RRN Online Volume 344

January 04 '03

Volume 344

Shooting Hawks Delta Pastime

I still watch for Highly Visible hawks in late fall and winter, when I'm traveling the flat, barren, God forsaken land of the Mississippi Delta. It's not as much fun since Barbara is not riding back to Pontotoc with me every Friday afternoon, but watching for hawks offers my mind a chance to tune out the thick foreign accents of some correspondents and their guests on National Public Radio, the events of the day, and even the thought of what to write about for the coming week.

December highway traffic has been thicker than usual, so I've kept my attention more on driving than counting hawks. This season, I count it a good day if I see two dozen hawks. The most hawks I've managed to count along a single route is fifty, and that was the day Jim Hess interrupted my counting with a phone call, which means I probably saw some I failed to count or else being distracted never saw them.

There's a simple game that long-time residents of the Mississippi Delta refer to as "shooting hawks." I had never heard of it until Rodger Carmichael mentioned it as a sport Jimmy Whatley had explained to him (Rodger and Jimmy are former employees of Supervalu). It turned out to be something I had also done but had never considered it a game.

To play the game, one needs an automobile with a good horn, a full tank of gas, and time on his of her hands. The object is to drive the back roads of the Delta looking for hawks perched near the roadway and to then toot the horn when close to the hawk. If the hawk flinches, then a point is scored.

It's a safe way to shoot hawks without eradicating them, though PETA might disagree and drag you into court for playing a game that harassed wildlife. You know about PETA, People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, don't you? They are those misguided folks who basically feel that animals are on par with humans and should be treated accordingly. While I don't have it on good authority, I imagine they also believe all dogs go to Heaven.

I don't know what it is about the horn on my Taurus, but I've seldom to never shot a hawk with it. Perhaps, it has too much bass and not enough treble in its tone. All I know is that I've been practically on top of a hawk when I hit the horn, and the hawk never even batted an eye.

For sixteen days in December, I drove a 1999 Lumina while my company car was having its transmission repaired. Near the end of that adventure, I remembered that my 1998 Lumina worked quite well in the game of shooting hawks. So, as I motored along MS 8 between Philipp and Holcomb, I tested my weapon on the next hawk I saw.

It was perched atop a utility pole near the highway. The short burst from my weapon startled it, and I observed it's wings extend slightly from its body before it realized it was in no great danger. A hit! After a drought of more than two years, I finally hit a hawk.

A quarter-mile down the road, another hawk was perched similarly. I scored another hit. As luck would have it, a third hawk appeared moments later and again in a desirable location, near the highway, and on a utility pole. I later described its reaction to my wife.

"Hon, it messed all over itself, if hawks do that sort of thing. It almost took off in flight. I couldn't believe it," I explained while hunching my shoulders and jerking my arms (bent at the elbow, hands near my armpits) upward.

She was amused, though I suspect her thoughts centered more on the boyish behavior of her sixty-year old husband, rather than picturing the reaction of the startled hawk.

I did see a fourth hawk shortly after shooting the other three, and since I didn't yet have the limit, I fired at it and hit it as well, not bad for an afternoon hunt, four shots and four hits.

However, I'm back in my Taurus again. Probably, the best I can expect to do at shooting hawks in the Taurus is to sing about it.

Back in my Taurus Again
(Apologies to Gene Autry)

Back in my Taurus again
Out where no man is a friend
Where the lonely red-tailed feeds
On the field mice in the weeds
I'm back in my Taurus again.

Ridin' the roads once more
Shootin' hawks and keepin' the score
Where I see them every day
They're all along the way
I'm back in my Taurus again.

Whoopee-ti-yi-yo, Rockin' to and fro
Back in my Taurus again.
Whoopee-ti-yi-yay, I'm shootin' away,
Back in my Taurus again.

Parody of Back In The Saddle Again
by Wayne Carter

Seven-Pointer By Malcolm Lindsey

I went over to the property yesterday morning (12/07/02) where I had placed a ladder stand against a tree that was in the middle of several well used deer runs. This was the first time I had hunted this stand. It is muzzle-loading season so usually one shot is all you will get.

When I got there I saw three does which had already seen me. I pretended I didn't see them and climbed up my ladder stand. As expected, they took off. About 8 a.m. I had five does to slip up on me without me knowing it, and they had the wind in their favor. They were within 10 steps of me when they snorted and took off. I saw they were all does but had one been a good buck, then I could have not been quick enough for a shot.

I started rattling and grunting [A hunting technique that involves striking antlers together and using a deer call], making a lot of noise as if two large buck deer were in a battle. I did this off and on for about 30 minutes, and, while I was in the process of rattling and grunting, I spotted a nice sized buck with a good looking rack headed straight toward me.

I stopped making any sound, and he would walk, stop, look and listen. I knew he was looking for the source of all the racket I had been making, thinking it was two bucks in a fight. I let him get closer and closer but the pressure was building within me because he was really looking. I knew I had the wind in my favor so I waited.

I do not trust the old muzzle loader guns, even though I have [one of] the best made, and it is scoped with a 2x7 power, zeroed in as best I can. Still, you never know if one of those will shoot on target or not.

He got within 20 steps of me but stopped behind some small sweet gum trees. This buck was not a huge trophy but he was a very nice buck. I really thought, at the time, he was better than he turned out to be.

However, by now there was so much pressure built up on me my back started hurting. I felt as if he could hear me shaking as I waited for this buck to make just one more step into the wide open. He did, and I had my crosshairs settled right on his rib cage. I fired, and to my amazement he simply made several jumps toward the thicket and stopped in the open. I sat there at least 15 to 30 seconds in utter disbelief that I must have missed.

I remember questioning myself, "but how could I possibly miss at that distance? I had nothing but deer in my scope."

I then started the process of re-loading, placing powder down the barrel, then a bullet down the barrel, then pushing all that down as quietly as I could. I know he heard me once, and I had to stop. I then noticed something very strange, the buck humped up but just stood there. I finally got loaded but still needed to put a firing cap on. As I tried that, I dropped one and had to fumble & fumble for another. Finally, I was ready to fire again. I settled the crosshairs on him and squeezed the trigger. The buck crumbled to the ground, and in an instant was dead.

I had not been so shook up in a long time. Over the years, having taken as many bucks and much larger bucks as I have, one would think this would have not shook me up like it did. I am so glad that hunting can still give me that thrill I remember from the early years.

I wouldn't take anything for yesterday's hunt even though this was just a 7 point, although it was a nice 7 point with a 16-inch spread and good tines & main beam length. He had some nice mass also. Now, here is the strange part. I had not missed on that first shot. I had hit him, centered in the rib cage. This was why he made those jumps, stopped, and then a little later "humped up". I didn't know it but he was about to fall just before I shot him the second time. My second shot hit him in the flank and just "knocked him on over"

I have passed up many bucks as good as this one. In fact I passed up some last year that I didn't even shoot at and last year was the first year in over 30 years that I failed to take a buck (even though that was my choice to pass some up.) However, this is one I'll remember a long time as being one of the most exciting of all.

Malcolm Lindsey lives near Falkner, MS, and is a retired barber who now makes a better living buying and selling stocks. He is an avid hunter and enjoys fishing in the off season.

RRN 2002 Operators Are Standing By

Copies of Ridge Rider News 2002 are now available. Fifty-two glorious issues, comprising more than two hundred pages can be yours for the unbelievable price of only $9.95. That's right, folks, for far less than ten dollars, you can be one of the first to own this handsome, collectible edition. (Shipping and handling, where applicable, add $5.00)

Printed using 20-lb. bond paper and indexed in a quality, loose-leaf binder, this collection of original material will make a fine addition to your library. Think of the opportunity to own a first edition of this unique publication. Its value can only appreciate.

History need not be old to be enjoyed, and you or a loved one are sure to enjoy hours of pleasurable reading. Step into an underground pool hall of the fifties in a January issue. Dine out with the Editor and his wife in February. In March, drive along Hwy. 6 and notice the changes wrought by time. Experience a haunted house in May, and attend a "just right" Church Wedding in July. Delve into a Blitz Build with Habitat For Humanity volunteers in September, and put yourself alongside a "handy woman" in November. December is reserved mostly for memories, so allow the remembrances of others to renew your Christmas Joy.

There are dozens more entertaining and interesting articles in this publication, plus you will have the year's complete collection of humor from Bodock Beau. Beau claims his columns alone are worth the price of the publication Don't miss this opportunity.

Chances are, readers have forgotten or misplaced the articles most enjoyed during 2002. Some readers have given away their copy for others to read. Whatever the reason, now is the time to pick up the phone and call, send an email, or write to the address of this newsletter and request your copy. Operators and staff are standing by.

This is not a moneymaking scheme; rather it is largely a break-even proposition for the publisher. Buy one for yourself and give one to a friend. Sorry, at these prices, volume discounts do not apply. Offers like this don't come along every day. Don't delay¾call today.

Books will be published upon demand and not in advance. Please allow three to five weeks for delivery.

Offer void where prohibited, taxed, or restricted by law. Offer valid only in the US. Offer valid January 2003 - February 28, 2003 and may be extended, modified, or revoked at any time during or after the introductory period.

Bodock Beau A Little Variety

Sometimes it's the corny jokes that appeal to my sense of humor. For instance:

Two buffalo were standing on the range when a passing tourist said, "Those are the mangiest, scroungiest, most moth-eaten, miserable beasts I have ever seen."

One of the buffalo turned to the other and said, "You know, I think I just heard a discouraging word."

And, of course, office related humor is also good:

The personnel office received an email requesting a listing of the department staff broken down by age and sex.

The personnel office sent this reply..."Attached is a list of our staff. We currently have no one broken down by age or sex. However, we have a few alcoholics."

Vaudevillians made one liners famous.

Q. What is the best time to see the dentist?
A. At tooth hurty

Q. How many psychiatrists does it take to change a light bulb?
A. Only one, but the light bulb has to want to change!

Q. Where does a worm go in a corn field?
A. In one ear and out the other.

Religious humor ranks among my favorite forms:

Two cannibals meet one day... The first cannibal says, "You know, I just can't seem to get a tender Missionary. I've baked them, I've roasted them, I've stewed them, I've barbecued them, I've tried every sort of marinade. Just can't seem to get them tender."

The second cannibal asks, "What kind of Missionary do you use?"

The first cannibal replied, "You know, the ones that hang out at that place at the bend of the river. They have those brown cloaks with a rope around their waist and they're sort of bald on top with a funny ring of hair on their heads."

"Ah, Ha!" the second cannibal replies, "No wonder--those are fryers!"

The following sounds like a Baptist preacher to me:

The congregation liked their new clergyman, but were somewhat puzzled by his speaking style. His first sermon ran only 8 minutes; the second Sunday he spoke for 45 minutes; the third week he rattled on for an hour-and-a-half. That was enough for the Board to summon him for a little chat.

To their relief, the preacher had a ready explanation. "The Saturday before the first sermon, I had my teeth pulled and my mouth was still terribly sore. But, by the time a week had gone by, I'd gotten used to my new dentures."

Here the minister paused, and blushed deeply. "And as for last Sunday, well, I'm afraid that I picked up my wife's set of teeth by mistake!"

Farm humor is also great:

A small boy was looking at the red ripe tomatoes

growing in the farmer's garden.

"I'll give you my two pennies for that tomato," said the boy pointing to a beautiful, large, ripe fruit hanging on the vine.

"No," said the farmer, "I get a dime for a tomato like that one."

The small boy pointed to a smaller green one, "Will you take two pennies for that one?"

"Yes," replied the farmer, "I'll give you that one for two cents."

"OK," said the lad, sealing the deal by putting the coins in the farmer's hand, "I'll pick it up in about a week."

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