Buffalo Hunters casting bullets? Fact or fiction.

[waksupi]

Well, like a lot of threads that I've read on here and Shooters over the years, this one has finally come full circle. Now we just have to separate the fact from the fiction.

The story about all the pipes freezing in the hospital makes me think of my favorite Ace Reid "Cowpokes" cartoon. Two cowboys are saddling their horses in snow that is chest deep and you can tell the wind is blowing to beat hell. One looks at the other and says "Man, I'll bet its cold in Amarillo!".

The other story that makes me think of is about one pen rider in a feedyard riding up to another. "Hey, do me a favor and pull the hood of my jacket up over my head", he says to his cohort. "Its already there", his friend replies. "Damn, I was afraid of that", says the first pen rider.

If you can stay out of the wind in this country, the cold isn't too bad. I've been out when it was 6 degrees and it really wasn't that bad. However, when I stepped out into the wind it was so cold that it made me want to scream. I drew in to let out a good yell, and it was so cold that I couldn't.

That should get the pump primed with this crew to get some good windies going about how cold it was when they walked to school uphill both ways 5 miles in the snow, just so they could meet up with their friends to band together so the wolves didn't eat them so they could finish the hard part of the journey.

Good start there, Tex.
I figured out years ago, there was something seriously wrong with me. For some reason, as miserable as it was, I enjoyed feeding cattle out on the plains in the winter. It could be minus 35 F, wind blowing like there was nothing to stop it. The cold was cutting through a person like an icy knife, and if you didn't have a scarf over your mouth, you couldn't breath, or if you did , you would have frost bit lungs in a few minutes. But I did like it. I think the reason was, I knew I, that hay, and what fresh water I could keep broken loose for them for an hour or so, was the only thing that was keeping them alive. Some times you would see one with ears, or a tail frozen off. Some times an udder.
Winter can be tough. Those who haven't been out keeping things alive in it, don't realise it's full danger. I'm glad my intelligence level raised a couple points, and I don't cowboy anymore.
But, I do miss it.

[Txredraider]

Good start there, Tex.
Some times you would see one with ears, or a tail frozen off. Some times an udder.
Winter can be tough. Those who haven't been out keeping things alive in it, don't realise it's full danger. I'm glad my intelligence level raised a couple points, and I don't cowboy anymore.
But, I do miss it.

Waksupi,

I'm pretty sure that when entire pieces freeze off of your domesticated animals that the man upstairs is trying to tell you that folks ain't supposed to live that far north!

I went to North Dakota in mid spring one year and was given a tour of the ND State University Beef facility. As we drove around (too damn cold for this Texas boy to be out in that weather), I watched someone with a front end loader scattering a nice looking round bale of hay to hell and gone. All I could think of was the beating my daddy would have given me for such an action. My guide must have seen the look on my face and he was kind enough to explain to me that if they didn't do that fairly regularly to allow the animals somewhere to "nest", the cattle wouldn't be able to keep from freezing to death.

I've never been up to that Wyoming/Montana/Idaho country, but would love to see it some day. However, rest assured that it will be during the balmy days of summer before you have to worry about an infestation of Texans. Heck, if you had milder weather like Colorado, you'd probably hate Texans as much as they do!

There is something about caring for and raising animals that is difficult to describe to those who haven't done it. It isn't the glamor, that wears pretty thin during triple or single digit heat, hailstorms, and Brahman cattle. It is something about the balance between you and the animals. Looking at a 1200 pound cow, you'd never think she needed your help for anything, but when she needs it, she needs it badly. However, don't mistake need for gratitude, as animals have very little of that to give you. I've seen a lot of folks that didn't grow up in that lifestyle think that once they pulled a calf or lanced an edema that the animal would appreciate them. That's always good for a chuckle, from a safe distance of course. The real reward comes from inside yourself, the glow of a difficult piece of work done well.

What I just wrote was tough talk from a man who hasn't had any animals to take care of in about 5 years, but with the move we're making I'll remedy that somehow in the not-too-distant future, but on a very limited scale.

[BerdanIII]

You Texas boys should know about Ft. Griffin out near Albany; the fort was founded primarily to keep the hide hunters out of trouble while they shot out the Southern Herd. Trees are all over the place down there, especially along the bottoms. No need for burning buffler poop.

[montana_charlie]

if they didn't do that fairly regularly to allow the animals somewhere to "nest", the cattle wouldn't be able to keep from freezing to death.

We moved to Montana back in '76, and over the years have learned much about existence in a cold climate. One of those things is that...once our ground freezes, it never thaws out until around late April.

It was about 15 years ago that we started keeping cattle. Our closest neighbor (Paul) is a native, and was raised on the place he now runs. And, it is from his herd of fancy-quality Polled Herefords that we buy our cows.
When we bought our first set of heifers from him he had his doubts that this 'Air Force retiree', this 'guy from town', this 'transplanted Texan' could keep them alive long enough to make a calf crop the following summer...especially with a Montana winter to get through, first.
I was gambling that the 10 years of experience I had picked up from working (off and on - a few days at a time) at a large ranch to the east would be enough to get me going.

One day during our fourth or fifth year in cattle, Paul and I were out in the field, just chatting. The weather had just recently warmed up from a viciously cold spell. The chinook had been blowing hard for a few days, so all the snow was gone, and the temperature was up near 30, so (in the sunshine and all) it was pretty pleasant.

Paul was looking at my biggest Angus bull when he asked if I had bulls fertility checked every spring. I was surprised by the question, as I had never felt the need for that test. When I said so, and asked why he mentioned it, he said, "Well, I notice that you don't keep straw spread in the field for him, and he's laying out there now on frozen ground. If his nuts are froze, he won't make many calves next summer..."

As it happened, the animal had free access to a barn...which was kept bedded...and was laying outside because he wanted to, not because he had nowhere else to lay. But, I had never considered the fact that Paul had so subtly just taught me during that conversation.

I have learned that when Paul asks a question that seems to come from left field, I should never blow it off as 'just conversation'. Most usually he has an important tip for me...and he's too much of a gentleman to just come out and tell me where I'm going wrong. On the other hand, if he sees me following a program he is not familiar with, he's willing to learn a new trick...even if it comes from someone less experienced than himself.

Good neighbors are a treasure in any environment, but doubly valuable in a place where the weather can kill you (and your animals) if you are bothered by forgetfulness...or ignorance.
CM

[carpetman]

Montana Charlie--A texas fellow retired from the Air Force and moved to Montana to enjoy the easy life. He was gonna raise cows. No more setting the alarm clock,just sleep in and let the money roll in. He bought a small spread and 20 cows to start. He told his neighbor of his plan. His neighbor inquired where was his bull? Well he had forgotten about that small detail. His neighbor said well bring em to my place about 4AM tomorrow and you can use my bull. Well he reluctantly got up the next morning at 3:00 and loaded em up and went over---just getting up that one time wouldnt be so bad. When finished he asked his neighbor how would he know that it worked. Neighbor said if at 3AM tomorrow any that are standing up will need to come back and if they are laying down,it took. Well he got up at 3AM and all 20 were standing,so he loaded up and took em back to the neighbors bull. The neighbor gave him same instructions---check em at 3:00 in the morning. Next morning the guy hated to look out,so he asked his wife to look out and see if they were standing or laying down. She said you have 2 standing in the back of your pickup,17 standing in the trailer and one honking your pickup horn.

[montana_charlie]

...and the springs on my pickup have sagged ever since that day. I'm just glad it wasn't a full-growed Texas jackrabbit standing in the bed.

That thought comes to mind because it was just this mornin' that I saw old Whitey for the first time this year.
I was heading' down our driveway to carry some hay to the cows. Lookin' ahead, I seen ol' Whitey settin' in the gravel and wonderin' if I was gonna run him over.

Whitey is a varying hare (a close cousin of the jackrabbit) which turns white in the winter...whether there's any snow, or not.
He took up residence, four or five years back, in a little ten inch culvert that runs under our drive...that drains a low spot in our south pasture. Bein' as we've been havin' a drought for five years, I don't reckon ol' Whitey has ever had a problem with wet feet.
I only see him around in the wintertime, 'cause the lack of snow makes him stick out like a muskmelon in a basket of peaches.

Anyhow, I was in somethin' of a hurry to get my feedin' done, and I figgered Whitey would just hop off to one side and let me by. Well durned if he didn't take off straight down the drive like the Devil was shoppin' for rabbit stew.
I was some concerned he might get tangled up in the cattle guard where the drive meets the county road, but he sailed over it like his first name was Evel and his last name was too far back in the dust to matter.
Seein' him take off like that reminded me of a time when I was a boy, growin' up in the Texas Panhandle.

That was the year when Daddy was helpin' a young feller from Topeka who wanted to open a new feed and seed store in Childress. His name was Hinderager, and he had inherited a store of the same kind from his Pappy...when the old man got burned up by some frozen fire over near Muleshoe. I guess business had been good, so he wanted to expand into Texas.

He told Daddy he had done a 'marketing study' by taking out a two-dollar ad in the classified section of the Fort Worth Star-Telegram which read, "I'd purely love to open a new feed and seed store in Texas. Which community would like to have the extra business?"
Daddy thought it was right neighborly of him to give folks a choice without just bargin' in, and the town council in Childress was the only bunch that wrote back.
So, to help him out, Daddy agreed to rent a truck and carry a set of scales from the train depot in Amarillo on over to Childress...and he asked if I wanted to go along!

Now, that had the makins' of a real trip! We would have to drive plumb across the Panhandle to where the eastern border hit the Red River. It was so dang far away, I wondered if we needed passports to make the trip. Daddy said no, but we prob'ly oughta pack along a lunch.

The old flatbed truck was a '49 Ford with one of those tiny little cabs and a sunvisor stickin' out over top of the windshield. The radiator leaked some, so I had a milkpail of water between my feet to top it up every fifty miles or so.
The scales were set right over the rear axle, and we had pumped in an extra ten pounds into each tire to carry the weight. It wasn't long before we had left town behind us and were rollin' high, wide, and handsome though some country this boy had never seen.

Daddy was commentin' on the looks of livestock we passed, and pointin' out wildflowers that were new to me when he stopped so sudden...I thought he'd swallered his chaw. Lookin' off to his left, and in a voice that was almost reverent, he allowed, real calm-like, "Son, that might the biggest jackrabbit in Texas."

Now, even a tenderfoot from Baltimore would know that the biggest jackrabbit in Texas would jest nacherly be the biggest jackrabbit in the world, so I was strainin' hard to git a look.
Daddy, bein' a big man, had the side window pretty well covered up, so I couldn't hardly peek past him. Then he said, "It looks like that skimmer is gonna jump the road right in front of us!' I was trying so hard to scrunch down to see out from under that danged sunvisor that I kicked over the bucket of radiator water just as Daddy said, "Look out the back winder...he'll pass right over us!"

Well, the little ol' rear window in those old trucks was about the size of a license plate, so all I did was nearly bust my nose. I can't say I ever saw one hair of that rabbit 'cause he cleared the ditch and lit in a heavy stand of mesquite jest as my eyes started to water. I was sure disappointed...but real excited about being able to claim that we (Daddy and me) seen the biggest jackrabbit in Texas!

That was when Daddy stuck a pin in my bubble. He said that since I hadn't actually seen that bunny, I wasn't to go tellin' folks that I did. He reminded me, for the eleven hundreth time, never to brag just to make other folks feel small, and never to claim somethin' which wasn't actual fact.

Well, I was certainly 'shamed of myself for forgettin' what Daddy had been teachin' Patrick and me since we got borned. I explained, real simple-like, what it was that I could see out of that back window, and asked Daddy if it was OK to tell folks about that little bit. He reckoned that it might be worth tellin'...so I'll pass it on to y'all.

While it's true that I never saw the biggest jackrabbit in Texas, which also had to be the biggest jackrabbit in the world, there is one thing you can believe.

When that hopper passed over our old truck, on his way to the Devils stewpot (I hope), his shadow fell across those scales we were haulin'...and IT weighed forty-two pounds!

Charlie Maxwell

[wills]

Wills--Ice fishing??? I was speaking of the hooks used to carry a block of ice.

Ray, I figured you meant hooks for people fishing for ice. Now if you’re referring to those thingamabobs people used to use to carry ice around



I would have called those ice tongs.

Perhaps it has to do with the fact you live on the Middle Concho, and only the North Concho gets cold enough that you can catch ice.

[waksupi]

Where did I leave my goldurned hip boots?....

[wills]

Where did I leave my goldurned hip boots?....

Been raining up there?

[carpetman]

Wills---I think ice tongs are those little jobber doo's you use to pluck an ice cube--one hand operation. I always heard the things you showed called ice hooks. Now a hook for fishing for ice,what would you use for bait?

[Txredraider]

Wills---I think ice tongs are those little jobber doo's you use to pluck an ice cube--one hand operation. I always heard the things you showed called ice hooks. Now a hook for fishing for ice,what would you use for bait?

Well, if you wanted to catch a big'un, you could use Hillary Clinton's heart. I'd advise heavy tackle for that particular bait.

[wills]

Wills---I think ice tongs are those little jobber doo's you use to pluck an ice cube--one hand operation. I always heard the things you showed called ice hooks. Now a hook for fishing for ice,what would you use for bait?

Ice worms
http://www.nichols.edu/departments/glacier/iceworm.htm

[carpetman]

Harry Eales---You started this mess---look how many posts. I hate to say it,but I think you were confused. It wasn't you can't cast bullets with buffalo dung,it was you can't roller skate in a buffalo herd. Close but no cigar---well I take that back there was one got into the thread.

[wills]

Harry Eales---You started this mess---look how many posts. I hate to say it,but I think you were confused. It wasn't you can't cast bullets with buffalo dung,it was you can't roller skate in a buffalo herd. Close but no cigar---well I take that back there was one got into the thread.

No,the cigar was in
http://castboolits.gunloads.com/show...hlight=turrent

There used to be a Harry Earls in San angelo though.

[waksupi]

The Ballad of the Ice-Worm Cocktail
by Robert W. Service


To Dawson Town came Percy Brown from London on the Thames.
A pane of glass was in his eye, and stockings on his sterns.
Upon the shoulder of his coat a leather pad he wore,
To rest his deadly rifle when it wasn't seeking gore;
The which it must have often been, for Major Percy Brown,
According to his story was a hunter of renown,
Who in the Murrumbidgee wilds had stalked the kangaroo
And killed the cassowary on the plains of Timbuctoo.
And now the Arctic fox he meant to follow to its lair,
And it was also his intent to beard the Artic hare...
Which facts concerning Major Brown I merely tell because
I fain would have you know him for the Nimrod that he was.

Now Skipper Grey and Deacon White were sitting in the shack,
And sampling of the whisky that pertained to Sheriff Black.
Said Skipper Grey: "I want to say a word about this Brown:
The piker's sticking out his chest as if he owned the town."
Said Sheriff Black: "he has no lack of frigorated cheek;
He called himself a Sourdough when he'd just been here a week."
Said Deacon White: "Methinks you're right, and so I have a plan
By which I hope to prove to-night the mettle of the man.
Just meet me where the hooch-bird sings, and though our ways be rude
We'll make a proper Sourdough of this Piccadilly dude."

Within the Malamute Saloon were gathered all the gang;
The fun was fast and furious, and the loud hooch-bird sang.
In fact the night's hilarity had almost reached its crown,
When into its storm-centre breezed the gallant Major Brown.
And at the apparation, whith its glass eye and plus-fours,
From fifty alcoholic throats responded fifty roars.
With shouts of stark amazement and with whoops of sheer delight,
They surged around the stranger, but the first was Deacon White.
"We welcome you," he cried aloud, "to this the Great White Land.
The Artic Brotherhood is proud to grip you by the hand.
Yea, sportsman of the bull-dog breed, from trails of far away,
To Yukoners this is indeed a memorable day.
Our jubilation to express, vocabularies fail...
Boys, hail the Great Cheechako!" And the boys responded: "Hail!"

"And now," continued Deacon White to blushing Major Brown,
"Behold assembled the eelight and cream of Dawson Town,
And one ambition fills their hearts and makes their bosoms glow -
They want to make you, honoured sir, a bony feed Sourdough.
The same, some say, is one who's seen the Yukon ice go out,
But most profound authorities the definition doubt,
And to the genial notion of this meeting, Major Brown,
A Sourdough is a guy who drinks ... an ice-worm cocktail down."

"By Gad!" responded Major Brown, "that's ripping, don't you know.
I've always felt I'd like to be a certified Sourdough.
And though I haven't any doubt your Winter's awf'ly nice,
Mayfair, I fear, may miss me ere the break-up of your ice.
Yet (pray excuse my ignorance of matters such as these)
A cocktail I can understand - but what's an ice-worm, please?"
Said Deacon White: "It is not strange that you should fail to know,
Since ice-worms are peculiar to the Mountain of Blue Snow.
Within the Polar rim it rears, a solitary peak,
And in the smoke of early Spring (a spectacle unique)
Like flame it leaps upon the sight and thrills you through and through,
For though its cone is piercing white, its base is blazing blue.
Yet all is clear as you draw near - for coyley peering out
Are hosts and hosts of tiny worms, each indigo of snout.
And as no nourishment they find, to keep themselves alive
They masticate each other's tails, till just the Tough survive.
Yet on this stern and Spartan fare so-rapidly they grow,
That some attain six inches by the melting of the snow.
Then when the tundra glows to green and ****** heads appear,
They burrow down and are not seen until another year."

"A toughish yarn," laughed Major Brown, "as well you may admit.
I'd like to see this little beast before I swallow it."
"'Tis easy done," said Deacon White, "Ho! Barman, haste and bring
Us forth some pickled ice-worms of the vintage of last Spring."
But sadly still was Barman Bill, then sighed as one bereft:
"There's been a run on cocktails, Boss; there ain't an ice-worm left.
Yet wait . . . By gosh! it seems to me that some of extra size
Were picked and put away to show the scientific guys."
Then deeply in a drawer he sought, and there he found a jar,
The which with due and proper pride he put upon the bar;
And in it, wreathed in queasy rings, or rolled into a ball,
A score of grey and greasy things, were drowned in alcohol.
Their bellies were a bilious blue, their eyes a bulbous red;
Their back were grey, and gross were they, and hideous of head.
And when with gusto and a fork the barman speared one out,
It must have gone four inches from its tail-tip to its snout.
Cried Deacon White with deep delight: "Say, isn't that a beaut?"
"I think it is," sniffed Major Brown, "a most disgustin' brute.
Its very sight gives me the pip. I'll bet my bally hat,
You're only spoofin' me, old chap. You'll never swallow that."
"The hell I won't!" said Deacon White. "Hey! Bill, that fellows fine.
Fix up four ice-worm cocktails, and just put that wop in mine."

[waksupi]

So Barman Bill got busy, and with sacerdotal air
His art's supreme achievement he proceeded to prepare.
His silver cups, like sickle moon, went waving to and fro,
And four celestial cocktails soon were shining in a row.
And in the starry depths of each, artistically piled,
A fat and juicy ice-worm raised its mottled mug and smiled.
Then closer pressed the peering crown, suspended was the fun,
As Skipper Grey in courteous way said: "Stranger, please take one."
But with a gesture of disgust the Major shook his head.
"You can't bluff me. You'll never drink that gastly thing," he said.
"You'll see all right," said Deacon White, and held his cocktail high,
Till its ice-worm seemed to wiggle, and to wink a wicked eye.
Then Skipper Grey and Sheriff Black each lifted up a glass,
While through the tense and quiet crown a tremor seemed to pass.
"Drink, Stranger, drink," boomed Deacon White. "proclaim you're of the best,
A doughty Sourdough who has passed the Ice-worm Cocktail Test."
And at these words, with all eyes fixed on gaping Major Brown,
Like a libation to the gods, each dashed his cocktail down.
The Major gasped with horror as the trio smacked their lips.
He twiddled at his eye-glass with unsteady finger-tips.
Into his starry cocktail with a look of woe he peered,
And its ice-worm, to his thinking, mosy incontinently leered.
Yet on him were a hundred eyes, though no one spoke aloud,
For hushed with expectation was the waiting, watching crowd.
The Major's fumbling hand went forth - the gang prepared to cheer;
The Major's falt'ring hand went back, the mob prepared to jeer,
The Major gripped his gleaming galss and laid it to his lips,
And as despairfully he took some nauseated sips,
From out its coil of crapulence the ice-worm raised its head,
Its muzzle was a murky blue, its eyes a ruby red.
And then a roughneck bellowed fourth: "This stiff comes here and struts,
As if he bought the blasted North - jest let him show his guts."
And with a roar the mob proclaimed: "Cheechako, Major Brown,
Reveal that you're of Sourdough stuff, and drink your cocktail down."

The Major took another look, then quickly closed his eyes,
For even as he raised his glass he felt his gorge arise.
Aye, even though his sight was sealed, in fancy he could see
That grey and greasy thing that reared and sneered in mockery.
Yet roung him ringed the callous crowd - and how they seemed to gloat!
It must be done . . . He swallowed hard . . . The brute was at his throat.
He choked. . . he gulped . . . Thank God! at last he'd got the horror down.
The from the crown went up a roar: "Hooray for Sourdough Brown!"
With shouts they raised him shoulder high, and gave a rousing cheer,
But though they praised him to the sky the Major did not hear.
Amid their demonstrative glee delight he seemed to lack;
Indeed it almost seemed that he - was "keeping something back."
A clammy sweat was on his brow, and pallid as a sheet:
"I feel I must be going now," he'd plaintively repeat.
Aye, though with drinks and smokes galore, they tempted him to stay,
With sudden bolt he gained the door, and made his get-away.

And ere next night his story was the talk of Dawson Town,
But gone and reft of glory was the wrathful Major Brown;
For that ice-worm (so they told him) of such formidable size
Was - a stick of stained spaghetti with two red ink spots for eyes.

[Harry Eales]

Harry Eales---You started this mess---look how many posts. I hate to say it,but I think you were confused. It wasn't you can't cast bullets with buffalo dung,it was you can't roller skate in a buffalo herd. Close but no cigar---well I take that back there was one got into the thread.

Hey Carpetman,

All I asked was if it was possible to melt lead using just Buffalo Chips. Not having them available in England, I couldn't experiment to find out myself.

I didn't realise it would turn into a discourse of how folks would preserve winter ice for their summer evening Martini drinks back in the 1800's, cattle breeding or the weather in various States of the Union. Lol.

However, it has been fun reading all the 'posts'

Harry

[ron brooks]

Y'all ever wonder why there ain't no rocks on the South Plains or the Pandhandle? The wind done blown them all away.

You have to be careful of chrono rounds out here too. If you shoot into or against the wind you have to add or subtract the WVF (Wind Velocity Factor) other wise your data is skewed and of no practical use.

Ron

[sundog]

Ron, yea, and published wind drift tables are of little use. They all seem to stop at about 30 mph... sundog

[carpetman]

I was driving along this morning and suddenly found myself in a big state of confusion. A few days ago I wouldn't have been confused but in view of recent education,I realized I was confused. Seems as though an animal had crossed in front of me and now,I don't know if it was a rabbit,a hare or a bunny---was pretty sure it wasn't a buffalo or would that be a bison? I did wonder if it was born helpless or able to take care of itself. I also wondered if it lived in a burrow or above ground.(I really didn't think a burrow as it didn't seem to be from New York). I didnt have a clue about any of these things as I have no hare raising experience. But unbeknownst to me at the time,that was all about to change. I decided being as how I had my shotgun,I'd go make dinner out of whatever it might be. So I got out of my pickup,got my shotgun and began my stalk. Got right out in the middle of a big field and I heard a noise. Looked around and here was a great big ol gentleman cow a taking a bead at me. What to do? I looked around and this being plains country,no trees,exceptin one. There stood a lone tihsllub tree. I didn't have time to climb it,that gentleman cow was getting closer and had a full head of steam. This tihsllub tree had one branch about 12 foot high. So I ran and jumped for it and ofcourse missed it. But I lucked out and caught it on the way back down. Here I was in the tree and the gentleman cow was a pawing and bellering and stomping the ground. Just as I thought I was comfortable,I looked around and there was a huge wildcat---in the same tree. What to do? I had already quit worrying about whether my quarry was a hare,rabbit or whatever. Didn't matter,he was long gone. To compound my complicated situation,I only had one hull for my shotgun. So I pondered things over a might in my head. Here I was up a tree with a wildcat,mad raging gentleman cow on the ground and I only had one hull. So I raised up and shot the wildcat right between the eyes. I figured I'd shoot the bull when I posted this.