It has been a week and the fog is finally lifting. I think I am too old for this. A week ago I was in Mexico with the Wildcats. I drank too much, didn’t sleep enough, it was cold, and the food we ate is still killing me. Man, I had a good time!
The Wildcats are some friends of mine who like riding dirt bikes. These guys are not your typical riders. They are pretty serious about riding, and have the talent and experience to go with it. I am no way good enough to ride with these guys. First off, their bikes scare the shit out of me. I would kill myself in the first mile.
These guys are very experienced. They take off on 100 mile rides across open territory with only a GPS for a guide. They carry everything they might need on their backs, and are dressed in safety gear that is at a higher level than pro football players use. When dressed and ready to go, they look like Klingon warriors ready to do battle with the Federation.
The Wildcats
This time, the Wildcats were riding in “Baa-Haa” Mexico”. Leaving from my friend Rafael’s place north of Ensenada, up into the mountains near Constitution National Park. I had been asked to join them for the weekend as part of the chase team driving the truck.
In the truck we carried the gas, gear, spare parts, and beer. We didn’t need to do much, but had to be at a certain place by a certain time. We were there if necessary to carry a broke down bike, fetch supplies, or heaven forbid, act as an ambulance. This time was pretty easy, no real problems, so we mostly drank all the beer.
Since the chase team doesn’t ride, we didn’t need to get up early. This lack of responsibility meant we tended to stay up late and drink a little too much. It was one of those adventures we could do so. No need to think straight, no need to be on time. The rule of the day is just having fun. Not like when I am hunting. Those rules are different and I often need a chase team.
It is kind of different to have been on the other side of the coin last week. When I go hunting, I am just like the Wildcats. You have to put on your game face. Get some sleep, and drink moderately. You have to be prepared for the next day.
Duck hunters also have piles of gear and special clothes. Although I must admit looking like a Klingon is much cooler than looking like a pile bushes. And like the Wildcats, we carry everything we need for the day on our backs. Only occasionally do hunters have a dedicated chase team. Mostly we look to each other to help out if we get into trouble.
This has happened to me a few times. I violated the rules and paid the price. One such time, I went out to the club with my two boys, Robert and Brian, on Friday night for dinner. The boys were about 8 or 10 years old. They were too young to be shooting, but I would take them into the blind with me. They loved it and the truth be told, the boys were my chase team.
During season, they looked forward to the club all week long. When I got home from work on Fridays, both boys, and my Lab, Ceniza, were usually bouncing off the walls ready to go. They really helped out, not only getting everything ready, but they were also a help carrying all the crap to the blind. Ok, I admit it; I also enjoyed just having them with me.
This particular Friday night, I met a couple of my club members for a special dinner. Jules had been cooking snow goose and carrots in his crock pot all day. Jules is French-Canadian and one of my best buddies in Cazadores. His cooking was good, but his crock pot creations tended to be real gut bombs.
There were three of us at dinner, plus my boys. We were joined by another Cazadores member, KK. He showed up with a bottle of red wine. That was a good thing as Jules and I only had three bottles between us.
We sat down and dug into the snow goose. When we were through, the crock pot was empty, the boys were asleep, and the wine was gone. I staggered back to my camper with a smile on my face, and passed out.
Morning came like thunder. The alarm went off and the boys bounded out of bed. I wanted to die. My head was pounding. I slid out of the bed and stepped out on the porch. It was my intention to take a leak, but I don’t remember if I did. At that moment my stomach turned, and I blew. I remember thinking to myself, “Wow”.
I puked violently. I was amazed at the sight of a red arch with orange spots streaming away from me toward my trash can. God I hate carrots. I guess I was making a lot of noise because the boys came outside asking me if I was OK. I did what any father would do, I lied. I told them the carrots made me sick.
I went back into my camper, washed up, and somehow managed to get ready for the morning blind draw. I drew Hammer, the best hole on the club. Figures. I feel like crap and I get the best draw.
I loaded up the boys, Ceniza, and my gear into the Bronco and headed off for the parking area down by the ponds. “I am going to feel better”, I told myself. I should. I ate a handful of aspirin, and drank a gallon of water. No problem right? Wrong. Half way there, my stomach turned again.
I slammed on the brakes through the door open and puked again. “Goddamn”, I thought, ‘the shits still red”. One of the boys said something to me. Don’t asked me which one, or what. It was all beginning to blur, and my head was pounding again. This time the stream had white spots. The aspirin was gone.
I would have never made it to the blind without the boys. I got inside, tied up the dog and went to sleep, never even loaded my gun. Eventually the boys just quit asking if I was OK, and spent the morning looking at the birds and talking to the guys on the radio. Little bastards told them everything. Not that it mattered. The whole valley would occasionally hear me dry heaving all morning.
I think we left the blind about 11:00 AM and head back to camp. I was feeling better. My fellow hunters still give me crap about that day, but I never forget that my chase team had saved the day. I was glad I had them. My motorcycle buddies had a thing they said that summed up the responsibility each of us has to the other on an adventure.
Pray for the Wildcats.
Occasionally we can all use it.
CJ Cupp
