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The White Buffalo Club A Hunting Story –And Then Some by Greg Jacobs It has been two years since I had the great pleasure of hunting at the Apache Ranch in Webb County, Texas. This gorgeous, 3000 acre stretch of rolling thickets, rocks, brush, and giant sky sits hard by the Rio Grande about 45 miles northwest of Laredo. You can see into Mexico from any reasonably high hill on the ranch or from any one of the numerous rebar hunting stands that are scattered about. I prefer the view from the hills or the house; those stands are a tad rickety for my taste, even if they are planted solidly. When the wind hits them, it really hits! But they are sure great hunting posts. It did not take me long to realize that the one thing I really was looking forward to was missing. We were earlier this year than my previous trip and the sage was not yet in bloom. I ached for the fragrance of sage that permeated every inch of the ranch before but it was not to be; the sage will bloom in a few weeks and I guess I’ll miss that sensuous and heady evening delight. Another time.... Another part of my plan, despite this being a hunting trip, was to walk to the Rio Grande. Steve Watson, the ranch owner, told me it was about a mile west, but it turned out to be about double that, and a hilly walk as well. But with young Ben Trimpe accompanying me we set out shortly after our arrival. Ben’s dad, Steve Trimpe, organizes this trips for us, and he brought Ben along as our cook (thank goodness; Ben is good!!!). Admittedly, we had to climb a couple of the neighbor’s fences to get to the bluff overlooking the river, but I don’t think the neighbor minds, since we’re just sight seers. Unfortunately, we do have to carry side arms, in case we run into illegal border-crossers, but such was not to be and we had a grand time (pun intended) on this hike. The river was very full and meandered along peacefully, making a spectacular view in either direction. But, yes, this was a hunting trip and most of the other hunters (there were nine of us plus the ranch owner; that house was some crowded!) went right out. It was late antlerless season as well as open season on feral hogs and those were the game animals everyone was hunting for. I think it is safe to say that everyone took home venison and pork, and even if some of the guys shared it, everyone harvested some game, not counting yours truly, who harvested a grand time, and one varmint, but no game. But that was not important; the real importance is the joy of being there, the camaraderie, and the time spent in those great outdoors. Friday evening, after my walk to river, found me on a bluff overlooking the dry Espada Creek. It was crisp and clear with high clouds, and I searched patiently for game. The cold did get to me after awhile so I got up to walk and warm up. Arriving back at my perch on the bluff I quickly discerned the black forms of javelina. As noted, varmints, which we use to bait for coyotes, but I never did see any coyotes. The sun set in a spectacle of pink fire into the southwest over Mexico. As the sky grew black the clouds suddenly parted to reveal the star studded open sky of the great outdoors, vast and black and sparkling with heaven’s diamonds like a velvet painting dusted with glitter. It alone made the trip worthwhile, and I had already hiked to the river. What a joy that day was. The next day I admit I slept in, skipping the morning hunt, and then some of spent all of Saturday zeroing rifles we planned to use. This is not normal city range zeroing, however, this is open range zeroing and our host, Steve Watson, has targets arrayed out to one thousand yards and more. Not being exceedingly bold I chose to limit myself to 200 and 300 yard targets. With a newly lowered front sight on my custom Mauser in .35 Whelen I spent some time shooting it, getting the hang of the express sights and long distances. Methinks I’m going to switch to a peep sight (I’m trying to avoid a scope), although I did find the two hundred yard steel plate a few times. I then switched to a Winchester Model 94 in .44 magnum, just because I thought it was a fun idea. Finally, I got around to my old favorite, my Remington Model 788 in .308, already zeroed to 100. Maybe it was the slight downhill angle but, although I found the three hundred yard target, I never could get it zeroed at that distance, but I was enjoying myself and not terribly concerned since I was through hunting with that gun, or so I thought. Steve Watson, a former Marine small arms instructor, reminded me about some of the basics, but by then I was done, knowing full well it was dead on at 100 to 150 yards, and already proven the day before. I also got in some shooting with an old truck gun, a breakdown .22 semi-auto survival gun that I had for years. It turned out to be a jamamatic! Oh, well! At any rate, I thought I was done with that Remington but I was wrong because, when our host invited me to go on one of his host tours in his special jeep, I grabbed that gun for the ride. The ride takes place on a flying bridge about ten or fifteen feet above the vehicle. I might have grabbed that custom Mauser but I knew the ride was rugged and I preferred to give the rough ride to the older, less valuable firearm. The view is wonderful and we searched for game as well as other creatures of the desert. A pair of Mexican eagles presented a thrilling sight, their golden tipped wings, tails, and heads glittering as they flitted from tree to tree. As we drove we spotted deer and although they hurried out of sight we stopped and I located them with binoculars. As I watched them they stepped into a clear area and I could see it was a large doe and smaller deer, probably from that doe’s crop of this year. "Well, Greg, are you going to shoot it or not?" There are no local butcher’s available so shooting it meant field dressing and then the work at the venatic abattoir behind the house. And I have a freezer full of venison. And the deer were looking at me, and the shot was easy, and it’s a good harvest that the ranch needs for management purposes, and I’m thinking "Nah, not this time; I don’t think so." And that was that. We continued our tour and, since there is always some work to assist with on the Apache Ranch, we rounded up some of the one hundred head of champion longhorns currently on the ranch, including one large cow that had to immediately get into a fight in order to re-establish her place in the herd’s pecking order, and then there was the second bull. The main bill is a giant, a magnificent black bull worthy of the famous posters of bullfighting one sees in Spain and other places where that sport still is popular. The other bull was pretty big in his own right and we finally lured him into the primary pasture. Poor Jeff Trimpe, he had the job of closing the fence and he needed to dodge those bulls as they quickly began a head banging, rip snorter of a fight. But it didn’t last long and the smaller bull gave it up and ran off deeper into pasture. Our other job consisted of some fence repair, pounding in some t-posts and rewiring some fence torn by illegals who cross the border, and the ranch, at various times throughout the year. This is a hunting story, and then some, for a reason! If we rode horses it would be a dude ranch experience, too!!! As noted above, due to smugglers and other of that ilk, everyone is required to carry sidearms and, naturally, with all those targets handy, it wasn’t long before some of us succumbed to the temptation of long distance shooting. I warmed up with some 25 yard shooting with a 2.5 inch barreled Security Six but it wasn’t long before I stretched that into some swinging steel targets at 50 yards, which rang prettily and satisfyingly with every hit, and I moved on to steel drums at fifty and seventy yards, more or less. However, as satisfying as hitting those close up drums was, the real satisfaction came when I commenced to hitting a steel drum consistently at one hundred yards. Admittedly, I did try some shots at the two hundred and fifty yard steel drum because Steve Watson did it two years ago. Unfortunately, there was a lot of new growth so little dust was raised by the misses, making range finding difficult, so I gave that fun up to just hit the one hundred yard drum. Mighty satisfying, that kind of shooting, mighty satisfying. Meanwhile, back on the farm, as they say, the boys continued to come back with additional hogs and deer. It was quite a hunting harvest. So, now that I’ve told this story, you’re wondering about the title. Okay.... as we drove along in that jeep we rode up onto a high point on a piece of the escarpment that runs though the Apache Ranch. We stopped, looking out into the distance, and with a chuckle our host asked "Do you want to join the White Buffalo Club?" We allowed that we didn’t follow and as he laughed he pointed out a white rock in the distance, looking for all the world like a small buffalo hump. Steve also pointed out two smaller ones that he called the white armadillo and the white javelina but the white buffalo was the main attraction. To join the club, he said, we had to shoot at and hit that rock. I was somewhat taken aback and I blurted out "Just how far IS that?!?!?" "Oh, about 400 yards" was the reply. I shook my head in dismay but, of course, prepared to make the attempt. The flying bridge includes a bench seat so all one needs to do is use the top of the wood bridge as a rest, take aim, and fire. I put those 4x crosshairs on that buffalo hump, took a breath, let a little out, settled down, and....nope, can’t do it, gotta start over....same routine, aim, press the trigger, bang - - - POOF!!!!!!!!!! A cloud of white dust exploded into the air as my first shot found its mark. Two rounds later, Jeff’s 270 Winchester made him a club member, too. When we drove over, which took about fifteen minutes or more, maybe twice that, bouncing across rugged terrain, we discovered the buffalo was about a three foot by three foot rock, with two brand new bullet marks about one inch apart, right where the shoulder ought to be if it really was an American bison. We were goldanged proud, I’ll tell you what!!!! The trip ended on a high note as we took photos and planned our return. There will be more trips to the Apache....and more attempts to join the White Buffalo Club.
***Greg Jacobs***
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