Outdoors

The last four essays spanned the years 1944 through 1953, chronicling most, but certainly not all, of my life experiences and activities after we moved to the Sebren Avenue residence.  There is yet another aspect to life during these years, my outdoor life.  I am sure you are asking the question, “What in the devil is an outdoor life?”  When I was growing up Outdoor Life was a magazine about hunting, fishing, camping and other similar outdoor activities.  It was during this time period, Dad introduced his family to these activities.  It should be noted that Dad introduced Mom to an outdoor life before either Berta or I were born.  Hopefully, you remember the photos of them camping in Yosemite and fishing at Big Bear in 1933.  My Dad, Robert Otto Price, was a true outdoorsman, primarily, because the first 30 years of his life were mostly spent out of doors working and recreating.  During these early years Dad was a Kansas farm boy, cowboy in Colorado, prospected in California’s deserts and worked for the US Forest Service in Southern California’s foothills and mountains.  This time spent outdoors provided him with not only the skill, but the passion for these activities.  Just as I grew up with a passion for baseball, Dad loved these outdoor activities.  Dad did not begin to take us on outdoor adventures until after World War II, probably due primarily to gas rationing.  I am fairly positive these outdoor adventures began in the fall of 1945, but it is difficult to know what year most future adventures occurred.  Searching through my memory bank, it is possible to recall certain experiences; but for some reason, what year they occurred is not attached to that particular memory file.  Beyond tagging an adventure to a specific year, the chronological order is also suspect.  Perhaps these experiences were not time tagged because of their similarity, regularity and repetition, plus they occurred over several years.  As a result of this memory malfunction, the specific year and order of occurrence have to be educated guesses.  In actuality, the adventures experienced are far more important than the year or the chronological order of occurrence.

My first memories of outdoor activities are deer hunting trips, interspersed with family camping trips in the San Bernardino Mountains.  I am fairly certain when the first two deer hunts occurred, but the dates for the first family camping trips are a best guess.  After these first outdoor excursions, whether hunting or camping, they are in the realm of educated guesses.  Based on a recently discovered hand written bill of sale, Dad bought a deer rifle in August 1945.  This purchase leads me to believe it was the fall of 1945 when Dad took me deer hunting for the first time in the Big Bear Lake area.  We were accompanied by Lloyd Biddle and his son Harold.  The Biddles were our next door neighbors when we lived in North Long Beach.  I would have been ten years old, and Harold would have been nine at the time.  Since we were not 12 years old, we could not hunt according to California hunting regulations.  So, the two of us were tag-alongs.  Harold and I were attending school, which meant it was a weekend hunting trip.  Plus, Dad and Lloyd were working and did not take any time off for the hunt.  On a Friday evening we loaded our gear into Lloyd’s Oldsmobile 88, with Hydra-Matic drive, and left for Big Bear.  In 1945 the only highway to Big Bear was CA18 from San Bernardino past Crestline, Lake Arrowhead and Running Springs.  It was about 40 miles to Big Bear Lake Dam and the road was very twisty.  Harold and I received our first hunting lesson while the Oldsmobile climbed higher into the mountains.  Harold and I were sitting in the back seat, and we began to get cold.  I asked Dad to turn up the heater, because we were getting cold, to which he replied, “Put on your jackets.”  My response was, “No one told us to bring a jacket.”  I am sure there were the rolling of eyes, or similar reactions, when Dad and Lloyd discovered we did not bring jackets.  I was probably wearing a sweatshirt over another shirt of some sort; I just do not remember.  Nor do I remember how the circumstance was remedied.  I do not remember setting up a camp after arriving in the Big Bear area that night.  It seems that we did not setup camp until some time Saturday.

We established a camp site at Big Pines Flats Campground, which was about eight miles northwest of Fawnskin via a Forest Service dirt road.  Fawnskin is located on Grout Bay on the north side of Big Bear Lake    I recently found a photo of Harold and myself standing in our campsite at Big Pine Flats Campground.

Royal and Harold Biddle at Big Pine Flats Campground, Circa 1945

I remember only one hunting excursion; and whether it was Saturday afternoon or Sunday morning I do not recall.  However, the events of that excursion are firmly implanted in my memory as though it happened yesterday.  How long we had been out hunting is not clear, but Harold spotted a snake.  I was following Dad and Lloyd, and Harold was behind me when he spotted the snake.  Harold pointed to it when Dad asked its location.  I still did not see it.  Dad hit the snake with a medium size rock.  I saw the snake only when the rock hit it.  Dad killed it with another rock; and said it was a sidewinder rattlesnake.  According to Dad, sidewinders were smaller rattlesnakes usually found in the desert, not in the mountains at over 7,000 feet above sea level.  As we looked at the snake, I said to Dad, “I have to poop.”  I never will forget the look on Dad’s face as he grimaced, hit his jacket pocket and said, “Darn, I forgot to bring any toilet paper.”  Being a Kansas farm boy he had a ready solution to the situation.  He looked around and picked up a couple  of small pine branches off the ground.  He handed them to me and said, “Use these branches just like you would a corn cob!”  Well, I had never used a corn cob, but the picture was very clear as to how to use the branches.  Of course, my image of a corn cob was the soft cob after the corn had been eaten.  After using the branches as instructed, there were two very important lessons learned from this experience.  First, when hunting carry toilet paper with you at all costs.  Second, if you have to use pine branches to take care of business, remove the bark and use the smooth part of the branch!  Otherwise, the bark has a bite you will not soon forget.  We continued hunting but did not see a single deer.  We ended our hunt sitting looking out over Apple Valley in the Mojave Desert.  While sitting there, Lloyd said something to the effect, “Well, guess we are not going to see any deer.”  With that statement he aimed his rifle at a Bluejay and pulled the trigger.  Whether he hit the Bluejay or not I’m not sure, but I remember only a feather or two floating down and no bird.  Thus, Lloyd’s shot ended my first deer hunting experience.

The following year, 1946, we took our first family camping trip.  This trip was also in the San Bernardino Mountains near Big Bear Lake.  We camped at the Hanna Flats Campground located about four miles from Fawnskin on the same dirt road that led to the Big Pine Flats Campground where Dad and I camped the year before on our deer hunt excursion.  Best I can remember, we camped at Hanna Flats for an entire week.  A photo of our 1936 Chevrolet sedan illustrates how our camping gear was loaded on the car.  Note the canvas water bag hanging on the hood just being the headlight.  Granddad Graham is in the front seat, Mom is in the rear seat, and there is a face looking out the door window, just being Granddad.  I think it is Berta.  No idea where I was located when the photo was taken.  To my surprise the photo shows our car was a two door sedan.  My recollection was that our car was a four door sedan.  

1936 Chevrolet Sedan Loaded for Camping, Circa 1946

Hanna Flats Campground must have had about 25 to 30 campsites and most were empty.  It was only one year after World War II, and I guess not too many people were camping yet. Since we had the campground mostly to ourselves, there was plenty of space to roam and explore.  Our campsite had a wooden table with a cupboard attached to one end, a cast iron stove set in concrete, our tent, camp stools and lawn chairs.  Our tent was an umbrella style that was ten by ten foot square in size, with a single center pole.  We had two cots, one a Coleman cot and the other a surplus army cot that Dad bought at an Army/Navy surplus store.  I believe Mom and Granddad slept on the cots, while the rest of us slept on the tent floor.  I know there were some sleeping bags, but I do not believe there was one for each of us.  Regular sheets, blankets and quilts were used for the cots.  After sundown, our only light was a Coleman lantern that burned “white” gas,  which contained no additives (like lead) and was a common fuel for camp lanterns and stoves.  Meals were cooked on either the Coleman camp stove or on the cast iron wood stove at the campsite.  After sundown the temperature dropped and a fire was started for our dinner preparation and warmth.  One of the first tasks when camp was set up was to gather fire wood for the stove.  This task meant we scoured the nearby forest for any dead tree, or branches, that were laying on the forest floor.  Chopping down trees was not permitted, but there was no restrictions on using what was considered dead wood.  When our supply of firewood became low, we had another wood gathering event.  We were always on the look out for firewood wherever we went, either on foot or in the car.  Depending on the type wood collected, some of it had to be chopped to fit into the stove.  A photo shows me chopping some wood.  I suspect it was staged.  This photo shows our tent, camp stove, a lawn chair and a camp stool.  Also Berta is sitting in Granddad’s lap, keeping safe distance from her brother’s chopping.

Royal Chopping Wood, Circa 1946

On all our camping trips Dad did all the cooking, primarily breakfast and supper.  Mom might fix sandwiches for lunch, but she did none of the cooking.  After supper, water was heated in a bucket on the stove.  Granddad and I washed and dried the dishes.  In a way, while the camping trip was our family vacation, it was a real vacation for Mom because she did not have to plan any or cook any of the meals.  Mom’s main job was seeing Berta and I washed up before meals.  

During the late 1940s and into the early 1960s, you cannot discuss camping without mentioning campground bathroom facilities.  Bathrooms were nothing but pit toilets, most of the time without toilet paper.  To my knowledge, chemicals we're not added to the pits to kill the smell.  The smell meant you did not linger and took care of business in a hurry.  Also these toilets were not necessarily close to your camp.  Thus, you made a flashlight aided trip to the toilet just before going to bed.  You did not want to leave the tent in the middle of the night.

Activities during the day were varied with no set plan.   Berta and I explored the surrounding forest and in general just got dirty in the forest dirt—yippee! A coyote visited the campground one evening.  I set a rope snare to catch the coyotes the next day.  Alas, I did not snare the coyotes, because it was a lousy snare.  There were some large rocks nearby and Beta and I had our picture standing atop one of the boulders. 

Royal and Berta Atop a Boulder, Circa 1946

One day we drove to the Big Pine Flats Campground to show everyone where we had camped on our previous year’s deer hunt.  On this excursion as we readied to leave our camp, I said something to Dad about leaving the camp unattended.  I was concerned someone would steal our stuff while we were away.  Dad explained that it was common to leave your camp unattended, and people would not steal anything.  To me it seemed strange that people could be trusted not to steal from your campsite but would steal from your house.  It should be noted that during the late 1960s, you had to be more careful, because campsite theft was a real possibility  However, on this camping trip Dad was right about our stuff being safe, because when we returned everything was still there.

These first hunting and camping trips were a great experience.  There was so much to explore and learn.  Camping in the mountains, whether for hunting or just camping, opened a whole new world for me.  The huge pine tress, the stillness of the mountains was enchanting.  At night when you wandered away from the campfire, there were so many stars it was unbelievable.  Putting new wood on the fire was thrilling, and watching the flames was fascinating.  There was a feeling of freedom and being a part of nature.  Just being outside gave such a sense of freedom, a freedom that was totally different from the freedom I experienced at home.  What generated this freedom and closeness to nature was due to the fact that everything was so simple and basic.  I fell in love with forests and mountains on these first hunting and camping trips.  The forest setting I fell in love with is illustrated in this photo.

San Bernardino Forest, Circa 1946

There are faint memories of other camping trips to the Big Bear area.  I do not believe these other camping trips were at Hanna Flats but were located in other Big Bear campgrounds.  Perhaps these trips were just on weekends.  While I remember fishing in Big Bear Lake, there are no recollections as to when.  I suspect these fishing outings were in the latter 1940s, because our outings began in the Eastern High Sierra Mountains.  Once we began going to the High Sierras, all our camping, fishing and deer hunting was done in that area.  There were some camping and deer hunting experiences in the San Bernardino Mountains before the High Sierra trips begun.

Following our Hanna Flats camping trip, Dad left on a deer hunt in Utah.  He went with several other hunters to St. George, a popular hunting area for out of staters.  Who these other hunters were I do not remember, even if Dad told me; if he did, who they were is long forgotten.  It seems he was gone for at least a week.  Dad had killed two deer, a buck and a doe.  He was the only hunter that shot two deer, while some of the other hunters came home empty handed.  I must have asked Dad a thousand questions about his hunting trip.  It was a surprise when I learned that one of the hunters shot a doe, or a fawn, and it was used for camp meat.  Camp meat meant that the group ate venison for their evening meals.  Knowing Dad’s respect for hunting regulations, I do not believe he approved of taking camp meat. Shooting a deer for camp meat meant the hunter never tagged the deer, which would be considered poaching.

I envisioned the St. George area to be similar to the forests around Big Bear.  When I asked Dad if the area was like Big Bear, he said, “No it was not similar.”  He said trees were scrub pine, and it was more open than Big Bear forests.  Scrub pine meant nothing, except these pines were smaller.  In 2004 I started a bike tour in St. George, which gave me a chance to see where Dad hunted.  Scrub pine were short, bushy pine trees, no more that four feet in height.  Plus, the area was open and provided visibility for a couple of miles.  It was obvious the forests around St. George were totally different compared to Big Bear forests.  A bike tour photo clearly shows the difference between Big Bear forests and those around St. George. 

St. George Area, Circa 2004

Following Dad’s successful Utah deer hunt in 1946, he decided in 1947 to try another deer hunt in the San Bernardino Mountains.  Dad selected the forest area on the north side of Mount San Gorgonio, or Old Greyback.  This area had been closed to hunting for at least the previous ten years.  Old Greyback is located over the mountain to the southeast from Big Bear Lake by about eight to ten miles.  Mount San Gorgonio is the tallest mountain in Southern California at 11,503 feet.  It is 1.435 feet higher than Mount San Antonio or Mount Baldy at 10,058 feet.  The mountain, including the surrounding region, is now designated as a Wilderness Area.

Dad asked his long time friend, Clinton Baker, to join him on the hunt.  Clint Baker was Dad’s friend from his earliest days in Orange County.  Clint and Dad used to accompany their fathers prospecting in the deserts.  Fortunately for me, Dad decided to let me join this hunting party which became an unforgettable adventure.  Just like the hunt two years previous, I was a tag-along and did not have a rifle or even a hunting license.  My best guess is that this hunting season was to open on a weekend.  Since neither Dad or Clint were familiar with the area, it was decided to check it out the day before the season opened.  To allow a full day to explore the area and select the best spot to hunt, we left for the mountains on a Thursday evening.  If the hunt was in September, I must have skipped school for two days, but there is no memory of playing hooky.  As an aside, I knew to take a jacket this time!

To reach the area we drove through Redlands and Mentone into the Barton Flats area.  The South Fork Campground was a small campground at the end of the road.  South Fork was nearly full and we set up camp.  The following map shows the area, including Big Bear Lake, with the purple pin located at the campground.  The red pin is the present Heart Bar Campground 

South Fork Campground Location

Today the road to reach the campground continues around the mountain to Big Bear City and Big Bear Lake, but this road was not completed until some time in the late 1960s or early 1970s.  This area is the location of the headwaters of the Santa Ana River, although at this point it is just a creek.  Once we set up our tent and gathered some firewood, Dad started a fire for cooking and warmth.  There was no wood stove like we had at Hanna Flats, so we used some rocks to form  a circular fire pit.  Based on Dad’s experience with the Forest Service an area around the fire pit was cleared of pine needles for fire safety.  Shortly after Dad started the fire a Forest Ranger stopped when he saw our fire.  The Ranger wanted to see our fire permit, which we did not have.  Dad told him we had just arrived and the Ranger Station was closed, and we would get one in the morning.  The Ranger began criticizing our fire claiming flames exceeded 18 inches in height, and wanted to issue a ticket.  Dad argued with him, pointing out we were not being careless with a shovel and axe within easy reach.  After several minutes of conversation, some times heated, the Ranger left without giving us a ticket.  Well, our hunting trip started off with a bang!  The encounter with the Ranger was something a 12 year old boy would not forget.

After having breakfast the next morning, all I remember is hiking with Dad and Clinton into the area where we were going to hunt.  Whether we went to the Ranger Station either before or after the hike for a fire permit, I do not remember.  Again, knowing Dad, a fire permit was obtained sometime during the day.  A fire permit was required in all Forest Service campgrounds, even if your fire was in a wood stove like at Hanna Flats.  How far we hiked from camp is not known but it must have been in the range of three to four miles.  Dad’s plan was to pick a spot to sit and watch for deer moving through the forest.  The idea was to let the other hunters cause the deer to be on the move.  Dad and Clint selected a place where there seemed to be a natural saddle that appeared to be a possible trail the deer would use.  After selecting this spot, Dad, Clint and I headed back to camp, with Dad and Clint planning how to return to our spot the next morning.  After arriving back in camp we began to prepare for the next day’s hunt.  Starting out the next morning while it was still dark, Dad and Clint were using flashlight to illuminate our way through the forest.  Not long after leaving camp we had to work our way through some thickets.  I did not remember going through these thickets the day before and was wondering to myself, “Do we know where we are or are we lost?”  After finding our way through the thickets, we were on a trail Dad and Clint recognized from the previous day’s hike.  As the sun began to rise, the sky began to lighten up and the flashlights were not needed any longer.  Now Dad and Clint could recognize the landmarks remembered from the day before and we could find our way to the selected spot for the day’s hunt.  We arrived at the spot just before the legal time to hunt, which was a half hour before sunrise.

The spot selected was on the down slope of a small rise, with an opening about 15 yards across.  There were pine tress on the right of the area and bushes and a few boulders on the left.  Dad and I sat toward the right of the opening and Clint took up a position on the left part of the opening.  This spot gave us a good view of two possible natural areas that deer could use for moving from one place to another on the mountain.  Now all we had to do was sit and wait for the other hunters to begin hunting, and the deer would begin to move about attempting to avoid the intruders in their forest.  We knew our spot was a good one when a couple of hunters walked through the area and did not see us as they worked their way further up the mountain.  We heard some gunshots, but they sounded quite a distance from us.  Even with these gunshots, we saw no deer coming into view.  After the gunshots, the area turned very quiet again.  Then sometime after these first gunshots, there was a shot quite close, just a little ways up the mountain from us.  This gunshot was followed quickly by another gunshot.  Almost simultaneous with this last gunshot, a black bear came running full speed down the mountain.  Clint made some comment that perhaps the hunter was attempting to hurry the bear on his way down the mountain.  The sun made the bear appear to be a reddish cinnamon color,though it  was definitely a black bear (California’s last grizzly was killed in 1922).    This bear was about 100 yards from where we were sitting and was running as though his life depended on it.  Our sight of the bear probably did not last more than 10 seconds before disappearing from view.  The sketch represents his appearance as he whizzed through our view.  In fact, he was just a blur. 

Scared Black Bear

After the bear flashed by us, the area became quiet again.  In fact, the bear was the last animal we saw the rest of the day.  Best I can recall, we sat in place until after we ate lunch.  Since nothing seemed to be happening, Dad and Clint decided to call it a day and regroup.  We returned to camp sometime in the afternoon and saw some hunters that had killed deer during the day.  Dad and Clint wandered the campground asking other hunters about their experiences for the day.  After supper, Dad and Clint compared information discovered talking to the other hunters and decided to change our spot for the next day.  Based on what they learned, it was decided to go further up the mountain from where we were that day, but basically in the same area.

Once again we were up before sunup, ate breakfast and started up the mountain via flashlight.  This morning we did not have to fight our way through the thickets like yesterday morning.  Essentially we were retracing our path to yesterday’s spot, but when we reached that area we kept going up the mountain.  We must have hiked at least another half a mile to a new spot to sit and wait for the deer.  Dad and I sat on the right and Clint went off to our left.  Clint must have been over 25 yards to our left, because I could not see where he was sitting.  I was sitting to Dad’s left at a distance of about two or three yards.  We both had our backs against good size boulders with trees, bushes and more boulders behind us and up the mountain.  We sat quietly, like yesterday, listening and watching the area in front of us.  Unlike yesterday, we did not hear any gunshots.  After sitting for a while, I am not sure how long, Dad heard some noises behind us up the mountain.  Dad touched me and whispered for me to look around my boulder and up the mountain to see if I could see anything.  While I turned to my left to look around the boulder, Dad turned to his right to look around his boulder.  When I looked up the mountain, I could see only the rear end of a deer.  The deer’s tail was switching, but bushes and rocks covered all but its rear end and rear legs.  Within seconds after turning to look up the mountain, the deer moved forward, and I lost sight of its hind quarters.  The following sketch is what I saw when looking up the mountain.  You have to imagine the deer’s tail switching back and forth.  As I turned back to whisper what I saw, Dad was beginning to stand up and look up the mountain.

Royal’s View of the Deer

As he stood up he moved slightly to his left, raised his rifle and shot.  Then he quickly shot twice more.  At this point, I was behind him and to his right and saw a buck deer roll part way down the mountain and lay still.  Dad and I just stood there watching to see if the deer would move - it did not.  Clint arrived shortly to see why Dad was shooting.  It was at this point Dad said, “Sure glad we have two deer tags!”  Clint asked, “Why?”  Then Dad explained what had happened.  When he looked up the mountain, he could see a buck’s head, but the rest of his body was hidden by bushes, or a rock, and he had no clear shot.  So he moved slightly to his left and the buck exposed his front shoulder.  Dad took his first shot and the buck appeared to bound forward, Dad shot twice more and the deer rolled a ways down the mountain.  That is when Dad realized what had happened.  His first shot dropped the first buck on the spot, and a second buck quickly jumped from behind the bushes.  This second buck looked just like the first buck.  Dad initially thought his first shot did not put the buck down, so he shot twice more and this buck was the one I saw roll down the mountain.  So, we walked up the mountain where Dad first saw the buck and shot at it.  Sure enough there was a second dead buck laying right where Dad first shot.  Dad was right, both bucks were nearly identical.  Both bucks had three point antlers and were about the same size.  As they field dressed the deer, Dad commented it was totally unusual for two bucks to be traveling together because it was the rutting season, that is mating season.  Normally during the rut, bucks are solitary and are usually rivals.  Well, these two bucks made a mistake by traveling together and not chasing the ladies alone.  

After field dressing these deer, the next chore was to get them back to camp.  Dad’s first thought was to carry one on his shoulders and back.  He hefted one on to his shoulders but staggered some and set the deer back sown.  As it turned out both deer weighed in the neighborhood of 175 pounds each.  After watching Dad stagger under the load, Clint did not even want to attempt to carry a deer.  Plus, there was the possibility of some hunter seeing the deer, not them carrying the deer, and possibly shooting at them.  So, it was decided to drag the deer on their stomach using the antlers.  Dad and Clint fashioned a stick to fit between the two hind legs to enable them to drag the deer like an Indian travois.  I carried the hearts and livers in my Cub Scout backpack that weighed around ten or twelve pounds, plus I carried Dad’s rifle slung over one shoulder.  I think Clint tied his rife across his buck’s antlers to drag his deer.  How Dad pulled his deer, I do not remember.  Even dragging the deer was difficult, and we had to take several rest stops.  Returning to camp took several hours, it was late afternoon before we reached camp.  Now we had to break camp and pack Clint’s car.  It was decided to wrap each deer with canvas, lay them on a front fender and tie them down.  It was dark by the time we had the deer mounted and our camp gear stowed in the car.  Our first stop was at the Barton Flats Ranger Station to check-in with the Fish and Game Wardens.  The Wardens wanted to weigh the deer, but Dad convinced them it would be too difficult to untie the deer and re-tie them again.  The Wardens agreed and estimated the weight at 170 pounds each.  Our deer were the best that had been checked by the Wardens on the weekend.  Our next stop, was at a liquor store in Redlands.  Clint was a heavy drinker, and had not taken a drink on our hunting trip.  Dad probably insisted on no alcohol when asking Clint to hunt.  It must have been around 8:00 or 9:00 P.M. when we arrived home.  We drove up Sebren Avenue to Bill Well’s, so he could take the following photo of the deer mounted on Clint’s car. 

Two Three Point Mule Deer Bucks, 1947

It should be noted that Dad and Clint were uneasy about  laying the deer on the fenders in this manner.  Actually, Dad and Clint joked about carrying the deer this way.   There were jokes and cartoons that made fun of rookie hunters bringing their deer home laying on the car’s fender.  However, there just was not enough room in the car for camp gear and the deer.  Transporting deer in this manner could not be done after about 1948, because car designs changed drastically.

Chronicling this nearly seven decades old hunting adventure elicits further admiration for Dad’s hunting ability and accurate marksmanship.  At the time, as a 12 year-old boy, I was extremely proud of his shooting the two deer.  Reflecting on the events, Dad’s actions in this incident are even more amazing, when all that happened is considered.  When he stood up and could only see the first deer’s head, he knew not to shoot through brush, and moved slightly so the deer exposed a vital area.  His first shot was so well placed the deer dropped where he stood.  Then when the second buck bolted into view, Dad believed the deer had been wounded  and did not want a wounded animal to escape.  So, he immediately placed two bullets into the deer’s vital area to bring him down.  It was amazing, considering that he had to work the bolt action twice, recover from the rifle’s recoil twice and still place these last two bullets into a vital area - all within 10 seconds or less.  I believe the second buck requiring two bullets was due to adrenaline, not a misplaced shot.  Dad’s quick thinking, reaction and marksmanship is even more amazing than I thought at the time.  Dad’s marksmanship was outstanding in this incident but remember his shooting running jackrabbits in Kansas in 1940.  From my perspective Dad was an outstanding marksman.

Outdoor adventures that followed this deer hunting trip are somewhat like scrambled eggs.  Specific adventures are remembered, but when an adventure occurred, and which one came first are blended together.  Determining an order of occurrence is at best an educated estimate (sure sounds better than wild guess).  To the best of my recollection, Dad and Lloyd Biddle hunted in the Eastern High Sierra Mountains in the fall of 1948, near the mountain hamlet of Lee Vining, California.  Lee Vining is located on US Highway 395 on the southwest edge of Mono Lake.  The eastern side of the Sierras from Bishop to Bridgeport, along US Highway 395, is considered to provide excellent big game hunting, primarily deer, and trout fishing.  Dad and Lloyd spent about a week hunting around Lee Vining, but they were unsuccessful.   This hunting trip had a major impact on our future family camping and deer hunting.  I believe this was Dad’s first trip to the eastern side of the Sierras, and he must have been favorably impressed.  It was after this deer hunting trip that we switched our family camping and deer hunting trips from the San Bernardino Mountains to the Eastern High Sierra Mountains.

Before we trekked to the High Sierras, there was a new addition to the family.  No, it was not another sibling, Dad traded our 1936 Chevrolet Two Door Sedan for a 1941 Ford Four Door Sedan in either 1948 or 1949.  Since our Chevy was about 11 or 12 years old, I suspect it was time for a newer model car.  As I came to learn, Dad was not fond of the Chevy’s in-line six cylinder engine and favored Ford’s flathead V8 engine.  He believed the flathead engine was more efficient and easier to maintain.  He just did not like the overhead valve design on the Chevy engine.  After acquiring this 1941 Ford, there was always a Ford in our family’s history.  Just like Ford Motor Company’s ad at the time There’s a Ford in Your Future.

Assuming Dad’s Lee Vining deer hunt was in 1948, our family’s first Sierras camping trip was in 1949.  Dad chose the campground at Twin Lakes near the resort town of Mammoth Lakes.  Twin Lakes is about 340 miles from our Sebren Avenue house, which was about a seven hour drive at the time.  Since we had to cross the Mohave Desert, we left home somewhere between 4:00 and 5:00 A.M. to beat the heat.  Our car did not have air conditioning; most cars did not have this luxury item in 1949.  On this first trip to the Sierras, we drove through Los Angeles, Palmdale and merged onto US Highway 395 at the town of Inyokern.  US Highway 395 continues north from Inyokern to Bishop, passing through the small towns of Lone Pine, Independence and Big Pine.  Halfway between Lone Pine and Independence is Manzanar, the World War II Japanese internment camp (actually more like a concentration camp).  Bishop is located at the north end of the Owens Valley and is the gateway to the eastern Sierra Nevada Mountains’ recreation areas.

We stopped in Bishop for gas, groceries and the latest fishing information.  Bishop is a small town, consisting primarily of gas stations and sporting goods stores.  After leaving Bishop at 4,100 feet altitude, we began to climb the Sherwin Grade to the Sherwin Summit at 7,000 feet altitude.  This grade is a long steep climb, and our new car had problems overheating causing several stops to let the engine cool down.  Despite this problem, we reached the Twin Lakes Campground and set up camp.  The map shows the Twin Lakes, with our camp located midway between the red and purple pins.

Twin Lakes Campground

The Twin Lakes Campground is situated at 8,600 feet altitude at the base of Mammoth Mountain that reaches to an altitude of 11, 059 feet.  Camping at Twin Lakes was higher than camping around Big Bear.  While the sky was brilliant, once the sun went below the mountain tops it turned very chilly.  There were two sections to the campground, one section on the east shore and there other section across the lakes on the west shore.  There was a small general store near our camp, which was quite handy.  The west shore contained more campsites than where we were camped.  This photo of our camp shows the edge of our tent, wood stove, Coleman stove, clothesline and camp table.  Both Mom and Granddad are sitting in our lawn chairs.  I have to admit that there are several photos of our various campsites, all which appear to have been taken on different camping trips.  There are no dates on the photos and knowing for sure which camp is shown is really a pure guess.  Hence, if this is our camp at Twin Lakes, my selection is fortuitous.

Twin Lakes Camp, Circa 1949

Dad and I were the only ones in the family to fish, best I can remember.  Since we did not have a boat, we had to do all our fishing from shore.  At first, we tried fishing from the shore on the lake closest to our camp and north of the bridge to the west part of the campground.  When we had no luck in this area, we walked to the part the lake south of the bridge (to the bottom of the map).  From here we could see a nice pool and we could see some fish.  However, the fish were a distance that was difficult for me to reach by casting.  Dad could just reach the pool with his fly pole.  Dad caught a trout or two, but what we really needed was a boat.   After a couple of days fishing from the shore, on our way back to camp, Dad discovered an old abandoned rowboat laying hidden under some bushes.  The rowboat’s location is shown by the purple pin.  Dad pulled the boat out of the bushes and inspected it.  The rowboat was not in good shape, but Dad thought it might float.  We had to clean it up since who knows how long it had been laying in the bushes.  After the cleaning, Dad put it in the lake to see if it would float.  This trial was successful, so we now had a boat.  However, we had a boat but no paddle, which brings to mind the old saying, Up a Creek Without a Paddle.  Dad was always inventive, and he easily solved our paddle problem.  We had a short handled shovel that we always brought on camping trips.  This shovel was about three feet in length with a hand grip.  This shovel was from Dad’s days when he worked for the US Forest Service and USFS was stamped on it.  The next day we put our boat in the water, and Dad paddled us to our fishing spot south of the bridge.  Fortunately, the water level was low enough that going under the bridge was not a problem.  Dad positioned the boat near the fish we could see from the shore, and we began fishing.

How successful we were fishing in this manner, I do not remember for sure, we did have trout for dinner on some nights.  What I do remember is this was the first time for fly fishing.  Dad had a fly pole and showed me how to use it.  I thought it was an amazing way to catch fish.  Up until this time, my fishing was always “bait” fishing.  Even on this trip, I had a casting pole with a regular casting reel (spinning reels had not been invented yet).  Bait fishing was with salmon eggs, and Dad had to show me how to hide the hook in the egg.  According to Dad, if the hook was not hidden completely the trout would not take the bait.  Beside teaching me to fly fish and how to hide the hook, Dad taught me how to clean a trout, and I had to clean all the trout I caught.  Needless to say, cleaning the trout was the least exciting part of fishing.

I do not remember how many times we used the boat for fishing, although I believe we made several trips to our pond.  Using the shovel to paddle our way to our fishing spot intrigued me.  So one day I ask Dad if I could paddle us back to our landing spot.  Boy, was that a mistake!  Paddling with the shovel was not as easy as it looked.  In fact, I believe after struggling for awhile I asked Dad to take over.  Now I really appreciated Dad’s effort paddling us to our fishing spot.  Although I do not know why, all future camping/fishing trips to the Sierras were on Lee Vining Creek near Lee Vining.  Perhaps Dad liked the Lee Vining area based on his deer hunting trip, or maybe it was because lake fishing was difficult without a boat.  Except for guessing,  there is nothing that gives a clue as to why our camping spot changed.

When Dad told us we were going to camp on Lee Vining Creek, I was excited.  We were going to the area Dad and Lloyd Biddle had hunted a couple of years previously, and I was eager to see the area.  Lee Vining was another 30 to 35 miles further north from Twin Lakes, with another four miles to the campground from the town.  While an extra 40 miles seems just a short drive from Twin Lakes, our total drive time increased to about nine hours, which was about two hours longer than to Twin Lakes.  It was not the extra mileage that increased the driving time, it was that we were pulling a trailer.  In 1950 the California speed limit was 45 MPH for anyone pulling a trailer, regardless of the trailer’s size.  Besides pulling a trailer, Dad changed the route we used to get to Inyokern.  In 1950, and al subsequent trips to the eastern Sierras, we drove through Santa Ana Canyon, then north through the Devore Cutoff, over the Cajon Pass to US Highway 395 just before reaching Victorville.  Today the Devore Cutoff is Interstate 15 and continues over Cajon Pass.  US Highway 395 travels northwest through Four Corners and Johannsburg to Inyokern.  The route from Inyokern to Lee Vining is identical as to Twin Lakes, just about 40 miles further.  As we drove into Lee Vining, the town appeared just as Dad had described it.  The town of Lee Vining overlooks Mono Lake as shown in the map.  I remember Mono Lake as having a beautiful sky blue color, not the green shown in the map.  After getting gas we drove to the Tioga Pass Road.  Once on Tioga Pass Road, it is about four miles to the Big Bend Campground that is situated on Lee Vining Creek.  The red map pin is Lee Vining and the purple map pin indicates the location of the Big Bend Campground.  The Tioga Pass Road crests at 9,943 feet where you enter Yosemite National Park.  Tuolumne Meadows Campground is located just over the crest by about seven or eight miles at an altitude of 8,619 feet.  There is an interesting future story about Tuolumne Meadows Campground that occurred about 1965. 

\

Lee Vining Overlooks Mono Lake

Mono Lake is a large, shallow saline soda lake, formed at least 760,000 years ago as a terminal lake, meaning it has no outlet although there are three creeks that empty into it. The lack of an outlet causes high levels of salt to accumulate in the lake. These salts make the lake water alkaline.  Even though the lake is alkaline it is a major nesting area for migratory birds that feed on the brine shrimp that thrive in the alkaline water.  Actually, the lake was a volcano at one time, and there are several extinct volcanoes in the area.  

Big Bend Campground is a small, rustic site on the Lee Vining Creek.  I never knew it was named Big Bend, to me it was the Lee Vining Campground.  A Mono County website lists that there are 17 campsites with bear lockers.  There were no bear lockers when we camped there, probably because bears were not an issue then.  How many campsites existed when we stayed there, I have no idea.  What I do remember is that we camped near the creek.  To my recollection, we spent three or four summers camping here from 1950 to either 1953 or 1954.  Plus, when Dad I went deer hunting, this campground is the one we used.  It was a new experience to camp near the creek.  Fishing was so much easier than fishing at Twin Lakes.  In fact, I remember one summer, our camp was right on the creek.  I learned where to fish on the creek and which spots were the best.  Fishing here was the most enjoyable I had ever experienced.

This next photo shows our 1941 Ford pulling a trailer with our gear in it.  The photo was probably taken as we were leaving for home and not when we arrived.  Best I can tell Mom, Berta and Granddad are in the back seat, while I appear to be in the front seat.  Berta and Mom had to suffer Granddad’s cigar smoke, which must have been thick and pungent!

Our 1941 Ford Pulling Trailer, Circa 1950

Next is a photo of one of our camps on Lee Vining Creek.  We had two tents, which I do not remember.  Mom is carrying in some wood, I think  Granddad is sitting on a camp stool. 

One of Our Lee Vining Camps, Circa 1950

Besides fishing Berta and I spent time playing in the creek.  I have no idea what we were doing in the creek when this photo was taken.  I suspect this photo was taken during our first time in this campground, because Berta is about seven or eight and I am smaller than l am in the previous photo.  I may have been collecting—worms?  No idea what Berta is doing, but she is not eating worms!

Royal and Berta Playing in Lee Vining Creek, Circa 1950

Around 1950, give or take a year or two, Dad ordered a split bamboo fly rod kit from Herter’s, a mail order outdoor goods store in Waseca, Minnesota.  He used this kit to make a fly rod for me, complete with my name and his on the rod written in India Ink.  I believe he also had built his own fly rod using a similar kit from Herter’s.  The main difference between the two rods was that my rod was somewhat smaller, I suppose for a young teenager.  I still have both fly rods, but the names have faded and are very difficult to read.  Whenever he built it, I used this fly rod for the first time on the Lee Vining Creek.  I used it with both flies and with bait (salmon eggs).  Rainbow trout were the predominate trout species in Lee Vining Creek, so most of the fish I caught were rainbows.  California Department of Fish and Game stocked the creek with rainbows on a regular basis from a hatchery near Lee Vining.  How many fish I caught has been lost in time.  There are a couple of fishing experiences that come to mind during our time camping on the creek.

Just about all the trout I caught were in the range of eight to ten inches in length.  Then one day while fly fishing I caught a trout that was at least 12 inches, or longer, in length.  When I showed it to Dad, he said it was a German Brown trout.  While this German Brown was the only one caught, there were plenty of Rainbows.  About four or five days before we were planning on leaving for home, a truck entered the campground.  This truck was a Fish and Game truck arriving to restock the creek.  I followed the truck around and saw where they were stocking the creek.  I was excited and grabbed my pole and was ready to begin fishing.  Dad told me to wait a day or two, because these newly planted fish would not be hungry, claiming the hatchery would feed them before releasing.  I tried anyway and Dad was right, there was not even a nibble from these new creek residents.  Sure enough, in a couple of days they were hungry.  Fishing almost all day, I caught my daily limit of 15 fish.  It is the one and only time a limit was ever caught.  While cleaning these fish, it was discovered that their innards, guts, or intestines, were filled with horse meat.  Horse meat was fed to them at the hatchery.  Now I knew why it was a couple of days before they were hungry.  I believe catching my limit occurred on our last camping trip before attending college.  The following photo shows Berta and me with some of these fish.

Berta, Trout, Royal, Circa 1953

The summer following graduation from high school, 1953, was the last of my family camping trips.  Camping and fishing did not end this year, but it did not resume for a few years.  These family camping trips formed the basis for future camping trips with my own family.  During the same years our family went camping every summer, Dad and I camped on a number of hunting trips.  Most of our deer hunting trips were done in the Lee Vining area and we camped in this same campground.  Before jumping into Dad and my deer hunting escapades during the early 1950s around Lee Vining, some supporting stories must be told.  These stores are centered about Dad’s projects of firearms modifications and restorations, his firearms training for me and a couple of my first gun toting hunting experiences.  Once again the time periods are uncertain, as well as the order of occurrence.  Realistically, these events are intertwined and are not truly separable.

It is my belief that prior to August 1945, Dad owned four firearms.  These firearms were a 22 rifle, a 12 gauge shotgun, a 410 shotgun and a 38 pistol.  The 22 rifle he used for our 1940 Kansas trip, shooting two jackrabbits.  Both shotguns were single shot, with a hammer and single trigger.  According to Dad the pistol could shoot only black powder cartridges, and I never saw him fire it.  An internet photo of an Harrington & Richardson hammerless 38 pistol looks similar to the one Dad owned.

Harrington & Richardson 38 Caliber Hammerless Pistol

The deer rifle that Dad bought in August 1945 was a 30-40 Krag carbine.  The carbine had a 22 inch barrel compared to the 30 inch barrel of the rifle.  This rifle was the standard US Army rifle from 1892 until 1903.  The Krag is the rifle Dad used for deer hunting trips in 1946 and 1947, as previously described.  When Dad purchased the Krag it had not been modified and had a beautiful military style stock, similar to that shown in the photo. 

30-40 Krag Carbine

Following the conclusion of World War II, probably in 1946, Dad joined the National Rifle Association (NRA).  His membership included the NRA monthly magazine The American Rifleman.  I remember reading this magazine cover to cover every month for years.  The NRA operated a Director of Civilian Marksmanship (DCM) program that allowed members to purchase surplus US Military firearms for about $25.  In the late 1940s, probably about 1948 Dad bought a Model 1917 Enfield.  The Enfield was the standard rifle of the US Army during World War I and was chambered for the 30-06 cartridge.  The Enfield arrived smothered in Cosmoline, a wax/oil compound used to prevent rust.  The Enfield is shown in the photo with a military stock. 

Model 1917 Enfield Rifle

After receiving the Enfield, Dad began an extensive project to modify both the Enfield and Krag to sporting rifles; converting the Enfield was his first task.  The Enfield was never fired until after the conversion was completed.  There were two major features of the Enfield that were the focus of the conversion.  There were huge “ears” on the side of the rear sight and a step down in the magazine area of the rifle.  These two features are clearly shown in this photo.

Model 1917 Enfield Rear Sight Ears & Magazine Step Down Features

To make the appropriate modifications to these two items, Dad went to shop classes at night to make the modifications.  In this class the “ears” were removed and the step down in the magazine was cutout and reconstructed to be straight.  The next task, after finishing these modifications was to bluing the rifle’s steel.  Bluing provides corrosion protection to the steel, plus provides a cosmetic appearance to the exposed metal.  Dad chose the hot bluing process to blue the Enfield parts.  Using this process required Dad to construct bluing tanks, an aluminum frame to hold the tanks and natural gas burners to heat the tanks.  I am positive Dad learned of the hot bluing process by reading gunsmithing books.  There certainly was no Wikipedia!  Following the bluing process, Dad ordered a walnut gunstock blank from Herter’s.  The first step was to fit the rifle barrel, receiver and magazine to the stock by removing wood to achieve a close fit to the stock (a time consuming iterative process).  Once the rifle parts were properly fitted Dad embedded some black “plastic” diamonds into the stock, then applied a checkering design.  Finally, a coat of varnish was applied to the stock.  A sportarized Enfield is shown in this photo that closely resembles Dad’s final product.  The “ears” are gone and the magazine floor is straight, plus the rear and front sights were added.  Personally, I think Dad’s rifle was more impressive looking than the one in this photo.

Modified Model 1917 Enfield

Once the Enfield conversion was finished, Dad modified the Krag.  This modification was not as challenging since he only had to remove the military stock: then remove the military bluing and prepare it for re-bluing.  After re-bluing, the rifle was fitted to the new stock using the same steps that were followed with the Enfield.  The result was another beautiful sporting rifle similar to the one in the photo.

Modified 30-40 Krag

The real challenge in modifying the Krag was fitting the rifle to the stock.  The military stock in the area of the magazine consisted of only the wood under the magazine.  The other side of the magazine was a plate.  Dad wanted to cover this plate with the new stock for two reasons.  First to add some additional strength to the stock and secondly to provide a cosmetic cover to the magazine plate.  Dad’s challenge was to cover the magazine plate, but the wood covering the plate was very thin.  He had to be extremely careful not to cut through this portion of the stock and ruin it  The following photos show the magazine plate in the military stock and modified stock covering the magazine plate.  To be honest, I do not believe Dad’s stock modification had the dip in the stock as  shown, but that was a long time ago.

Krag Magazine Plate in Military Stock 

Krag Magazine Plate Covered by New Stock

After modifying the Enfield and Krag, he stripped down the two shotguns re-blued them and re-varnished the stocks.  How long all this work took I am not sure, but Dad spent many hours in the garage on these gunsmithing projects.  Intermixed with Dad’s these gunsmithing projects were two other firearms related projects.  One of the other projects involved minor gunsmithing tasks for the 22 Stevens Rifle.  These tasks involved adding improved rear and front sights.  In addition, he checkered the stock in a manner similar to the two other rifles.  Besides the stock checkering, obtaining a better fit between the rifle barrel and the stock was a major effort.  Dad wanted the best fit possible to achieve accuracy for target shooting.  The primary reason for accurate target shooting was his teaching me to shoot a rifle.

Dad signed me up for a Junior NRA membership in 1948 or 1949, then he enrolled me in a marksmanship program the NRA offered for Junior Members.  This marksmanship program required shooting targets at 50 feet with the 22 rifle.  To shoot these targets we would drive out to the Corona foothills near Lake Matthews.  We made this trip about every four to six weeks.  The program required shooting targets in four positions; prone (Iaying down), sitting, kneeling and standing.  Minimum scores were required for each position to earn the title of Marksman and Sharpshooter.  Highest scores were required for the prone position with the least points for standing.  In addition, higher scores for each position were required as you graduated from Marksman to Sharpshooter.  The next photo shows me in the prone positioning after firing a shot and in the act of reloading for the next shot.  Although the rifle could hold 15 Long Rifle cartridges in the lower tube, Dad made me reload each cartridge singly by hand.  Why he insisted on this reloading technique, I am not sure, but he was adamant.

Royal Reloading for Next Shot

If you look closely at the photo, there is a telescope just above my right hand.  I could NOT use the telescope, and could only use the rear and front sights.  Dad added the telescope late in the program that we used for plinking and longer range shooting.  A total of ten shots were fired at a target, with each shot possible of scoring ten points.  We used NRA Official targets that had five bullseyes as shown in the photo.  Thus, two bullets were fired at each bullseye.  Those suckers seemed awfully small at 50 feet.  In fact, at that range a bullseye was only about 1/8 inch in diameter.

NRA Five Bullseye Target

While the ring numbers are not visible in the photo, a shot into the center bullseye scored 10 points.  Each shot beyond the center bullseye scored anywhere from nine or less points.  The largest black ring was only seven points.  Best I can remember the lowest score for a position was about 75 or 80 points and for the higher shooting scores were in the 90s.  Whether I fired two shots at each bullseye or used two targets, I do not remember.  But I do remember getting nine good scores and shooting a poor score on one bullseye and would have to start all over with new targets.  At times it was frustrating when all but one or two shots went astray and sometimes it took several targets to achieve a submittable target.  Obtaining a proper score required learning correct shooting techniques for each position.  These techniques required breathing techniques and the proper trigger squeeze.  The most important technique was achieving a near perfect sight picture.  A near perfect sight picture meant aligning the rifle sights on the target with the intent that a perfect score of ten would result when the rifle fired.  Needless to say, this result was near impossible to achieve, even at only 50 feet.  It was almost impossible to obtain a consistent sight picture, which meant an inconsistent shot placement.  Despite the difficulty of shooting high scores in each position, I achieved the scores necessary to earn the titles of Marksman and Sharpshooter.  As my shooting skills increased and I progressed through the different positions, medals were earned.  Dad made a wall plaque and placed the medals on the plague.  This plaque was hung in our living room.  Upon turning 18 in the summer of 1953 I could no longer belong to the Junior NRA, but I did not join the NRA until about six years later upon graduating from college.  Although I have no idea what happened to the plaque, I found my medals in my parents boxes with all the old photos, certificates and school records.

A photo shows these medals also with a Junior NRA patch for the year 1953.  The four medals shown represent both Marksman and Sharpshooter levels of achievement.  The order in which they were earned I do not remember.  However, the one Sharpshooter medal with several bars attached was the last series of medal earned.  These additional bars were earned by increased scoring for the four positions.  The medal on the lower left is Pro Marksman, while the one on the lower right is Marksman First Class.  I cannot discern what level the medal in the lower middle position , if any, represents.  It may just be a membership medal.

Junior NRA Medals

Besides the marksmanship, target shooting, Dad and I made several hunting excursions to the Lake Matthews area to hunt rabbits.  After Dad refurbished the shotguns, I went on my first rabbit hunt.  Dad carried the 12 gauge, and I use the 410 gauge.  On that hunt I remember shooting my first rabbit.  Dad and I were walking about 25 yards apart when I caught a movement to my left.  There was a small Brush rabbit about 50 yards away slowly moving away from me.  The rabbit stopped to look around, taking aim I shot and had my first rabbit.  It was more like a rifle shot because the rabbit was stationary and not running.  On later hunts I shot rabbits while they were running, but I always was using a shotgun.  We usually shot one or two rabbits on most hunting trips, and we always ate rabbits we shot.  There were several memorable hunting trips to the area, but there are two that stand out from the others.

Dad and I left one Friday evening to the Lake Matthews area and camped out with the idea of getting an early morning start.  Dad fixed supper in a Dutch Oven, which is a large cast iron pot about eight inches deep and with a lid.  The next morning we were going to have bacon and eggs.  Either that night, or the next morning, Dad discovered that he forgot to put the skillet in with our cooking gear.  Dad’s solution to no skillet was very unique.  There was a metal coffee can in our gear that served as our skillet.  He cut a couple of small holes in the edge of the can, turned it over and built a fire under the can.  Then he cooked our bacon and eggs on the bottom of the coffee can.  From using a pine branch for toilet paper to substituting a coffee can for  a skillet, Dad was very inventive and adaptive.

Besides rabbits, there were lots of ground squirrels.  On another of our trips to the area for target shooting, we were driving out to the main highway.  We spotted a ground squirrel about 75 yards from the dirt road we were traveling.  Dad agreed I could take a shot at the squirrel when I asked.  The wind was blowing from the left, and the rifle was sighted in for the 50 foot target shooting.  Due to these two factors, I guessed at the wind drift and the elevation to account for the longer distance.  To my and Dad’s amazement, the bullet hit the squirrel in the head.  Probably my best long range shot ever taken.  This ground squirrel was not a meal, because Dad told me not to touch it when I went to see where the bullet struck.  Dad was concerned that it might be contaminated with some sort of potential disease.  

During one of our target shooting sessions, Dad test fired the remodeled 1917 Enfield rifle.  Dad and I shot at targets placed out at 100 yards.  Now that there were two big game rifles, the 30-41 Krag and the 30-06 Enfield, I began to accompany Dad on deer hunts.  Dad carried the Krag and I carried the Enfield.  My first deer hunts with Dad were in the Lee Vining area, staying at the campground where our family camped during the summers.  Our hunts were unsuccessful; in fact, there were only two times there was a chance to shoot a buck.  We saw plenty of does, but they could not be shot during the general season.  Our first buck encounter occurred while we were sitting on a mountainside overlooking a narrow draw that led to the mountain top.  We had driven to one canyon south of the campground, parked and climbed to our spot on the westside of the mountain.  We had been sitting for a while when voices of other hunters could be heard.  These hunters were above us toward the mountain top.  Shortly after hearing their voices, a deer came sneaking down the draw we were watching.  Dad was sure the deer was a buck since it was alone and told me to take aim for a shot.  Dad’s goal was for me to shoot my first deer, so he told me I would have the first shot.  While I was taking aim, Dad was using binoculars to determine if the buck was legal.  To be legal, the buck had to be a “forked horn”, meaning a two point buck (a two year old).  I kept asking, “Is it okay to shoot?” and Dad kept saying, “I cannot tell!”  It would have been a difficult shot because he was about 75 yards away and about 20 yards below us.  It is natural to shoot too high when shooting downhill.  Before Dad could give me the green light, the buck turned left up into some trees and any chance for a shot was lost.

The other buck sighting occurred while driving into the high desert area south of Mono Lake.  We had driven out there a couple of days previous and discovered an area with a herd of about 15 does.  Since it was rutting season, Dad reasoned that there might be a buck nearby or with these does.  We were about a mile from a dirt road that led to the area where we had seen the group of does, when Dad suddenly said, “Oh, hey look!” and stopped the car.  I looked where he was pointing, and there stood a four point buck silhouetted on a ridge about 100 yards from the road.  This buck was standing broadside to the road and offered a great shot.  Dad told me to get out, get my rifle and take a shot.  My rifle was in the back seat and the cartridges were in the trunk.  It was illegal to carry a loaded rifle in the car, plus cartridges had to be separated from the rifle.  As I rushed out of the car, I suffered Buck Fever.  Buck Fever is what strikes hunters, especially new ones, and causes them to do strange things.  These strange things could be freezing, forgetting to remove the safety, actually anything that prevents making a shot.  My Buck Fever was not loading only one cartridge, but instead loading all five cartridges into the Enfield rifle.  By the time I retrieved five cartridge and loaded them into the rifle magazine, the buck had not waited for me and turned and left the ridge.  We were disappointed that we missed the chance to take a shot.  While Dad thought it was just one of those things, he did not realize what I had done.  As I thought about my actions, it became clear my mistake cost a shot at the buck.  When I told Dad about loading five cartridges instead of one, he agreed that it was a missed opportunity.  There were other deer hunting adventures, but these hunts occurred after my high school years.  These hunting adventures are stories for another time.

Reflecting on the Outdoor Life stories, it is amazing to realize these experiences occurred in the short span of eight years, 1945 through 1953.  While reflecting on this essay’s stories, I belatedly recognized how these experiences had such a significant influence on me.  In a manner of speaking, the outdoors, especially mountains and forests, entered the very being of my soul.  From my very first trek into the mountains, I fell in love with the mountains and forests.  As our family camping trips migrated to the Eastern Sierras, the vast openness of the area added another dimension to my love of the outdoors.  The stillness of the mountains is overwhelming; this stillness allows you to hear the wind, the gurgling of creeks and makes you feel like a part of nature.  The air is crisp, the sky a beautiful blue and so clear your vision seems unlimited.  The night sky is filled with so many stars that seem so close you can touch them.  At night, the vastness of the mountains collapse in total darkness except for the light of the campfire and lantern.  The darkness is like being wrapped in nature’s blanket.  It is like another world with a full moon, because darkness disappears and everything appears so different during daylight.  Feeling as though you are a part of nature, realization of your insignificance is sobering.  This realization allows you to see the grandeur of the mountains and the true beauty of nature.  These outdoor experiences and feelings resulted in a life long desire to live in the mountains.  However, going to college put me on a path that made fulfilling this dream not too practicable.

A further realization emerged while reflecting on the essay’s stories and it was recognition of Dad’s abilities and influence on me.  While it is obvious he was an excellent marksman, he was also a gifted craftsman.  While I witnessed him make unbelievable repairs and build items from scratch, perhaps the best example of his talents was modification of the Enfield and Krag rifles.  He improved the structure of the Enfield, built bluing tanks, blued them and restocked both rifles.  In addition to restocking the rifles, he added checkering that enhanced their appearance.  Plus, he improved the appearance of all his firearms, not to mention building my split bamboo fly rod.  It is difficult to put into words the total extent of Dad’s influences on me.  Yes, he taught me to fire a rifle, hunting techniques, how to fly fish and so many other skills.  Then he introduced me to his other passions of camping, car races, science and rodeos among many others.  His influence extended to the important aspects of life like honesty, how to shake hands and education importance, to name just a few. Of course Dad was not the only influence in my life.  Mom’s influence also had an impact, but I would call it a much more subtle type influence.  Mom emphasized more personal traits than how to do things.  Her concerns for me were more in the nature of cleanliness, grooming, proper manners and the etiquettes of life.  It was surprising to discover Berta also had difficulty describing Mom’s influence on her.  We agreed Mom’s influence was subtle and difficult to identify, but we agreed on perhaps her greatest influence.  Mom’s greatest influence was providing us with verbal skills.  Truly a very subtle influence!  Plus, Mom was my protector, because she provided guidance in matters that would cause me difficulties with Dad.  In the long run, Mom’s influences were just as important as Dad’s.  Actually, it was their combined influences that helped me grow and mature in so many ways.

Besides these outdoor activities, many of my experiences in A Baseball Journey happened basically during the same years, 1948 through 1953.  Recognizing these activities happened in about the same time frame set me to considering all the experiences touching my memory by the autumn of 1953.  It is just overwhelming to imagine how varied and diverse were all these experienced activities and events.  Looking back over all those memories that so far have emerged demonstrates life is many faceted, and you grow continuously, building experiences layer upon layer.  These layered experiences do not occur in isolation but in an obviously intertwined manner.  Life’s experiences are intertwined, because they occur at random times and not simultaneously.  An excellent example of this intertwining process was involved with Dad’s spritzing the rifles, target shooting, hunting and camping.  Plus, layered with these experiences were going to school, playing baseball, car races and movies, to name just a few of the memories that have been put into words.  Intertwining is a way of defining how experiences are randomly time ordered and the experiences are cumulative.  Intertwining and layering experiences is for describing the progression of life.  A good example of intertwining would be seeing an atomic flash early Friday morning, playing baseball that afternoon and seeing a great movie that night.  This process is repeated daily, each day different from the previous.  That is the inevitable progression of your life.