Negligent would be an understatement

I just realized I hadn't posted anything, not one word, since Sept 2. Ok, I actually realized it a month ago but just got around to doing something about it today. It's not like nothing's been going on or so much has been going on that I haven't had time to talk about it. Lots has been going on and I have had time to talk about it, I just spent that time doing something else.

So here's the last 3 months in review....

Dove Season(s)

The first dove season was the best we've had in years. My freezer is slap full of birds, partly due to more targets and partly due to me shooting better than the recent norm. Over the summer I did a little work on my gun mount (thanks for the tip Chris Batha), mounting in front of a mirror about 100x a day. It's easier than it sounds and it's made a world of difference.

We're not really sure why there were so many more birds, but our best guess is that dry conditions over the summer ruined a lot of corn crops, leaving fewer places for the dove to eat. Whatever the reason, we had numbers every time we went into the field and even when only a few of us showed, we figured out how to put away a limit.

Shrinks the playing field considerably

The second season was a bust. Completely. Many of you heard about the Biblical rains we had in early October, but what didn't make the news was the 3+ inches we got every week after that for the next month. By the time the second season opened the weekend before Thanksgiving the ground was soggy and the feed was rotten. Any bird that came through here slowed down long enough to see that he was gonna get real hungry if he stopped.

It's dried out some and we have a nice millet field that hasn't been cut yet, so there's still hope for the third season.

The Great Bobwhite Revival

I keep promising to post an update on this, and I've been waiting until we had a little more publicly available info in case anyone's curious, but that's been slow in coming so I'm gonna talk about it anyway. This little project now has an official name (The SC Bobwhite Initiative), a logo (I'm not supposed to share that yet), a group of 24 state and federal organizations participating, and 4 focus areas where work is under way.

To say I'm excited about this is putting it mildly.  We've been working on it for 4-5 years and to see it finally take flight is both a relief and a realization that now the hard work begins. The enthusiasm has been overwhelming, and I'm pretty optimistic.

Website should be active before Christmas (fingers crossed) and I'll post a link when it is.

About that pup...

Holy cow I'd forgotten what it was like to have a bird dog pup around the house. Even though my backyard looks like the moon it's been a joy. He spent 6 weeks with the trainer letting the genes bloom and his bloodlines are no joke. 

He'll get steadied next spring and summer and right now we're just gonna look for birds. The drive is astounding and the endurance for an 8 month old is unbelievable. He's fine with the gun and will even hold a point for a little while. Smarter than a 4th grader, too. Should be a fun season.

Shot a deer last week. First time I'd been in the stand all season and 30 mins after I sat down they walked out. Every now and then I get lucky like that. I'm not a trophy deer hunter, just meat for the freezer and that means does are top of the list. This was a nice one, almost 100 lbs. 

I've been much more productive with the camera than the pen and some of that work is on the Instagram account (@spentcartridge). Even had a shot in the Orvis Digital Hunting Book (p43) a few months ago. Having a lot of fun with that. Stay tuned.

Beating the heat (or trying)

We finally got a break from the oppressive heat and humidity today, but the last month or so has been almost unbearable. A few weeks ago I asked my wife how she'd feel about moving to Canada. "Montana," she said, "but not Canada." We'll see.

The only time we can get out and run is right around sunrise, so the dogs and I have been hopping over to the game management land not far from the house.  There aren't any quail, just doves and deer and rabbits and hogs and lots of space to run. It's fun for an hour or so until the temp starts rising.

Show me how this is done

Are those dove on that wire?

Profilin'

Even these don't beat the heat

 

You coming?

I was proud until I realized this was a deer turd

Field mice. Again.

If we can just get this look on birds someday...

It's something to do until the real seasons arrive. That and try to grow more bobwhites. Stay tuned for an update on our Great Bobwhite Revival in a couple of weeks. Things are picking up steam.

A Novel Idea

Got a news release from the NBCI this morning that's an encouraging sign of progress on the bobwhite front. The Wildlife and Hunting Heritage Conservation Council, a federally appointed group advising both the Dept of Interior and Dept of Agriculture, issued a statement saying that adopting the NBCI's approach would “proactively avert problems that have occurred with
other declining game bird species like Lesser Prairie-Chicken and Greater Sage-Grouse.” At last a voice of reason in DC.

The WHHCC is composed of the heads of several state and federal agencies and numerous non-profit conservation organizations. The acknowledgment of the problem (and solution) at this level is vital, and so is the realization that, had action been taken earlier, the current state of the prairie chicken and sage grouse might have been averted.

More from the release:

“…now is the time for federal actions to prevent future ‘listing anxiety’,” wrote John Tomke, council chairman. “Your departments have the opportunity to ensure the restoration of habitat for bobwhite quail, other declining grassland birds and pollinators on private croplands, rangelands and forest lands. In addition, many National Forests, National Parks, National Battlefields, Military Parks and National Wildlife Refuges are ideal places …”

With a bajillion dollar deficit and more fires than the surface of the sun, getting any proactive measures out of the government is difficult, but without a push from citizens and advisory councils it doesn't stand a chance. Find your way to push.

Full news release here.

Tennessee Red

It's not whisky, as far as I know, and the BBQ joint in Portland with that name closed last year. More on this in a bit.

There are a number of places around our state, mostly well off the beaten path and not well-publicized, where a few intrepid souls have done the hard work of making the land friendly to quail. Through many, many conversations with wildlife and forestry people I'm slowly learning each of them, and learning that they're mostly on the other side of the state. Lick Fork Lake is one of these.

Sunrise through the trees

Conflicting weekend schedules sometimes demand pre-dawn departures, which isn't the worst thing that can happen to a guy and his dog. Scent conditions are ripe in the early morning hours and the birds are out feeding, casting their airborne trail in broader paths.

Got one pinned

We pulled in around 8:15 and by 8:30 the dog was locked up on point. A single bird flushed, I knocked it down, and it vanished in a gulley.  We looked and sniffed and poked around for 15 minutes and never found it.

Back to work and pretty quickly the dog was on point again and another single got up. And I whiffed with both barrels. Bag still empty.

A few minutes later another point, this time on a pair. I knocked down the first and missed the easy double, but marked that first one well. When I picked it up I noticed how well-fed it felt, a hefty bird for this time of year. Looking more closely I saw that it wasn't exactly what I thought it was.

Not quite a wild bird

These are what we call Tennessee Reds, a strain of quail bred in captivity and preferred by some breeders because of their hardiness. The chest and head feathers are a rusty brown on the hens and a cotton-white patch dominates the throat. After another hour of hunting the area and not finding any more birds, I started piecing it together. Someone must have been working his dog and put these birds out to train with. They were all good fliers, good enough that I thought they were wild until I picked up this one. They'd obviously been out for a while, maybe since last fall, and whether these were the lone survivors of a larger group or the lone survivors of that training session I don't know, but they put a smile on my face for one morning. 

Premium

If you do anything long enough, eventually all of the pieces line up for a performance that you never thought possible. Chamberlain scores 100, Bo Jackson on a Monday night in '87, Tiger at Augusta ten years later. Sometimes things just click and then keep on clicking and you feel like you couldn't ruin it if you wanted to, so you revel in it knowing the next time will be a long way off, if ever.

Reports out of South Texas last fall were beyond encouraging. Factoring in the standard embellishment and overexcitement multiplier they still suggested a pretty good season, so I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a bit optimistic when I got the nod for an early January trip. I put off writing about it these last few weeks mainly to avoid sounding like a 7 yr old who's just spent a day with the Justice League, and I'm not sure I succeeded so just indulge me.

In quail hunting success is relative, geographically speaking. What passes for a good day here in SC would be considered somewhat of a disappointment in TX, so a good day in TX - and we're talking in terms of coveys found - is nearly unfathomable where I'm from. With the exception of one or two places where they take intensive management to a different level, and where I don't have hunting privileges, it just doesn't happen that you'll find 4-5 coveys an hour for as long as you choose to hunt. And just to be clear, I'm talking about wild birds.

What's truly surprising is that the only management done for these birds in TX is a little supplemental feeding on the roads during the season, and this is only to make them easier to find. The property is managed for trophy deer and the birds are simply a byproduct of proper cattle grazing and nature's benevolence.

Any day I can ride around big open country and find a few coveys of birds gets filed with the keepers. Any day I can find so many coveys that I stop counting gets its own file. Sure, after the first few coveys it's easy to keep up, but eventually you just lose yourself in finding the last bird someone shot or locating the dog on point. Each day I had to ask the handlers for the tally, which I've come to consider a good sign.

Without horses, GPS units for the dogs are a necessity.  You just can't see them even from the top of a rig, and once you get in the grass on foot they can disappear twenty yards in front of you. Every day we'd have a stretch when shooting singles or looking for dead birds that the handler would say "I got a point 100 yards that way" and we'd high-step it through the grass to another covey. This would happen three or four times before we'd decide to load up and head in another direction. It's the kind of shooting I've always read about and now through some strange combination of karma I'm the one telling the story.

I'd say it ruined me but that's not true. It's something close to the high water mark of my bird hunting adventures, no question, but I came home and loaded up my dog and went out looking for birds the next weekend.

Didn't find quite as many.

Cactus, Jack

I spent the better part of last week chasing birds in South TX, something I've been fortunate enough to do for the last few years at various times. This year stood apart as far as the quail are concerned (more on that later) and, unfortunately, for one other reason.

Walking after some singles I cut a corner a little too close and knew it immediately. The cactus drove through my pants just above my knee and left the spines in there when I lurched backward. The long ones have surprising penetration ability and the short ones are just plain aggravating to get out. I got them all out after several minutes of picking and pulling that also involved dropping my pants in the middle of a Texas pasture, but that was just the beginning.

Not this one, a bigger, angrier cousin.

T + 3 hrs - I start to notice some soreness in the knee.

T + 20 hrs - What the ???

T + 36 hrs - I need an aisle seat on the plane.

T + 48 hrs - Wonder what a torn meniscus feels like? Or a strained medial collateral cruciate patella femur thingy?

T + 72 hrs - This damn thing ain't gettin' any better.

T + 4 days - Stairs is another word for Bataan.

T + 6 days - Finally turning the corner.

Lessons learned? 1000 denier cordura is no match for this stuff.  Filson tin cloth might be but on most days it's too hot in my neck of the woods so I don't own a pair. After this run-in I may see what's on eBay, though. And in the future I'll be giving a wide berth to these green hornets. I'll try not to complain about briars any more.

Worth it for some of the best bird hunting I've ever had? Oh yeah.

One last post for 2014

The ink well has been running a little dry lately but through the wonder that is Craigslist I managed to pick up another media tool recently - a decent Canon dSLR that I've been having a little fun with. Photos below are from two recent excursions with the dog, one carrying a gun and another without.

We're not allowed to hunt in the national forest on Sundays, something I did for years until I learned about the rule. I always wondered why I never ran into anyone else. There's no rule against taking your dog for a walk, though.

Figures we'd stumble into a covey when I didn't have a gun on me. This photo tells the tale of just how fickle scent can be. When I rounded the corner and saw Wyatt on point, he was looking to the left, not the right as he is below. His head was gently drifting from side to side so I knew he didn't have the birds locked, but he wasn't coming off the point either. I stepped off the road toward him and the covey blew up about 3 yards off his tail, leaving him with the look below as they flew off.

I checked the wind and sure enough it was blowing left to right. My guess is the birds were feeding (it was about 4pm) and had just been in the area to the left. A few minutes after the flush the wind had shifted 180 degrees, so there's no telling what his nose picked up. I was extremely impressed he held point for as long as he did under those conditions.

This time of year you can occasionally find a few woodcock in the right places. They love the river bottoms and cane breaks and the shooting is usually pretty easy down there.

Woodcock like this...

...and love this

Well, we hunted the best spots and didn't move any so we eased on to higher ground to look for quail. It wasn't long before Wyatt went on point, at least I thought he was on point because he wasn't moving although I couldn't see him through the mess of young pine trees and saplings and briars and vines. I'm of the mind that unless it's dangerous you should always, always try to get to a dog on point. It just sends the wrong message if you wait for him to break or, God forbid, call him off.

A machete would have been highly useful as I pushed and clawed and bled my way through and after a few minutes I heard it, the chirp of a timberdoodle taking flight, and looked up just in time to see it float over the tops of the pines. Gun behind me, a shot was not a remote possibility. This routine repeated on a second bird. Eventually we escaped from the wooded prison and got two more flushes, the last of which actually presented a shot but the bird would have dropped right back in the middle of the trees and vines so I watched it sail off. Woodcock hunting.

Working the edge late in the day

Not all views are bad

Fungi

Apparently they're not too concerned about the rider.
I didn't see either of them.

Maybe this way..

End of the day

Counciled

This is what four years of work looks like:

It may not seem like much, but this is a huge step in restoring bobwhite populations in a place where there were once more quail hunters than deer or turkey hunters. It started with a few casual conversations back in 2011 that evolved into an appearance before the DNR's board of directors. A year later a finished plan was presented to that same board and the keystone to that plan was this council.

The council will be the steering committee for the work that gets done, all of the partnerships that form and all of the people we manage to bring into the fold. It's the first piece of a very large puzzle. Made up of over 20 federal, state and non-profit organizations and a handful of individuals, the level of enthusiasm and eagerness to participate was overwhelming. Seems people were just waiting to be asked. Let's hope that's the case as this little experiment grows.

Ed: Sorry to all those who clicked on the links in this post during the last 24 hrs. Appears there were some server issues. All should be working again.  11/11/14

Bobwhites in the news

Not often that bobwhites make the news twice in one day. The first article is on the PBS website of all places, a lengthy discussion of the movement toward landscape scale management of certain species. Like most of what's written about quail these days it's heavy on the vanilla and PBS monotone and light on the hot sauce, but if you're into conservation it's an interesting read:

http://www.pbs.org/newshour/updates/when-climate-change-comes-after-even-the-most-common-species/   

Contrary to what you'd think based on the title, this isn't another "we're all doomed because of global warming" piece laden with liberal undertones of conservative culpability. It leans more toward the effects of recent droughts, something those of you in TX, OK, and as of late CA know too well.

The second is a news release from the NBCI about the funding it's been approved for under Pittman-Robertson (for the politically uninclined, this is the formal name for the excise tax on firearms and ammo).

NBCI approved for funding under federal aid in wildlife restoration program

This is a big deal for several reasons.  First, it provides needed funding for the continued work of the NBCI and provides some predictability to that funding. Living from grant request to grant request is no fun and consumes quite a lot of time and effort, both of which could be better put to use supporting the state-level efforts to restore bobwhite populations.

Second, it affirms that more and more attention is being paid to the plight of the bobwhite and the urgent need to do something about it. This is in many ways at least as important as the funding as it moves us closer and closer to the critical mass it will take to affect change on a range-wide basis. If you have a few minutes, visit their site (bringbackbobwhites.org) and read the 2014 State of the Bobwhite report, particularly the segments on what's happening in each state.  Lots of really good results out there that just don't get a lot of ink.

Birds of prey(ed)

Longer than I've been alive men who hunt bobwhites have competed with natural predators for the privilege of dining on the brown bundle of feathers. For years a thriving fur trade coupled with abundant bird habitat rendered the contest moot, but times have changed and lately it seems more and more landowners are aggressively managing predator populations in an effort to leave more birds for the wingshooters. As evidenced by this story, some are taking it a bit too far, or at least aren't being very discreet about it:

3 sentenced in SC for killing hawks and owls

The sentences for the perpetrators - $500-$1000, a ban on trapping (odd, but maybe there's something I don't know), and community service - aren't much of a deterrent. The fine for the plantation owner sent a bigger message. At $250,000, it's enough to wake up even the well-heeled owner and I'm sure others in the area will think twice before encouraging their managers to keep the hawks in check.

The topic itself is probably as polarizing among hunters and landowners as religion and politics are in other circles, and facts, pesky things that they are, often aren't enough to sway opinion. Tall Timbers and the Albany Quail Project have conducted plenty of research showing that predator control has a negligible effect on bird populations. The money and time would be better spent on a number of other things that DO have a demonstrated effect. Still, predator control isn't very difficult and it's easy to show results, at least in terms of dead predators, and if you're a plantation manager trying to impress the boss I guess that's something.

Until you get caught.

Home sweet home

The Wall Street Journal reported last week that Longpine Plantation in south GA finally sold after five years on the market. At roughly 6000 acres, Longpine is neither the biggest nor the smallest place in the area but its sale was considered newsworthy nonetheless, possibly because the previous owner was a Ford.

The initial listing price was $40 million, later reduced to $34 million and ultimately let go for $27 million and change, which just goes to show that lowballing really works. In some worlds.

I'd be lying a big fat one if I said I wasn't a tiny bit jealous of a guy with the coin to make such a purchase. Of course that's just the cover charge, the yearly upkeep running about what a mediocre NFL player makes. The mere thought of feeding the string of 35 Longpine-bred bird dogs is enough to make me cringe. Not likely a problem for the new owner who, according to the Journal, collects ranches and plantations like I collect chigger bites.

If it's true, their claim of a peak count of 6.7 wild coveys per hour since 1998 is astounding even in the best of years. At that rate a limit is not only possible, it's embarrassing if you're not done by lunch. I'd love to give my dog just one day of that olfactory heaven.

Thermometer games

Every few years or so we get lucky and catch a spell of cooler days right in the middle of summer.  Cool as in low 60s when you wake up and maybe mid-70s when the sun's up top. May not sound like much but it's sure welcome when 95 is the norm.

Watching fireworks on the 4th I told my wife that I couldn't remember doing that without fighting the urge to stare at them through the windshield, A/C on full. And there was a breeze to boot. The next morning we had coffee in the backyard, a ritual normally reserved for April or, if we're lucky, early May.

Saturday the temps were cool again and it even rained all day, just like it does in some other seasons I know of. Mother Nature is such a tease.

And then last week the bird hunting issue of Gray's hit the shelves. New names mostly, which is nice every so often. I couldn't help noticing that there wasn't a bobwhite story anywhere in in. Great. Now they've disappeared from Gray's, too.

Lessons in crisis management

It didn't take long for word to get out that the pheasant capital of the world was having an off year. It didn't take much longer to do something about it. The season wasn't even over before Governor Daugaard convened a habitat summit to explore the options. Not to stereotype, but it usually takes years for governments to even acknowledge a problem, then a few more to figure out who stands to gain the most politically by heading the committee, and then a while longer for the committee to talk it to death until nobody cares about it any more and by then there's a new cause du jour. Lather, rinse, repeat until the well runs dry.

And now Pheasants Forever is opening a regional HQ in Brookings. Forgive what may sound like a twinge of envy at all the attention given this bird and its plight, but how do I get some of that down here? I'm not so naive that I believe this is entirely altruistic without a hint of politically-motivated PR, but I'm not so pessimistic that I think no good will come of it either.

More so I'm impressed with the speed of the response.  There are plenty of PR opportunities, most of which will build political capital faster, yet this issue is being given time and money while the rubble is still smoking. Actions like those taken by the Governor and PF put the issue squarely on the table and give it a dose of priority along with raising the awareness of the general public, all before the situation goes from bad to worse.

Sage grouse, prairie chickens and bobwhites have suffered steeper declines, albeit over longer periods of time, yet the rapid response at the first sign of trouble was missing and along with it the chance to stop the bleeding before the patient turned pale.

So how do I get some of that down here? Simple. I make quail a $300 million industry.

From the days of film

Thumbing through some old photos I came across this one and although I had to scratch my head for a second, I don't think I've ever posted it here. It was taken around 1998 or 1999 at a preserve north of town where I had permission to hunt the leftovers. Pen-raised fowl are a distant second to wild birds but it was good practice before the season opened.

Shortly after sunrise on a foggy morning, the scent conditions were ideal when he stopped in his tracks and I snapped the photo, then shot one of the two birds that flushed. The other landed in a tree at the edge of the field and he pointed that one too, ten feet over his head. I managed a photo of this as well but seem to have lost it in the folds of time.

Occasionally the unexpected, unplanned, and accidental have virtue. I thought nothing when I took it or later when I looked through the stack of pictures from the PhotoMart. This was no photo session. In fact, it was shot with a disposable camera.  Remember those?

A friend saw the picture and asked if she could have the negative to make a copy. That "copy" came back 2'x 3', framed, as a birthday present and I still have trouble convincing people that it's not a painting. The camera quality (low) combined with the film speed (probably high) and the enlargement resulted in a very grainy portrait that closely resembles the work of a brush. For the doubters I point to the ear turned inside out and the beggar's lice on his side.

This is the dog I wrote about in the first post ever on this blog. He's long gone and all this image brings back is more images played out in the motion theater behind my eyes. We had a lot of good days.

Steelheading on dry land

John Gierach's latest in Gray's ("The Velvet Handshake", March/April 2014) about steelheading paints a picture that, oddly enough, lessens the sting of a slow bird season. The only steelhead in South Carolina are hanging on walls in offices and living rooms, but it's not difficult to understand both the allure and the long stretches of nothingness that shape the experience.  Gierach doesn't moan so much as explain that not catching steelhead is as much a part of the business as catching.

When times are poor the rule of thumb is there's nowhere to go but up, so when they actually get a bit worse it's enough to cause panic or, in the worst scenario, a compound case of seasonal affective disorder. Day after day it teeters between maddening and soul-crushing and yet the thought of quitting, of putting away the gear or selling it and leaving it behind for good never emerges.

On the other hand, dry spells do seem to breed a dangerous excess of contemplation on all matters personal, public or otherwise. According to Zen ideology the mind isn't supposed to wander. Stay in the moment, focus on the present, be here now. According the bird hunter the mind does, in fact, wander. Wanna re-think your career, your relationships, the way you're raising your kids or the future of the country? Grab the dog and go look for quail.

The arc carved by a fly line on a perfect two-handed cast is not much different than one carved through grass by a fire-breathing pointer. Things such as these fill the void and bring the mind back to the here and now.

If you find three or four or even eight coveys, you remember the day. If you find one covey and shoot one bird you remember the bird. Either way you're bagging memories, which is really all you have left after the meat is gone.

And if the dog never catches a zephyr of scent? There are reasons you head back out in the face of long odds, and it's better if you don't try to justify them.

Rigged

I've heard the stories of old men driving their land yacht Cadillacs into the field, giving the shocks all they could handle, and when they stopped in a cloud of dust and grass, one would open the trunk and let the dogs out. Evolution was inevitable.

Eventually someone had the idea of doing a little cutting and welding to a car to make it easier to get in and out of and added a few places to put the guns so you wouldn't have to carry them in your lap.  Then someone else figured the work force could use a nicer place to ride and the dog box was born.  Soon there wasn't enough room on a car, or there wasn't enough power under the hood, and the whole setup migrated to a truck body giving birth to the modern day quail rig.

I've seen some of the tamer versions in person and even ridden on a handful and my reactions have ranged from "bet that ain't cheap" to "you gotta be kidding me". They're a sight to see and a feast for the engineer's and tinkerer's mind. Just when you think you've seen it all, however, along comes one that resets the standard.

Native Texan photographer Lokey compiled upwards of 120 of these rigs in a new book slated for release later this month.  Texas Quail Rigs is the result of three years traveling the state shooting pictures where owners and ranch managers shoot birds, and some of these give new meaning to the sky's the limit.

When I spoke with Lokey he said the idea came from a conversation where someone suggested he do a book about quail hunting. "I said no, that's been done before. Then they asked if anyone had done a book about the rigs and I knew we were onto something." Considering the current state of affairs of the bobwhite he adds, "It's social anthropology on many levels."

One of the fabricators manufactures 80-90 rigs a year, far more than I would have guessed the market could stand. Of course, a market where a high-end rig can run as much as $250,000 isn't entirely reflective of the broader economy.

These rides are truly limited only by imagination and, in a few rare cases, by wallets...

Pure military meat. Built for the full-on assault of birds, a campaign waged in the field without sacrificing comfort, and ready if the North Koreans invade.

  

Vintage GMC 1500 before we got too carried away. I kinda like this one. You can almost hear a few old boys saying, "What if we put a seat up there and cut a hole here to walk through?"

Euro-rig. I don't imagine it had any trouble getting to the top of the hill. Love the hatch in the roof.

This looks like a stretch frame job but it's actually an F350 Super Crew long bed conversion. Seats about 13 and you can drive it from the back end. Of course at full capacity you only get your turn every 6th covey.

You can do just about anything in a micro bus. Or to it. MP3 player has 6000 hours of bootlegs loaded and ready for an afternoon..umm...session.

This may be the highest and best use of a VW Thing. Bookends, too.

Didn't Mad Max drive one of these? Form definitely taking a backseat to function here. I really included this one because the Brittany looked so damn good striking a pose.

....and in the More Money Than (go ahead, fill it in) category. Yes, this truly is - or was - a 1982 Rolls Royce Silver Spur. Grey Poupon in the glovebox.

Some of the options you can't see in the photos? A built-in 400 lb milo tank for spreading feed as you hunt. An onboard smoker. A full bar with blender and margarita machine. How about a 4000 watt stereo? As Henry Chappell says in the intro, boys will be boys.

Yes, we've come a long way from the mule-drawn wagon. You can see more at www.texasquailrigs.com.