FOR A GUY LIKE ME, A WORDSMITH WITH A romantic streak and a fondness for drama, it’s just about impossible to keep from assigning colorful (and lamentably anthropomorphic) characterizations to the dangerous big-game animals of Africa. I know it isn’t scientific, but it’s fun, and—what the heck, nobody takes it seriously, anyway, least of all me.

Actually, every hunting trip is an adventure of some sort, but some turn out to be more adventurous than others. Regular readers may recall tales of the Deep East Texas Bear Hunters Association, a band of ruffians and misfits who insisted on hunting with muzzleloading rifles.

Actually, every hunting trip is an adventure of some sort, but some turn out to be more adventurous than others. Regular readers may recall tales of the Deep East Texas Bear Hunters Association, a band of ruffians and misfits who insisted on hunting with muzzleloading rifles.

In 1953 I was in the Army, assigned to the Eighth Army Headquarters Public Information Office in Yongsan, Korea, a suburb of the ruined capitol city of Seoul. My job got me out and about the Korean countryside quite a bit, and, being the hunter I am, I couldn’t help noticing the hordes of ringneck pheasants infesting the rice paddies.

Ahunting magazine editor once remarked to me: “Moose are boring!” This offended me a little, seeming to disrespect a game animal that had lost his life. I could hardly argue because at that time I hadn’t hunted moose, but I’d hunted other game in moose country and had found them interesting and impressive animals.

Hunting guides see a lot of shots at game. Mostly, they keep their opinions to themselves, perhaps permitting themselves a mumbled “Good show” or “Well done”. In my 40 years of guided hunting, I’ve been pleased to receive many compliments on my shooting, ranging from a slap on the back to a heartfelt “Good shot!”

We’d all be better off if we were not only deer hunters, but also deerwatchers, in the same sense that some of us are birdwatchers. We watch birds to enjoy their beauty, grace and sprightliness. There is pleasure to be had from watching whitetail deer going about their daily lives, too, aside from looking for antlers.

The bobwhite quail is a gentleman. He’s polite; he goes by the rules and plays fair. The scaled quail (AKA “blue quail” or “cottontop”) of south Texas doesn‘t know the word “fair;” his keyword is “survive,” and he’ll do anything to accomplish that.

It's funny how an odor, a sound, or the ghost of a flavor can instantly transport one back to some earlier, fondly-remembered time. A few bars of some popular song from your highschool days can suddenly bring rushing back all the emotions, hopes, and sensations of your dating days.

He was born in 1875 in Houston County, Texas, the son of a circuit-riding Methodist preacher. He was named Robert Joseph Spence, but everybody except family called him “Mister Bob.” Sometime during the first World War, he was elected sheriff of Houston County, an office he held into the socalled Roaring Twenties.