It was a fun trip out and back, one red neck (Georgian), one coonass (aka Louisianan Cajun), and one northerner (Californian actually). Sounds like the start of a joke but it was a true group of loosely connected guys on a hunting trip, fourteen hour drive one direction to find a small piece of paradise in New Mexico. A second educated red neck (Texan actually) met us there and the four of us traveled to the northern part of the state. With each antelope we past the excited grow. All of us had thoughts of sneaking through the prairie grasses in hopes of bagging a true trophy but each of us knowing but not saying that we all would not shoot that perfect specimen. Since I had been there before the reality of the trip and the expectations of what and who we were going to encounter were clear to me but to the others it was as if they were children again and this was their first great adventure away from home. I understood that there was going to be a clash of culture in this group but to what extent no one could have accurately anticipated the interaction.
When we arrived at the ranch the contrast between my band of hunters and the ranchers became very clear. The hunters with their beer & liquor/cigarettes & cigars and fast talking and fast living almost clashed with soft spoken devote Christian hard working ranchers. That is not to say that the city boys out of Houston are not Christians but there a huge chasm of difference of those who carry Christ with them on their daily lives and those who made it to church a couple of times a years and claim they are with god. The city boys also work hard but at the end of the day they leave their jobs behind to go home to yards that are mowed but someone else; whereas the ranchers never seem to truly stop working…ever. There were a few moments when the worlds almost painful crossed but to my amazement it was the ranchers who accepted the different world now intruding on their homes and properties. Beer and prayers and modern sports and stories of buffalo hunters proved to be an interesting mix that first evening at the dinner table.
Kathy was our guide, a self-made cattle woman struggling to make her way. She is in her late 40s thin as a rail, wholesome, warm and as nice of a person I have ever met. She started her own ranch a few years ago and now also managing 20,000 acre ranch of a WWII era bomber pilot, now not quite capable of handling it all himself. She cooked, cleaned, entertained, and kept all of us in line; he laughed and told stories. He is a very interesting man, his hands as solid as his resolve. If I were to say I had equal for these two it would be a massive under statement; both such great people. There was another character that showed up for dinner each evening. Turns out that he ranches in both Texas and New Mexico, his wife had stayed in Texas so he found dinner and the company comforting as they are rarely apart. His story is that he is directly related to a buffalo hunter and tries to keep that spirit alive. Both of these elderly ranchers relay stories of their relatives who helped settle that part of the country was nothing short of fascinating. Stories of skinning a buffalo to stay alive in a blizzard or fighting Indians; both men knew their relatives that did these things and are still able to relay the stories in grand detail. Both men had fantastic stories of their own (both noble in my mind). Her story is still developing and will be worth telling in great detail someday.
The coonass provided comic relieve for a group of more serious guys; watching him dance in the middle of the open prairie once he shot his trophy was to say the least entertaining and worthy a panoramic photography. The hunters had left the ranch house at first light heading their own ways to opposite sides of the ranch. The morning was cool and the air damp shortly after they left a fog set in over the rolling plains. Actually the Georgian got his first then the Texan; both were as ecstatic as the Cajun but more reserved in their expression of their enthusiasm. For me it was more for the camaraderie and fellowship of like souls and shared experiences. They hassled at first for not wanting to take an antelope, but short of a true trophy or need for the meat there is not reason to kill, so I was content to enjoy the beautiful scenery.
All of the guys had appreciation for the ranch and surrounding area in their own ways. The Texan saw the value in the ranch, its potential, and the work that would have to go into it. The Georgian saw the recreational value in the area (four-wheel riding, hunting, and other outdoor recreation). In the Cajun’s words, “I can’t take my eyes off of it (the scenery) it is addictive.” To me it is all of that (pure beauty of the landscape, hunting grounds, business opportunity, warmth of people who are well grounded and have solid morals and character); almost a calling to enrich my soul.
