Thundershirt --- Are you shitting me?

 I was watching some late night obscuria on TV with my bride recently when a commercial for a product we never heard of entered our consciousness. It was an ad for a product called the “Thundershirt.”  Apparently, it makes your pet calm and fearless.   


It is a vestment for your dog with scientifically proven tendencies to relieve animal anxiety caused by thunderstorms, fireworks, strangers in weird hats, other animals and countless additional sources of irritating animal behavior.  Examples of bad dog actions were shown in a montage of “before” vignettes in which animals (mostly dogs) ripped up upholstery, barked like they were possessed, urinated on sacred family treasures and generally spazzed out.  As soon as they were strapped into the Thundershirt, which looks like a segmented Velcro life vest, these dogs immediately calmed down like they had smoked a pound of Humboldt.                     

      

   BEFORE

        

                                     AFTER                                                

   

Naked dogs that were previously shown freak-barking and going into grand mal seizures at the sound of Rice Crispies being exposed to milk were displayed, clothed in their new Thundershirts and Rastafarian dog hats, swaying to the sight and sound of 4th of July fireworks that now only barely kept them serenely awake.              
Cats actually being launched from catapults calmly accepted their journey with the quiet cool of the Apollo 13 commander once they were fitted into this stylish space suit    The testimonials flowed as folks who you know probably inflicted their ill-behaved pets on everyone they knew, suddenly copped out to  previously owning hell hounds. Now  they could gush their thanks to the inventors of this product for transforming their unruly beasts in to the loving companions they had always unreasonably insisted their victims recognize existed behind this unfortunate mask of  mouth-foaming terror.  
         
Now you can take your vicious animal to church, a fancy restaurant, or a letter carriers convention, confident that your dog will behave like a valium chasing Harvard professor.                      

Victor

My dog Victor is fine, but I was thinking of ordering a bunch of these things for myself and my family, especially for the long road trips we take.  I think perhaps I will get a bunch of vests to stock up in the office closet---- -you know, for clients. “Hey we just got the call that the jury is back with a verdict on your murder for hire trial in that tragic flamethrower death of your wife.  Why don't you and your girlfriend put on these stylish vests and stroll on over to the courthouse with me?”   
        
Your doctor could have them on hand for you when you get that diagnosis you’ve been dreading.  “I’ve got some good news and some bad news…..the good news is that you can keep this free vest I just had you put on instead of that pesky and embarrassing hospital garment you've been  wearing for all those tests.”      

I hope you all get a chance to see this add.  It’s just the darndest thing and the applications for human use are really limitless..  It’s what Newt Gingrich wears to marriage counseling and Captain Mario Schettino wears instead of a life vest.   


My only question is why didn’t they invent this vest for the rest sooner.


These are the days.

Southern California Orcas

In this time of cold water, we've had more killer whales than we usually get in southern California waters. The remarkable abundance of forage fish and squid off southern California waters for at least the last 15 years has increased the marine mammal populations dramatically, so it is not surprising for us to have a greater showing of the orcas. The dolphin population has grown exponentially and the seal lions are like houseflies, so perhaps the black and whites will stay to police the sea dogs.
It may be that the salmon stocks the orcas usually shadow are depleted enough for the orcas to loiter in our cold waters.
It could also mean that the cold waters are causing the salmon to loiter down here and the orcas are with them.
We have had occasions in the past when the orcas showed up in late winter and hung around for a few weeks before salmon started getting caught in our local waters in early April.
In any event, it seems pretty cool to have them here for whatever length of time they may be visiting us. There are few more dramatic displays of animal power than these beasts are capable of demonstrating.

Here's to hoping that this might portend a salmon season for southern California this April. With all of the marine closures above and below our border, we could use it.
As for salmon season below San Francisco, here’s the deal:
Open April 2 - September 18, 2011;
2 salmon per day of any species except coho;
23 inch minimum size (total length).

These are the days

Land Ho!

Thanksgiving Pheasant Hunt

Isaac and I recently participated in an experimental Department of Fish and Game program designed to allow the hunting public to harvest game using alternative methods, specifically the use of high powered center fire ammunition normally utilized for large North American game such as elk or bear.

We had made reservations at Raahagues Pheasant club, one of our favorite haunts, knowing that the DFG program would be in place for this single day of alternative hunting practices. The Humane Society, which now has a seat of the DFG Board of Directors, had criticized the traditional use of shotguns in the taking of these birds, as it often results in the need to wring the necks of wounded birds after they have taken flight, are knocked from the air and then seized by a dog before getting whirled about by their human predators (and how would you like it if they did that to you?).

When we signed up for the program, we were told to bring center fire weapons, with a minimum caliber of .243, which is the standard instruction for wild boar hunting operations, but an unusual choice for upland game. We also brought our trusty, but aging pointing dog Victor, who always gains instant youth and sets to jumping about with joy when he sees guns being brought out.

After inhaling a hearty 6 am breakfast at Goodfellas coffee shop in Norco, we proceeded to the supervised sight-in at Mike Raahagues Shooting Enterprises. Isaac was using his sister’s BAR .308, with a Bushnell Elite 3x12x40 scope. He got it zeroed in at 150 to 200 yards. I did the same with my Winchester Model 70 .30-06, mounted with a Nikon Monarch 2.5x10x40 scope. We then proceed out to the fields, where we got a lecture from the Humane Society representative, Linda Katehi. She was wearing a DFG uniform, Sam Brown belt and gun rig, including an economy sized canister of Defense Technology 56895 Mk-9 Stream 1.3% red band/1.3% blue band pepper spray.

We were advised that we were not to shoot our weapons above the horizon, since instead of our normally short-range shotguns, we would be employing long range big game cartridges capable of killing an elk at 700 yards, where over-penetration might be a factor. The birds were all fitted with reflective tape collars. Officer Katehi advised us that after the birds were released into the field, they would hunker down in the thick cover and would not be visible. We were told to remain on a hilltop some 100 to 400 yards above the seeded field while our dog was let loose to quarter and pick up scent below us. We were instructed that it was essential that our dog not break point and flushing dogs were not acceptable for this type of hunt. Victor always maintains point, so we were very confident that we had the right tools for the job.

Officer Katehi then drove down into to the edge of the field with a crate full of reflectorized pheasants. She attempted to release them, but they continued to occupy the crates without leaving, as though they sensed their predicament. She removed the canister from her belt, and casually hosed down the closed end of the crate, which resulted in the pheasants leaping out of the crate and scattering into the field.

Even though we saw them fly into our field, they instantly disappeared amidst the heavy brush and became essentially invisible. The officer drove back up to our hilltop position and told us we could release Victor. At first, Victor was confused that we were not following him into the field, but then he caught the scent of the birds and proceeded in to the field below, quartering just like in the good old days and looking back over his shoulder with some skepticism at our absence.

Suddenly, he tensed up and went into stalking mode. After a few steps, he locked into a classic point. We trained our spotting scope on the heavy brush immediately ahead of him and picked up the glint of the reflective tape on the nervous bird hunkered down in the foliage. Isaac took the first shot from a seated position, using the rifle sling across his forearm and elbow to brace out a steady platform from which to fire an accurate shot, as our dog was in some peril because of the angle of the point.

The .308 crackled loudly and the spent casing twirled upward into the early morning sunlight. We called out “fetch” to Victor and he plunged into the brush, returning with a large hen that was virtually intact, except for the head, which had been cleanly removed by the 150 grain sierra boat tail ballistic tip bullet.

After that initial experiment in ballistics, we adjusted our shots to strike below the tape so that the neck and head remained in some form on the shot bird. The 30/06 ammo I was using had 180 grain soft tips, which really did not deform significantly upon penetration of such a light target.

We eventually got five pheasants and 3 chukars intact, although we also had a couple of shots that resulted in ruined birds that were left for the coyotes and turkey vultures. Most of our shots were between 125 and 200 yards, with the longest being about 275. Without the dog pointing and the reflective tape for shot orientation, I doubt we would have been able to pick out any of these rather large roosters, let alone the more camouflaged hens and chukars.

In evaluating this DFG sponsored experience, I would have to say that I will not do it again, as we much prefer hunting close to the dog and shooting the birds out of the air, as opposed to taking them in a static position from long range.

When we got back to the Raahagues clubhouse, our birds were cleaned by the always cheerful Paul. Linda drove up to chat and even took our picture with the days harvest, as you can see.

I questioned the use of such heavy ordinance and offered up to officer Katehi that it seemed that .223 or even .17 HMR might be more appropriate for such light targets. She responded that the Humane Society had conducted extensive experimentation and had determined that the potential for stray shots caused by wind drift on bullets lighter than 110 grains made the use of these calibers too hazardous for agricultural areas.

After the birds were cleaned up, Linda offered to spray the carcasses with another blast of pepper spray to start the seasoning process since we intended to smoke them at our neighbor’s party. We accepted her offer and I must say that this pepper spray, which is a food product, according to Fox News, is a great way to evenly season any game animal, or even just torch off into a big bowl of beef stew. You can spray it on salads just before serving, but you do have to take care not to do it in the immediate area where people are trying to eat.

These birds are really big this year and they are first quality. We got many compliments at the party, so it was another successful completion of the Circle of Life.

This is a great season for quality birds and if you like big ones, get out there before the club season closes in March. I recommend making sure that you go on a regular shotgun hunt and check in advance to make sure that it is not a special Humane Society hunt, unless this center fire style experience sounds right for you. If it does, call the DFG to find out the dates and location for these types of hunts and I am sure they will be happy to hook you up, as they exist to serve the needs of the hunting public.

Anyway, we hope all of you have a very Happy Thanksgiving.

These are the Days.

Squid Trip Out Of Dana Point

Just have time for a short one. No tuna for me this year, but I heard that the squid had moved into local waters on Thursday and were so abundant that they were even getting them in the daylight, instead of the usual night time only bite.

I called Dana Wharf sportfishing and with the help of Sheri at Dana Wharf sportfishing, hastily put together a trip with some other dudes, dads and kids on the charter boat San Mateo for Saturday night. We left at 5:30 pm and were back by 10:15 pm.

It was a very calm evening, with just a bit of a sprinkle before sunset and hardly any wind or swell. The squid stayed down deep for a while, but eventually came up to where it was a wide open surface bite at the end of the evening. We caught over a hundred and the kids had a blast

Captain Chad and his dad Bob did a great job with all of the kids and worked hard to make it a memorable experience. This boat has a capacity of 15 people and we had plenty of room with the seven adults and seven kids who made the trip. My own twin six-year olds, Tommy and Davey, whose pictures I have attached, had never been on a sportboat before, let alone going out on a night raid in pursuit of these remarkable creatures. The night was dark and the heavy red tide produced an incredible luminescence in the water that made the experience even more surreal, especially on the ride back in to the harbor.

The ones we caught were a smaller grade than last year - mostly 3 to 10 pounds instead of the 20 to 40 pounders that blew in for a few days in 2010. These models are the perfect size for eating and don't require marlin gear like the big ones, so the kids can pull on them with a little help from the parents. They also are just as good frozen as they are fresh. The key is pounding them just like you do abalone - for those few who remember what abalone is.

These mysterious cephalopods sometimes stick around, which is probably bad for the local fishery, as they are quite voracious in consuming everything in their path. Most often, though, they quickly vanish, as they did the day after we got them. They are the Keyser Sozes of marine annihilation- "And like that.....they're gone."

We will be feasting on what we have slain and remain prepared to take these invaders down if they threaten our coast again.

These are the days.

Catalina Ghostbusters Fish Report

Friday afternoon I joined skipper Larry Marks and Dennis Sinclitico on Larry’s 28 foot Parker, Legal Limit, to ditch work a little early for a run over to the backside of Catalina for a shot at the white sea bass, which we heard had been biting in the late afternoon.  Our plan was to pick up a load of live squid at the San Pedro Bait barge and round Church Rock by 5 pm.

We ran over in about 15 knots of wind with moderate chop in 62 degree water after tanking up on big squid.  We hit a patch of warm water (over 64 degrees) at the Avalon Bank before rounding the corner and setting up in 38 feet of water about 500 yards to the west of a cluster of boats on the backside between Church and the Vees.

We ran out a perforated chum bucket and almost immediately generated an encouraging bait build-up from the kelp to our stern. We were fishing big hooks, small sliding sinkers and short top shots of 40 to 50 pound Seaguar fluorocarbon leader tied into spectra.

Within 15 minutes, the pecking of baitfish on our lines was replaced by Dennis calmly uttering “There’s something”, as his line began ripping off the reel.  Larry went off a few seconds later and the frenzy began, as both fish fortunately made their first run to deep water and away from the kelp. 

I gaffed Dennis’ fish, which was about 20 pounds and put Larry’s larger model on the deck a few minutes later, hoping I could cash in on the madness.  As I thumped Larry’s fish on the deck, my own rod went bendo in the holder and I traded the gaff to arc into something that felt like a brute.  I had the heaviest gear -  a Torsa 20 with a 50 pound topshot, matched with a nine foot Calstar jig stick, so I could really tighten down and wind hard to keep my fish turning back to the boat.  That rig made short work of what for me was an easy personal best in the croaker department, as Larry sunk the gaff home and dragged my monster over the rail.

The Freedom and Big Game 90 moved into a spot a few hundred yards to the outside of us and they began to light up the rail as well.

Larry proceeded to hook three more, the last of which we released.  The five 20 to 50 pounders we had in the cooler after seemed like more than enough. 

We did all of our damage, including a smattering of calicos, sheephead and an angel shark, by 6:30. Though we had planned to spend the night on the boat at the island, we headed back to Cabrillo Marina in the twilight at 30 knots.

Though I have caught a few over the years, these fish have always been pretty elusive for me, especially the big ones. We get to scarf croaker for our Father’s Day BBQ.  It is nice when your fantasy plan actually completely works out.  This doesn’t happen very often to us, so I just have to tell.

These are the days.

Baconalia

On March 24, 2011, we traveled up to Fort Hunter Liggett in Monterey County for the first annual Tom Dean Memorial Hunt to do some pig shooting at a ranch/lodge run by Native Hunts. I had never done this before, but I was told by the returning members of this group that these critters had it coming after what they had done to some of their friends, so I was glad to join the posse. Our group consisted of Rob, Mark, Dave, Russ, Mike and myself, along with our host-guides from the Native Hunts Outfitters – Sam, Chef Sid, Colby, and Corey. We arrived during a day of heavy rain, which followed several similar days of precipitation. The outfitters had already offered to reschedule our expedition due to the persistent bad weather. Our group voted on it, after taking testimony from a young girl whose tragic story about extortion and family ruin caused by these hogs strengthened our resolve to undergo any hardship to kill as many of these creatures as our gentlemanly breeding and number of tags would allow.

In addition to the Eurasian boars, the Native Hunts properties are also home to exotic sheep and American Bison. I had not spent a sufficient amount of time in the wild part of Monterey County to recognize all of the creatures which are apparently indigenous to this region of abundance.

The lodge is comfortable and features an outdoor kitchen. The large screened dining room, which is decorated with the heads of state, is a great place to hang around out of the rain and make ready.

While we met for initial indoctrination with the guides at the lodge, we were introduced to the fire-making skills that make hunting guides like ours such phenomenal men of the wilderness. We felt confident going into the forest, knowing that a blowtorch and a tractor tank of diesel was all we needed to get a campfire started if we had to make do with the resources at hand.

Amazingly, despite our concerns that the weather would make tracking them on foot almost futile, the pigs came out to engage us, with their mounted allies, the Monterey Cypress Monkeys. These boars and primates have evolved into a peculiar symbiosis by which the pig-riding monkeys dismount to climb trees to scout out the ground ahead for food and danger and then re-mount to ride off amidst much chatter and grunting to do their damage to humanity.

It was when we recognized that these porcine marauders had help from primates that we realized how it was that they were able to drive that little girl’s family from their double wide along the San Antonio river drainage. It was suspected that her parents were crack dealers, but the mobile home was demolished and these crack-loving monkeys never leave a trace of product in their wake.

The pigs had been laying low for several days because of the persistent heavy rains that ended up turning this ranch into a giant boggy pig-pen. The weather was slated to start clearing up the next day, but we had a chance to start our hunt in the enchanting twilight of the Monterey monsoon.

The hunters split off into a couple of groups. Colby and Corey escorted Mark, Rob and I, while Sam and a couple of the other guides took Russ, Dave, and Mike in a different direction. Soon, out guides were using commando-style signals to let us know that monkeys had been spotted in the trees, so the hogs would not be far away. Mark, who is a trained SEAL, can balance a riflescope on his nose while pulling the trigger with his flipper. He is also impervious to pain and so was not bothered by the divot this demonstration left on his face.

Mark took the first shot, as he was clearly our most skillful hunter. He hit his rider-less pig right behind the ear with a .308. It dropped right on top of a sinister map of homesteader’s cabin it’s departed monkey companion had just drawn in the dirt that became this miniature pony-sized boar’s final resting place.

I was hand-signaled into position by Colby when it became clear that there was another rider-less boar on the loose. These monkeys aren’t stupid. Once they saw we had guns, they left the pigs to escape on their own, leaving the pigs confused and vulnerable to even novice hunters like me. Mine started up a draw to the left, but then abruptly tuned back and ran downhill, giving me enough time to track it in the crosshairs of a .270 I had borrowed from my friend Bill Peterson. Bill had told me not to touch the sights because he had it all dialed in. Bill was right and my bullet went exactly where I hoped it would go, which was right into the heart and lungs of that pig for a shot that killed it faster than you can say “That’ll do pig.”

Meanwhile, on another part of the ranch, Russ, Mike and Dave were stalking a cross-strain of pigs that lived among the exotic sheep. These pigs have developed a peculiar talent for herding and cutting sheep and are invariably drawn to them. When they have herded all of the sheep in a given area into formation, they then stand there, waiting for recognition. Our posse recognized them from great distance across the ridge because of the block formation of the white sheep on the green slope. These shepherd pigs are larger than those ridden by the monkeys, which are sort of like the Arabian horses of the saddle-bred hog world.

Russ picked out a fat, self-satisfied porker standing next to his assembled wooly formation. He wiped the irritatingly smug pig-smile off of that hog’s face with a single shot from his 30/06. His wingman, Mike, encountered a stubborn pig that he thoroughly ventilated with his .270. It demonstrated how well it could stand up to a box of ammo before going into a coma from which it did not emerge. The sheep just stood there in Napoleonic formation, despite the random splashing of Mike’s stray shots mingling with the heavy rain. Mike’s white-hot gun barrel hissed in the rain as he advanced on his perforated prey after clicking his precautionary bayonet onto the lug he had had the good sense to weld on after the last hunt. It proved unnecessary on this occasion.

Unfortunately, when our companions climbed up into the sheep pasture to retrieve their prizes, they realized that the area had been baited. They found numerous discarded Woolite bottles carelessly strewn about the perimeter of the open spot where the pigs had driven their charges. This revelation took some of the magic out of the Deerslayer experience we had been trying to gin up.

We all enjoyed a pleasant meal and had our pictures taken next to the public enemies we had slain so that we could claim our rewards in town.

My guide Colby, initiated me into the ranks of those who had successfully discharged a high-powered rifle into a pig by mopping the top of my hat around inside its body cavity during the gutting process and placing it back onto my head, where I kept it proudly displayed for the rest of the trip, including a rather smelly ride home.

I hung around the cleaning shed to photograph and learn how to take down a hog when I noticed that a local 275 pound Eurasian boar was creeping up right behind me, apparently waiting to get in on eating what was discarded from the members of the pig club that hung inverted from chain hoists over large bloody buckets of what had been removed from them. The omnivorous tendencies of these critters include cannibalizing their own tribe and anything else they can get onto the ground, so it is not good to let them sneak up on you in the dark like that.

After confronting and photographing this boar, who acted all nonchalant when I wheeled on him about his sneaky approach, I backed away and retired to scotch, cigars and manly pleasantries in the lodge, while the Native Hunts crew finished up the wet-work

The next day the rain was gone and so were the pigs, as our morning foray produced nothing but curious buffalo breaking up sheep formations.

On the way home just below Paso Robles, I picked up a homeless hitchhiker who’s sign claimed he was on his way to San Pedro. He didn’t seem to like my hat very much and asked to be let out on the shoulder of the 101 after just three exits.

We had our local butcher make loads of bratwurst, hot Italian and sweet Italian sausage. We were able to force our neighbors to consume excessive amounts of pork and guarantee that the carnivorous members of our nuclear family fed almost exclusively on the other white meat for a week before returning to our plant-based diet.

These are the days.