Texas and Murdering Jackrabbits
January 31, 2004
If you have a dog that can outrun and catch a jackrabbit, you must know you have an exceptionally fast dog. My dogs were far too slow to catch one of these speedy hares, so our approach to hunting them was to use a spotlight at night from the back of a pickup truck. Although my dad's 1950's International pickup truck was far from a speedy vehicle, it could still outrun and outmaneuver a desperate rabbit dodging through a young citrus orchard. Especially considering the fact that in the back of the pickup were several eager hunters with 22 rifles and shotguns. It was often a very exciting hunt, but the odds were definitely not in the rabbit's favor. Yes, a few rabbits escaped to be hunted another day, but as often as not, we would end a night's hunt with several dead or dying jackrabbits in the bed of the pickup. And, the more we engaged in this type of hunt, the more we improved our hunting skills. I do not remember the record for most killed in one hunt, but it does not seem an exaggeration to guess 30 rabbits or so.
We hunted mostly in the Jackson Pasture area near Monte Christo Road, northwest of Edinburg. Jackrabbits thrived in this orchard environment and were known to gnaw the bark off the young citrus trees. We did not know the owner of these orchards, but we hunted there often and felt that the owners were not unhappy with our activities. They might have even paid us to thin out these citrus-eating varmints. To contend that we never ran over a young citrus tree during the excitement of a chase might be an exaggeration, but we seriously tried to avoid injury to the young trees.
Part of the hunting technique was to know what defensive strategy the jackrabbit would employ. OK, you guessed it! He runs at top speed away from the source of danger. At the start of a chase, the rabbit mostly ran in a single direction with only minor detours to avoid obstacles in his path. The gene pools of slow rabbits had been eliminated from contributing offspring by generations of hungry coyotes so that only the speedy rabbits prevailed. For us, all that was necessary was to drive as rapidly as possible to prevent the rabbit from outrunning the reach of the headlights and then maintain a speed faster than a coyote can run. The guys in back held on with one hand for dear life. The other hand held either a gun or a spotlight. When the rabbit found the big 4-wheeled predator coming too close, or the shooting started, the rabbit often changed tactics by dodging from row to row or even circling back quickly. Since I was usually the driver, this was the most fun part. But it could be a little hard on my hunting passengers.
During one such hunt, a quick turn propelled Howard Simmons out through that rarefied South Texas air and dumped him unceremoniously onto the sandy, cultivated earth. The main mode of communication between the hunters in the back and the driver was for the hunters to pound on the truck's roof and yell loudly. These signals indicated that there was a problem and I should stop. So, when Howard fell out, Tosh Williams started pounding and I could not ignore the signal. However, my initial thought was that the ground was relatively soft and Howard was probably not hurt – the hunt must continue and we could later circle back and pick up Howard – assuming that he was OK. After all, we could not let the rabbit escape. But somehow, reason prevailed, and to our great disappointment, one lucky rabbit got away to help perpetuate the species. Howard also survived – largely unscathed.
During one such hunt, a quick turn propelled Howard Simmons out through that rarefied South Texas air and dumped him unceremoniously onto the sandy, cultivated earth. The main mode of communication between the hunters in the back and the driver was for the hunters to pound on the truck's roof and yell loudly. These signals indicated that there was a problem and I should stop. So, when Howard fell out, Tosh Williams started pounding and I could not ignore the signal. However, my initial thought was that the ground was relatively soft and Howard was probably not hurt – the hunt must continue and we could later circle back and pick up Howard – assuming that he was OK. After all, we could not let the rabbit escape. But somehow, reason prevailed, and to our great disappointment, one lucky rabbit got away to help perpetuate the species. Howard also survived – largely unscathed.
I am happy to report that none of our "tribe" was ever seriously injured or shot accidentally during these hunts. At least, none of the scrapes or contusions experienced was sufficiently severe to require hospitalization. However, Howard may have a slightly different interpretation.
The more we improved our hunting technique, the less challenge we experienced. We did not really focus on the numbers of rabbits killed; it was mainly the thrill of the hunt. One of our party – an athletic basketball player named Homer Inlow – began to experiment with another hunting technique. "I'll stand on the running board of the pickup and if you can drive up beside a rabbit, I'll jump off and catch him," he announced. To say that Jerry Kaml and the rest of us were skeptical would have been an understatement. But, it would be fun to try. The first few tries, Homer jumped off the speeding pickup and landed in a dusty heap – capturing only a mouthful or handful of soil. We all found it very amusing – but Homer persevered. Later he learned to jump off the pickup and land on his feet running – not an easy feat when the pickup is traveling at maybe 20 MPH. When he finally grabbed his first jackrabbit and killed it, we were amazed and Homer was triumphant. "Does playing basketball better equip one to catch rabbits by hand?" I wondered. From that time on, hunting with guns became less challenging as others began to master this new hand-capturing technique.
But, what do you do with a pickup bed covered with rabbits – some not even completely dead? Our ill-defined tribe had brought home meat from the hunt, but we chose not to eat it because we had heard that the lumps under their skins contained dangerous pathogens. However, there were hungry Latinos in Edinburg that were very happy to receive a gift of this hard-earned meat – the proof of our tribal manhood. If these folks died from eating the rabbits, that was their problem. We never heard any complaints from these satiated recipients, so we assumed that they either had a natural resistance to the pathogens or they knew how to remove the infected parts before the animals were cooked and eaten.
Jerry Kaml remembers that after a hunt, we often stopped at Russ Bill's filling station north of the Hidalgo County Courthouse to display our trophies. A fellow named Julio worked there and seemed to enjoy the banter and celebration of a successful hunt by this tribe of brave, resourceful sportsmen. But if killing 30 or so rabbits was not weird enough, John Hardin carried it to a new level. He used the air hose to pump one of the dead rabbits so full of air that it exploded. For some of us, jackrabbits were much like the "schmoos" in Al Capp's Little Abner comic strips – somehow designed to be eaten and happy to be eaten. Consequently, with this "Cappian" type of philosophical justification, we had few qualms about killing a rabbit; but blowing it to smithereens with air pressure seemed over our ill-defined ethical line and was a little grotesque. We all gradually lost interest in hunting rabbits and became much more interested in chasing girls. As far as I know, John Hardin never blew up any girl until she exploded.
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