The Crested Caracara is a member of the falcon family. It feeds on snakes, lizards, and other live prey, but it will also eat carrion.
Referred to as the "Mexican Eagle", it is a magnificent bird with regal plumage and a daunting appearance.
The ranch hand killed a doe last night and left the "guts" on the ground in the pasture. Dawn this morning found two mexican eagles feasting on the protein for breakfast.
No additional venison was added to the freezer this morn, but a visit by the eagles on our beloved ranch made the morning ever the more special.
Just one of a thousand special moments at a special place. Thank you oh Lord and Savior for these our many blessings.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Friday, November 13, 2009
A Tin Star Ranch Morning
Imagine pulling processed cotton bolls apart until they are wispy strings of white fluff.
Use your palette of colors to gently blend in every shade of pink one could conceive.
Feel total stillness, complete silence, and a light mist on the black broccoli shapes of a forest of live oaks.
Gently ease the morning sun from its slumber toward only the whispered hint of dawn.
Such was the sky on the Tin Star Ranch this morn as the ole ranch hand relaxed in the hunting blind.
Ya gotta love it!
Use your palette of colors to gently blend in every shade of pink one could conceive.
Feel total stillness, complete silence, and a light mist on the black broccoli shapes of a forest of live oaks.
Gently ease the morning sun from its slumber toward only the whispered hint of dawn.
Such was the sky on the Tin Star Ranch this morn as the ole ranch hand relaxed in the hunting blind.
Ya gotta love it!
Sunday, November 8, 2009
FOG
"The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits on its haunches, and then moves on." (Carl Sandburg)
Today silently eased into being with a cool blanket of moisture laden air gently enveloping the Tin Star Ranch.
As the dawn mused its wakening call, swirls of ghostly miasma hauntingly entwined arms with branches of the equally silent, but forgiving oaks.
There was no sound and no measurable movement of air, yet the eeriness of the moment was complemented by the beauty unfolding.
Inevitably, there are so many things associated with deer hunting which have no relationship to harvesting game.
Such was the ranch hand's pleasure today while sojourning in the ubiquitous "hunting blind".
Today silently eased into being with a cool blanket of moisture laden air gently enveloping the Tin Star Ranch.
As the dawn mused its wakening call, swirls of ghostly miasma hauntingly entwined arms with branches of the equally silent, but forgiving oaks.
There was no sound and no measurable movement of air, yet the eeriness of the moment was complemented by the beauty unfolding.
Inevitably, there are so many things associated with deer hunting which have no relationship to harvesting game.
Such was the ranch hand's pleasure today while sojourning in the ubiquitous "hunting blind".
Saturday, November 7, 2009
River Bottom Alarm Clocks
The Tin Star started opening day of the 2009 deer season in fine form. At 61 degrees with the hint of fog in the air and a light breeze in the trees, there was promise of interesting things to come.
The predawn stillness found the deer camera at the feeder busily popping its flash to allow illumination of ????? feeding on the dried corn kernels. Approaching dawn finally allowed sufficient ambient light to see a extraordinary size doe busily ingesting its protein breakfast.
Just as ole Sol began to cogitate eye peeking over the east horizon, a large flock of turkeys came off their overnight roost on the nearby San Gabriel river and began to trumpet their joy at being alive another day. One throaty "gobble" after another wafted with the pureness of nature's "wake up" alarm.
As the morn passed, a flock of maybe 25 crows began to circle the corn while screeching mocking taunts as to which would first sample the yellow feast around the feeder. Suddenly without warning, a hawk swooped into their midst as if to declare his/her defiance of their superior numbers. The crows went nuts....and if one could interpret their avian indignation...it would surely approximate the human equivalent of "HOLY SHIT!"
Things eventually settled down, but the hawk continued for a spell to glide thru the trees while loudly whistling his paean of triumph over the ebony marauders.
About 8:15A, the ole ranch hand was about ready to close the chapter on another opening morning when my river bottom alarm clocks began to filter from the surrounding brush toward the beckoning deer feeder manna.
Opportunity offered became "opportunity" taken as the ole fat boy leveled his newly acquired 7mm-08 downrange and let loose with one them lead lined sofa piller eliminators. Scratch one Rio Grande genre turkey.
Dang if ALL that herd of grasshopper wranglers didn't decide to hang round for the funeral? Brother opportunity whispered in the ear of the wannabe Daniel Boone again and round "two" planted ole gobblewski right where it stood.
Awesome morning...soul satisfying outdoor experience....and fresh meat for the table. Only way to top this is if the beautiful bride volunteers to dress out the groceries....yeah right!
The predawn stillness found the deer camera at the feeder busily popping its flash to allow illumination of ????? feeding on the dried corn kernels. Approaching dawn finally allowed sufficient ambient light to see a extraordinary size doe busily ingesting its protein breakfast.
Just as ole Sol began to cogitate eye peeking over the east horizon, a large flock of turkeys came off their overnight roost on the nearby San Gabriel river and began to trumpet their joy at being alive another day. One throaty "gobble" after another wafted with the pureness of nature's "wake up" alarm.
As the morn passed, a flock of maybe 25 crows began to circle the corn while screeching mocking taunts as to which would first sample the yellow feast around the feeder. Suddenly without warning, a hawk swooped into their midst as if to declare his/her defiance of their superior numbers. The crows went nuts....and if one could interpret their avian indignation...it would surely approximate the human equivalent of "HOLY SHIT!"
Things eventually settled down, but the hawk continued for a spell to glide thru the trees while loudly whistling his paean of triumph over the ebony marauders.
About 8:15A, the ole ranch hand was about ready to close the chapter on another opening morning when my river bottom alarm clocks began to filter from the surrounding brush toward the beckoning deer feeder manna.
Opportunity offered became "opportunity" taken as the ole fat boy leveled his newly acquired 7mm-08 downrange and let loose with one them lead lined sofa piller eliminators. Scratch one Rio Grande genre turkey.
Dang if ALL that herd of grasshopper wranglers didn't decide to hang round for the funeral? Brother opportunity whispered in the ear of the wannabe Daniel Boone again and round "two" planted ole gobblewski right where it stood.
Awesome morning...soul satisfying outdoor experience....and fresh meat for the table. Only way to top this is if the beautiful bride volunteers to dress out the groceries....yeah right!
Monday, November 2, 2009
COURTSHIP
The "rut" is the mating season for deer. The males will often rub their antlers on trees or shrubs, fight with each other, wallow in the mud or dust, and herd does that are in estrus.
A plainer explanation is that the bucks just go crazy. Normally cautious, they charge back and forth with a singular focus on the female of the species. Passing their own unique genetic DNA takes precedence over food, hunter bullets, or whatever.
This dawn on the Tin Star Ranch found four bucks and two does in the back pasture. The spike and the four point alternated between jousting with their immature horns and watching the "big boys" chase the does.
The "big boys" were two true wall hangers. Each sported eight long points of sharp protein enriched antler and a snoot full of testosterone fueled energy.
The season is six days away. Given the pace of this morning's courtship dance, these guys will be skinny rags by opening day if they don't slow down a bit?
A plainer explanation is that the bucks just go crazy. Normally cautious, they charge back and forth with a singular focus on the female of the species. Passing their own unique genetic DNA takes precedence over food, hunter bullets, or whatever.
This dawn on the Tin Star Ranch found four bucks and two does in the back pasture. The spike and the four point alternated between jousting with their immature horns and watching the "big boys" chase the does.
The "big boys" were two true wall hangers. Each sported eight long points of sharp protein enriched antler and a snoot full of testosterone fueled energy.
The season is six days away. Given the pace of this morning's courtship dance, these guys will be skinny rags by opening day if they don't slow down a bit?
Sunday, November 1, 2009
SATISFACTION
The Tin Star Ranch has a physical beauty that is beyond compare with any lush garden one could imagine.
Looking past the visual beauty of the ranch hand's abode, it is inevitable that the calming blanket of silence slows the pulse to that of complete tranquility.
There is no movement except for the wind blown flora and parade of a myriad of animals.
To merely be still and absorb the peace and pace is a balm that no Rx could provide.
Thank you, my Lord and Savior, for bringing me to the Eden that has no compare and for it's soul healing blanket of warmth, comfort, and satisfaction.
Looking past the visual beauty of the ranch hand's abode, it is inevitable that the calming blanket of silence slows the pulse to that of complete tranquility.
There is no movement except for the wind blown flora and parade of a myriad of animals.
To merely be still and absorb the peace and pace is a balm that no Rx could provide.
Thank you, my Lord and Savior, for bringing me to the Eden that has no compare and for it's soul healing blanket of warmth, comfort, and satisfaction.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Youthful Passion
Recapturing youthful passions is a wishful quest at best.
There was a time that the ranch hand loved fishing more than any thing one could imagine. Carefree days spent at water's edge oblivious to the woes of the world.
Regretfully, the passage of time evolved priorities and interests to other less focused areas of trivial pursuit.
In the last year, the pond on the Tin Star was deepened and reshaped to await the Lord's blessing of bountiful rain. That blessing has occurred over the last month and the ole waterin' hole is energetically running over the spillway like a schoolchild fleeing to summer vacation.
Come the spring, life will be added to this adventure with the addition of catfish, bream, and whatever from the local fish farm.
Oh that the long lost passion of fishing known in the days as a yonker could be recaptured...surely that magic for the ole fat boy is but a hook, line, and grasshopper away?
There was a time that the ranch hand loved fishing more than any thing one could imagine. Carefree days spent at water's edge oblivious to the woes of the world.
Regretfully, the passage of time evolved priorities and interests to other less focused areas of trivial pursuit.
In the last year, the pond on the Tin Star was deepened and reshaped to await the Lord's blessing of bountiful rain. That blessing has occurred over the last month and the ole waterin' hole is energetically running over the spillway like a schoolchild fleeing to summer vacation.
Come the spring, life will be added to this adventure with the addition of catfish, bream, and whatever from the local fish farm.
Oh that the long lost passion of fishing known in the days as a yonker could be recaptured...surely that magic for the ole fat boy is but a hook, line, and grasshopper away?
Monday, October 26, 2009
Warrior Legacy
The Tin Star Ranch continued its legacy as a hallowed battle ground this wet October day.
Despite the pasture bog created by days of rain, two combatants squared off to commence the ancient ritual of antler jousts.
The heavier of the two enjoyed a weight advantage, eight sharp points of protein enriched horns, and confidence built on the experience of past endeavors.
The slender six point buck eagerly welcomed the coming challenge, secure in his youthful ignorance of the improbable "mountain" he was about to ascend. Simply stated, testosterone fueled his courage while genetics mapped his strategy, but his bravado was about to write a check his butt couldn't cash.
Head to head with their paws churning the soggy turf, the two forest warriors locked horns, pushed, shoved, and gouged repeatedly while searching for the advantage to vanquish the opponent.
Inevitably, the youngun' had enough spirit, but the old guy had the guile and physical skills to prevail.
Such is life.
Despite the pasture bog created by days of rain, two combatants squared off to commence the ancient ritual of antler jousts.
The heavier of the two enjoyed a weight advantage, eight sharp points of protein enriched horns, and confidence built on the experience of past endeavors.
The slender six point buck eagerly welcomed the coming challenge, secure in his youthful ignorance of the improbable "mountain" he was about to ascend. Simply stated, testosterone fueled his courage while genetics mapped his strategy, but his bravado was about to write a check his butt couldn't cash.
Head to head with their paws churning the soggy turf, the two forest warriors locked horns, pushed, shoved, and gouged repeatedly while searching for the advantage to vanquish the opponent.
Inevitably, the youngun' had enough spirit, but the old guy had the guile and physical skills to prevail.
Such is life.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
GLADIATORS
The rising sun provided a crisp contrast to the chill in the air as the post dawn battle raged this fine morning.
Genetically inspired by decades of combat, the participants fought without a conscious cause. Neither anger nor coveted prize drove their fierce charges. They eagerly marshaled strength to vanquish their opponent because it has always been so.
These warriors were young in years, but none the less daring in their chosen quest. Thrusts, parries, mocking moves, and all out charges across the turf of the battleground ruled the moment.
And just as quickly, the pair amiably retired to their chosen repast and side by side mused as to the quality of their yellow corn breakfast.
The casual stance of the four point implied his belief in established supremacy, while the cocky sidelong glance of the spike promised future battle.
Such has it always been in nature's natural selection process for future generation sires on the Tin Star Ranch.
Genetically inspired by decades of combat, the participants fought without a conscious cause. Neither anger nor coveted prize drove their fierce charges. They eagerly marshaled strength to vanquish their opponent because it has always been so.
These warriors were young in years, but none the less daring in their chosen quest. Thrusts, parries, mocking moves, and all out charges across the turf of the battleground ruled the moment.
And just as quickly, the pair amiably retired to their chosen repast and side by side mused as to the quality of their yellow corn breakfast.
The casual stance of the four point implied his belief in established supremacy, while the cocky sidelong glance of the spike promised future battle.
Such has it always been in nature's natural selection process for future generation sires on the Tin Star Ranch.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
THE BARITONE
With sincere apologies to the ladies, there is something about the bond between a man and his tractor that few can fathom.
Ole Big Dawg (the ranch hand's Kubota) hit 300 hours recently and thus needed "servicing". Yeah, crawl around on the floor of the barn to change the engine oil, grease the fittings, and generally adjust the various "stuff". All hands on, all DIRTY-GREASY....and just plain soul satisfying (even for an old fat boy)?
The power and music that puppy makes when working is more than worth any "inconvenience" in its care and maintenance. It is a tried, true, and trusted friend. It is a faithful and always available tool.
The only missing element of this "dream come true" is if Daddy could be here to enjoy ole Big Dawg with me.
I miss Dad every day and can't help but think he grins every time I fire up my ole orange tractor with its diesel baritone voice.
Ole Big Dawg (the ranch hand's Kubota) hit 300 hours recently and thus needed "servicing". Yeah, crawl around on the floor of the barn to change the engine oil, grease the fittings, and generally adjust the various "stuff". All hands on, all DIRTY-GREASY....and just plain soul satisfying (even for an old fat boy)?
The power and music that puppy makes when working is more than worth any "inconvenience" in its care and maintenance. It is a tried, true, and trusted friend. It is a faithful and always available tool.
The only missing element of this "dream come true" is if Daddy could be here to enjoy ole Big Dawg with me.
I miss Dad every day and can't help but think he grins every time I fire up my ole orange tractor with its diesel baritone voice.
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