee and sat on top of the rock in the warm sun looking at the view.
I must have dozed a bit because I awoke to a soft, wet muzzle in my face. Shonk had had enough of the scenery and grazing on that mountain grass... nothing like our pasture grass. It was beginning to get on toward sunset and we made steady progress, much faster than the trip up. Nearing the ACM Road I decided to go home through the back end of the Louden ranch and bypass the reservoir......... and I'm glad I did.
We were just at the edge of the treeline with an open area some two hundred yards distance between us and the fence. We had just emerged from the treeline when I saw it some seventyfive yards ahead of us, and damn....... he was big! I dismounted and slowly drew my rifle from the scabbard. Cycling the lever action, gently....gently, I ran a round into battery. Kneeling down, I laid the rifle across a stump and lined up on him as he trotted dead away from us toward the fence.
Just enough daylight and a slow, easy squeeze and the rifle barked and jumped. So did Shonkin!..... but he stood his ground, not spooking. The coyote dropped right where he was. I immediately both sensed and saw movement to my left at the treeline. Coyotes! Four of them running as fast as only coyotes can. I mounted Shonk and trotted to where they had been and......... of course. A calf carcass. I had gone the wrong way up to the ridge. It had been a newborn for sure. The sac was still there in pieces. I rode to where the big one lay and confirmed that it was indeed a coyote and not a wolf. I'd never seen one that large and from any distance it would have been an easy mistake to make.
I dismounted, led Shonkin to a nearby tree, loosely tying him off. Like most horses, Shonk didn't like the smell of blood. Pack horses can eventually become accustomed to it, but it takes time. I dragged the coyote the last few yards to the fence and, with some difficulty, draped him over a stout fencepost. Distasteful as it may seem, this is done for a reason. Other coyotes will stay completely clear of an area thus adorned. Far enough away from the ranch building to not be an odor problem, it assures a good chance of the cattle in the immediate area being left alone. I'd done this same procedure on our own fences a few times over the years, and it always worked. Remembering that after the first shot I had, of habit, immediately cylced another round into the 30-30, I drew it from the scabbard and cleared the action.
It had been a long day and I mounted Shonk and headed across the Louden pastures and home. Shonkin was ready for some alfalfa, so I unsaddled him and let him feed as I vigorously brushed him down in his stall.
I was tired and definitely needed a shower. Lyn had Supper waiting by the time I was dried off. Latigo, Amanda and Rosemary wanted to hear the story so I told it between mouthfuls of roast beef, gravy and vegetables. I phoned a thankful Bob Louden and we all called it a day. And........ in case you're wondering how Shonk came by his name, he's a very tall Appaloosa/Palomino American Saddler born on the Shonkin River over east of the divide, and though he's long since passed away, I'm eternally thankful he and I had those years together.
Dad on Shonkin, circa 1974
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11 years 11 months ago #13300
by Sharkey
Replied by Sharkey on topic Welcome to "Tales Fom The Tallgrass"
Those are some nice memories and stories to hang onto zfk55. Nothing like hanging onto your heritage and knowing about the history.
Pride runs deep.
Pride runs deep.
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11 years 11 months ago #13316
by mlotziii
Replied by mlotziii on topic Welcome to "Tales Fom The Tallgrass"
Great story! Makes me really question the changes in my life over the past few years where I'm working more and more and making fewer tales.
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11 years 11 months ago #13392
by txlongshotb4
Replied by txlongshotb4 on topic Welcome to "Tales Fom The Tallgrass"
Thank you for that wonderful post. You have a style of storytelling that is simply top-notch...I felt like I was there...you should write a book man!
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11 years 11 months ago #13394
by txlongshotb4
Replied by txlongshotb4 on topic Welcome to "Tales Fom The Tallgrass"
Just the title "Tales from the Tallgrass" brings to mind an experience I'll never forget...because it quite literally happened in tall grass.
This has to do with guillie suits...those wonderfully stinky, itchy, extremely hot and generally uncomfortable garments that us sniper folk try our best not to have to use ever again after sniper school is over...the ones with ten to fifty million little strands of burlap hanging off of them. They do indeed work great when it comes to total concealment, if the user knows what he is doing. With the proper movement techniques an the correct addition of natural vegetation from the area the suit is being used, one can literally be stepped on by another person, without that person being none the wiser that you are there.
The aforementioned proper movement techniques involve a lot of crawling. When I say crawling, I am not talking about what a 4 month old baby does, where it's knees and palms and hauling ass across the living room...it's flat on your belly, face pressed against the dirt, moving as slow as possible and gaining about ten feet every ten minutes type crawling. While you are engaged in such an action, you are looking for the next position to move to-and by the nature of the beast, that position needs to offer the most cover as can be obtained.
So that's what I was doing in June of 2010 in a private facility contracted to the Army on the outskirts of Jacksboro Texas. I was engaged in a training exercise in which I was to infiltrate a target area undetected and gather as much intel on the enemy situation there as possible to support an upcoming raid, and then remain on station during the main assault element's movement to contact, and provide real-time intel via radio communication to the assault element...in other words, I snuck in to spy on the bad guys so that I could tell the good guys what they were up against, and then I was gonna hang around until the good guys got there, so that I could tell the good guys rather or not the bad guys figured out they were coming...sounds pretty easy right?..well.....
The problem with being extra camouflaged and moving slowly to reduce and/or eliminate detection by the enemy, is that it works just as equally on wildlife. The problem with trying to find the most concealed spot within any given area of terrain is that the wildlife have the same idea...I can recall exactly what I was doing when those two problems culminated into an absolutely terrifying day for me.
I was only about 20 yards or so out from a spot I'd picked for my final position-a little clump of scrub oaks that would offer me both great concealment as well as a nice view of my objective, which sat about 50 to 75 yards further away. ( we usually don't get that close, but I wanted good intel, and hey-it was only training.)I was crossing a fairly rocky spot that had been clear cut because there was a power line that ran through it, and so I was doing the crawl as low as possible with my face pressed to the ground thing. I was quite early-my last briefing put me ahead of the intended assault by three hours, so I didn't figure the make believe "bad guys" were even anywhere around yet, but I wasn't sure so I decided to crawl in.
SO while I am crawling, sight is "intermittent" at best. My head is to the side, pressed against the ground. I can look forward every few minutes to check my path and get my bearing, but for the most part I am operating by feel.I reach my left hand out to get purchase and leverage to move forward for my next few inches, and it finds a rock jutting up out of the ground in a sharp point. I don't want to crawl over a sharp rock, so I decide to shift my body to the side and go around it. I decide to go to the right of it. I use my left hand to grab this rock, and pull myself forward and to the right with this leverage.When I do, the rock breaks free from the ground and peels back,exposing a hollow underneath where the rock had been. Inside that hollow, is a very confused and now upset rattlesnake...but I am not yet aware of this...
I let go of the now free rock...which lands either on or close to the rattlesnake. This is enough to provoke the snake into full on alert...coiled up, rattle shaking 100 billion miles per hour, huffing and puffing, PISSED off rattlesnake...Now I am aware immediately of his presence...which is only inches from my head. My head is turned to the right side, and the snake is somewhere between the back of my head and my left arm...not cool. I start to both panic and assess my options at the same time. I got about as far as telling myself to stay cool, when I felt what felt like a fist punching me in my left shoulder, followed by a chewing sensation that I'll never forget as long as I live.
Staying cool was gone. I levitated to my feet so fast, the snake didn't even have time to let go and I took it with me for several feet before it finally hit the ground and went the other way just as fast.
Thank God for burlap and natural vegetation...The buildup of both of them around my guillie suite's shoulder area prevented the snake from finding enough purchase to hit me with a full dose of venom, but as it turned out he still managed to poke me with the chewing action-a result of him trying to let go but being caught up in all of the burlap and veg that saved me. In the end, I got on my radio and called it in, and I was taken to the local hospital. Despite the minimal exposure to venom, they still treated me as if I had received a direct bite. I got sick, had a fever, and the area where I did get a little exposure hurt like hell and bruised up pretty good...but it could have been much worse.
My guille suit now resides in a trash bag, which is pushed deep into the darkest corner of my garage...rattlesnake venom and all.
And that, my friends-is my tale from the tall grass.
This has to do with guillie suits...those wonderfully stinky, itchy, extremely hot and generally uncomfortable garments that us sniper folk try our best not to have to use ever again after sniper school is over...the ones with ten to fifty million little strands of burlap hanging off of them. They do indeed work great when it comes to total concealment, if the user knows what he is doing. With the proper movement techniques an the correct addition of natural vegetation from the area the suit is being used, one can literally be stepped on by another person, without that person being none the wiser that you are there.
The aforementioned proper movement techniques involve a lot of crawling. When I say crawling, I am not talking about what a 4 month old baby does, where it's knees and palms and hauling ass across the living room...it's flat on your belly, face pressed against the dirt, moving as slow as possible and gaining about ten feet every ten minutes type crawling. While you are engaged in such an action, you are looking for the next position to move to-and by the nature of the beast, that position needs to offer the most cover as can be obtained.
So that's what I was doing in June of 2010 in a private facility contracted to the Army on the outskirts of Jacksboro Texas. I was engaged in a training exercise in which I was to infiltrate a target area undetected and gather as much intel on the enemy situation there as possible to support an upcoming raid, and then remain on station during the main assault element's movement to contact, and provide real-time intel via radio communication to the assault element...in other words, I snuck in to spy on the bad guys so that I could tell the good guys what they were up against, and then I was gonna hang around until the good guys got there, so that I could tell the good guys rather or not the bad guys figured out they were coming...sounds pretty easy right?..well.....
The problem with being extra camouflaged and moving slowly to reduce and/or eliminate detection by the enemy, is that it works just as equally on wildlife. The problem with trying to find the most concealed spot within any given area of terrain is that the wildlife have the same idea...I can recall exactly what I was doing when those two problems culminated into an absolutely terrifying day for me.
I was only about 20 yards or so out from a spot I'd picked for my final position-a little clump of scrub oaks that would offer me both great concealment as well as a nice view of my objective, which sat about 50 to 75 yards further away. ( we usually don't get that close, but I wanted good intel, and hey-it was only training.)I was crossing a fairly rocky spot that had been clear cut because there was a power line that ran through it, and so I was doing the crawl as low as possible with my face pressed to the ground thing. I was quite early-my last briefing put me ahead of the intended assault by three hours, so I didn't figure the make believe "bad guys" were even anywhere around yet, but I wasn't sure so I decided to crawl in.
SO while I am crawling, sight is "intermittent" at best. My head is to the side, pressed against the ground. I can look forward every few minutes to check my path and get my bearing, but for the most part I am operating by feel.I reach my left hand out to get purchase and leverage to move forward for my next few inches, and it finds a rock jutting up out of the ground in a sharp point. I don't want to crawl over a sharp rock, so I decide to shift my body to the side and go around it. I decide to go to the right of it. I use my left hand to grab this rock, and pull myself forward and to the right with this leverage.When I do, the rock breaks free from the ground and peels back,exposing a hollow underneath where the rock had been. Inside that hollow, is a very confused and now upset rattlesnake...but I am not yet aware of this...
I let go of the now free rock...which lands either on or close to the rattlesnake. This is enough to provoke the snake into full on alert...coiled up, rattle shaking 100 billion miles per hour, huffing and puffing, PISSED off rattlesnake...Now I am aware immediately of his presence...which is only inches from my head. My head is turned to the right side, and the snake is somewhere between the back of my head and my left arm...not cool. I start to both panic and assess my options at the same time. I got about as far as telling myself to stay cool, when I felt what felt like a fist punching me in my left shoulder, followed by a chewing sensation that I'll never forget as long as I live.
Staying cool was gone. I levitated to my feet so fast, the snake didn't even have time to let go and I took it with me for several feet before it finally hit the ground and went the other way just as fast.
Thank God for burlap and natural vegetation...The buildup of both of them around my guillie suite's shoulder area prevented the snake from finding enough purchase to hit me with a full dose of venom, but as it turned out he still managed to poke me with the chewing action-a result of him trying to let go but being caught up in all of the burlap and veg that saved me. In the end, I got on my radio and called it in, and I was taken to the local hospital. Despite the minimal exposure to venom, they still treated me as if I had received a direct bite. I got sick, had a fever, and the area where I did get a little exposure hurt like hell and bruised up pretty good...but it could have been much worse.
My guille suit now resides in a trash bag, which is pushed deep into the darkest corner of my garage...rattlesnake venom and all.
And that, my friends-is my tale from the tall grass.
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11 years 11 months ago - 11 years 11 months ago #13404
by zfk55
Replied by zfk55 on topic Welcome to "Tales Fom The Tallgrass"
Great Story Tex!
The Lost Pririe Chronicles were written by my Father, and they will be published this coming year. These are a few advanced peeks at them.
....................................................................................................
The Lost Prairie Chronicles #17
Two miles up the valley is the old Loney ranch. Laurie and his wife Wilma raised true Morgan horses. By "true" I mean typical in all respects. Beautiful under saddle, these 15 hand horses posessed the sort of heart that is rare in many other breeds. We came to know them when we settled in Lost Prairie and bought Lyn a gorgeous two year old Morgan named Mischief.
Mischief was one of those horses with the uncanny abilty to both single-foot and pace. A single-footing horse is as smooth a ride as it gets, and with one foot always on the ground its somewhat akin to sitting in a rocking chair. A natural pacer is the sort of horse you see in buggy races with both off-side and near-side legs moving in tandem. They trot nearly as fast as some horses run with a side to side swaying motion thats smooth and comfortable.
I didn't ride her often as I'm on the lanky side and at 15 hands she's a bit short for me.
But she was the perfect size for Lyn.
*Dad on Mischief the day he broke her*
This image is hidden for guests.
*Ma on Mischief that fall*
This image is hidden for guests.
Today I was astride Mischief and riding across the pastures approaching the Loney Ranch. Reining in at the back door I noticed Wilma coming from the barn.
"He's not here. He headed back to the reservoir to check the drop-gate, and he's late. Would you mind checking for him? He's driving that new white Dodge we bought friday." I told her I'd be happy to do that and nudged Mischief into a brisk pace for the two mile trip to the back of the pasture and the reservoir.
Off to my left, far back across the pasture I noticed Shonkin galloping along the fence line, tossing his head with apparent irritation having been left behind. I didn't often leave Shonk and ride one of the other horses, but Mischief needed the workout. I kicked her into a dead gallop to put some distance between us and Shonkin and he was soon out of sight.
I slowed her to an easy walk and enjoyed the rest of the ride. Every so often she'd dip her head and take a swipe at the Timothy grass, chewing and worrying around the bit in her mouth, trying to swallow. I stopped and pulled her bit, reattatching the reins to the headstall she always wore. I let her grab and eat Timothy for about half a mile and slipped her bit back in place, changed the reins and loped ahead toward the reservoir. She snorted her displeasure and shook her head, but now wasn't the time for grazing.
As I approached the reservoir I saw Laurie's beautiful white truck dead ahead. As I neared, it appeared that someone's face was peering at me from under the rear axle! "Get back!" It was Laurie hollering at me, but why? "Dammit! Get back!" I reined Mischief in and glanced around, seeing nothing.
The nearest treeline was only 40 yards away and Laurie was pointing that direction. A loud snort and..... Holy Crap!! A very large bull moose burst through the brush between the trees and was on a dead gallop right at us! It didn't take much urging to get Mischief lined out in the opposite direction. She took it upon herself to kick into a dead, all out gallop with that big bull moose right on our tail for the first 50 feet.
Within a hundred yards Mischief was well ahead of him and I reined her in. He stood watching us until I saw a movement to my right. It was a cow moose and she was moving at an easy trot along the treeline away from Laurie and the truck. He snorted at us, shook his huge rack, turned and trotted after his mate. In the meantim, Laurie had crawled out from under the truck and gotten into the cab when the old bull chased after Mischief and me. He stepped out of the cab as we approached. ......... and then I got a good look at that new truck.
Laurie! Was there a hailstorm up here? Every square inch of that truck, save the very top was covered in small dents! All of it. Sides, the hood, bed rails, tailgate, wheel wells, all of it. Then it dawned on me. Hail doesn't hit sideways. Laurie was red-faced and furious, stomping around and cursing. Laurie, what the hell happened?
"I drove up here to check the flood gate and I saw that cow moose off to the right by the treeline. I looked at her for a minute and kept walking up to the dam. I heard a loud snort to my left and saw that bull running straight for me". (Laurie had walked between a bull and his cow. You just don't do that, folks) " Damned thing was almost on me and I didn't have time to open the door so I just dove under the truck. That *blank**blank moose walked around this truck for half an hour trying to get at me, rattling his rack against the truck the whole time. I came out once when he walked off a ways but he spun around and put me right back under there! He spent another half hour walking around the truck, beating against it with his rack and then moved into the brush, but not far enough to let me get into the cab, and then you showed up!"
I followed him back to the ranch and confirmed his story to an extremely shocked Wilma. Their beautiful new truck. On monday I was obliged to repeat the story to a very dubious insurance agent. "A moose??" Yep. A moose. How else would anyone explain that truck? Well.... when you live in Lost Prairie..........
The Lost Pririe Chronicles were written by my Father, and they will be published this coming year. These are a few advanced peeks at them.
....................................................................................................
The Lost Prairie Chronicles #17
Two miles up the valley is the old Loney ranch. Laurie and his wife Wilma raised true Morgan horses. By "true" I mean typical in all respects. Beautiful under saddle, these 15 hand horses posessed the sort of heart that is rare in many other breeds. We came to know them when we settled in Lost Prairie and bought Lyn a gorgeous two year old Morgan named Mischief.
Mischief was one of those horses with the uncanny abilty to both single-foot and pace. A single-footing horse is as smooth a ride as it gets, and with one foot always on the ground its somewhat akin to sitting in a rocking chair. A natural pacer is the sort of horse you see in buggy races with both off-side and near-side legs moving in tandem. They trot nearly as fast as some horses run with a side to side swaying motion thats smooth and comfortable.
I didn't ride her often as I'm on the lanky side and at 15 hands she's a bit short for me.
But she was the perfect size for Lyn.
*Dad on Mischief the day he broke her*
This image is hidden for guests.
Please log in or register to see it.
*Ma on Mischief that fall*
This image is hidden for guests.
Please log in or register to see it.
Today I was astride Mischief and riding across the pastures approaching the Loney Ranch. Reining in at the back door I noticed Wilma coming from the barn.
"He's not here. He headed back to the reservoir to check the drop-gate, and he's late. Would you mind checking for him? He's driving that new white Dodge we bought friday." I told her I'd be happy to do that and nudged Mischief into a brisk pace for the two mile trip to the back of the pasture and the reservoir.
Off to my left, far back across the pasture I noticed Shonkin galloping along the fence line, tossing his head with apparent irritation having been left behind. I didn't often leave Shonk and ride one of the other horses, but Mischief needed the workout. I kicked her into a dead gallop to put some distance between us and Shonkin and he was soon out of sight.
I slowed her to an easy walk and enjoyed the rest of the ride. Every so often she'd dip her head and take a swipe at the Timothy grass, chewing and worrying around the bit in her mouth, trying to swallow. I stopped and pulled her bit, reattatching the reins to the headstall she always wore. I let her grab and eat Timothy for about half a mile and slipped her bit back in place, changed the reins and loped ahead toward the reservoir. She snorted her displeasure and shook her head, but now wasn't the time for grazing.
As I approached the reservoir I saw Laurie's beautiful white truck dead ahead. As I neared, it appeared that someone's face was peering at me from under the rear axle! "Get back!" It was Laurie hollering at me, but why? "Dammit! Get back!" I reined Mischief in and glanced around, seeing nothing.
The nearest treeline was only 40 yards away and Laurie was pointing that direction. A loud snort and..... Holy Crap!! A very large bull moose burst through the brush between the trees and was on a dead gallop right at us! It didn't take much urging to get Mischief lined out in the opposite direction. She took it upon herself to kick into a dead, all out gallop with that big bull moose right on our tail for the first 50 feet.
Within a hundred yards Mischief was well ahead of him and I reined her in. He stood watching us until I saw a movement to my right. It was a cow moose and she was moving at an easy trot along the treeline away from Laurie and the truck. He snorted at us, shook his huge rack, turned and trotted after his mate. In the meantim, Laurie had crawled out from under the truck and gotten into the cab when the old bull chased after Mischief and me. He stepped out of the cab as we approached. ......... and then I got a good look at that new truck.
Laurie! Was there a hailstorm up here? Every square inch of that truck, save the very top was covered in small dents! All of it. Sides, the hood, bed rails, tailgate, wheel wells, all of it. Then it dawned on me. Hail doesn't hit sideways. Laurie was red-faced and furious, stomping around and cursing. Laurie, what the hell happened?
"I drove up here to check the flood gate and I saw that cow moose off to the right by the treeline. I looked at her for a minute and kept walking up to the dam. I heard a loud snort to my left and saw that bull running straight for me". (Laurie had walked between a bull and his cow. You just don't do that, folks) " Damned thing was almost on me and I didn't have time to open the door so I just dove under the truck. That *blank**blank moose walked around this truck for half an hour trying to get at me, rattling his rack against the truck the whole time. I came out once when he walked off a ways but he spun around and put me right back under there! He spent another half hour walking around the truck, beating against it with his rack and then moved into the brush, but not far enough to let me get into the cab, and then you showed up!"
I followed him back to the ranch and confirmed his story to an extremely shocked Wilma. Their beautiful new truck. On monday I was obliged to repeat the story to a very dubious insurance agent. "A moose??" Yep. A moose. How else would anyone explain that truck? Well.... when you live in Lost Prairie..........
Last edit: 11 years 11 months ago by zfk55.
The following user(s) said Thank You: Siscowet
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11 years 11 months ago #13441
by Siscowet
Replied by Siscowet on topic Welcome to "Tales Fom The Tallgrass"
Great story! You are right about not moving and deer. Five or so years ago, I had put up my tree stand only about six feet up in a popple tree. Wasn't very serious that day. Lo and behold a fork buck comes walking from behind me an passes within a foot of my feet! I could have smacked him with my rifle barrel. I let him go more because I wanted his bigger brother than anything else. Those stories make hunting worthwhile even if you come in empty handed.
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11 years 11 months ago #13458
by Akai
Replied by Akai on topic Welcome to "Tales Fom The Tallgrass"
I need more zkf55 keep them coming :clap:
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