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Orchard of Hell
Spanning the distance of the Nueces River floodplain, the pecan grove acted as a large solar oven. The upper limbs of the trees twisted and overlapped one another creating a low canopy that kept the wind from entering and trapped the moist heat below it. Further adding fuel to the fire were the tall grasses within the grove that acted as a sponge, preserving moisture, even when the South Texas sun boiled over 103 degrees.
Sitting in the ramshackle plywood and tin blind in the blast furnace heat of the orchard, sweat pouring from every inch of body surface, I pondered what, if anything, I had done to offend my guide Oscar Lonbarana. Was my teetering on the very edge of heat exhaustion in this orchard of Hell under the guise of hunting hog some act of vengeance thrust upon me by Oscar for some offense I had unmistakably committed? Were there really any pigs wandering around this sauna?
My adventure into the realm of sweltering lunacy began on ebay where I had first came across an auction for an all inclusive hunt for three feral hogs, one aoudad, and unlimited varmints in the deep scrub brush country of South Texas. Rather than placing a bid, I contacted the company that listed the auction directly.
The Double C Ranch is owned and operated by Hunting with Jeff. In addition to the Double C Ranch, Hunting with Jeff manages several additional properties bringing its total hunting area to over 25,000 acres. This land is managed exclusively for wildlife. No livestock roams the property and the reason for this management plan is easy to see in the number of healthy and mature trophies one sees while hunting.
After speaking to owner Jeff Myers and having all my concerns and questions answered, I booked a hunt for July.
Located halfway between Carrizo Springs and Crystal City, Texas in some of the host inhospitable landscape in the state, the Double C Ranch is a virtual oasis for hunters. Private cabins surround a gorgeous waterfall-fed swimming pool which is flanked by an outdoor bar palapa and an enclosed deck that is both a game room and informal dining area. Other amenities include a hot tub, satellite TV, weight room, and stocked fishing tanks. Upon checking in and making myself comfortable I met my guide for the next three days, Oscar Lonbarana.
Oscar asked what I wanted from my time at the Double C Ranch in terms of trophies and time spent. I replied that I was after a good time but that I understood that with the July heat the hunting would be hard. Oscar agreed that hunting would be difficult but assured me that we’d find some game.
“What kind of hog are you looking to take?” Oscar inquired, genuinely listening to my every word.
“Of course I’d like a big South Texas tusker,” I began. “But I want to make sure I get a smaller hog for the freezer.”
Oscar thought for a moment, his hand gently cupping and scratching his chin and cheek. At some private realization his eyes sparked and his eyebrows rose.
“I know just the place for a good eater,” Oscar gleefully began. “The pecan orchard.”
“Pecan orchard?”
“Yeah,” Oscar continued. It’s a huge orchard and I’ve seen some nice hogs in there.”
With the decision to hunt the orchard that evening made, Oscar and I retired to the dinning area for an early dinner. Afterwards, I loaded my gear into Oscar’s truck and sat back for the short drive to the orchard.
Sitting much lower in elevation than the surrounding flats of scrub brush, cactus, and mesquite, the pecan orchard acted as a green belt, separating the Nueces River from the South Texas scrub thickets above. Here among row after row of mature pecan trees, feral hogs, whitetail deer, raccoons, and turkeys fed on the high grasses that benefited from constant irrigation and the protein rich pecans that fell from the trees prematurely or somehow missed being harvested. The orchard also provided the still air and dank humidity so loved by mosquitoes, deer flies, ticks, and spiders.
 The Orchard of Hell |
Once at the blind I was quickly bombarded by the overwhelming heat and humidity of the area. The still air seemed to suck the life from my lungs and left my skin and clothing soaked in sweat and humidity.
“Here’s a couple bottles of water,” Oscar offered digging into the ice chest in the back of his truck. “There’s only four of them but there’s also a Diet Coke.”
I took all the drinks, along with my rifle and gear, and began to situate in the blind.
“I’ll pick you up a half hour after shooting light unless you call me first,” Oscar informed me as he held out a tiny radio. “Don’t get too hot.”
With the only working air conditioner in a 20 mile radius quickly making a B-line for higher ground, I eased back into the screaming hot metal chair and began glassing my surroundings. For the next two hours the only wildlife I saw was the myriad of flies, gnats, and mosquitoes that found comfort in eating, biting, and annoying me. Before long my exposed arms were a greasy smear of blood, insect carcasses, and sweat.
As the July afternoon slowly gave way to evening I began to wonder if I would see any game larger than squirrels. Before I could seriously contemplate the issue five turkeys parted the thick grasses surrounding the corn feeder 50 yards before me and began feeding on the few kernels of corn that remained from the morning’s distribution. With something to actually watch my mind was, at least temporarily, taken off the fact that I was loosing more fluids than I could replenish.
 Turkeys in Hell |
After consuming all that they could the turkeys again disappeared into the thick grass that rose high above their heads. I scanned the growth between the trees with my binoculars, watching for the subtle movements of grass that would indicate the turkey’s direction. Watching their trail veer to the left, another movement caught my eye. Sevety-five yards further out the tops of the high grasses parted under the wake of something black. I followed the image the best I could all the while cursing the grass and ever fading light that shielded the object’s true identity.
With the light disappearing as fast as it was I knew that if it was a hog I’d have to make a shot as soon as one presented itself or loose the opportunity all together. Unfortunately, with the black dorsal fin bobbing up and down through the sea of grass suddenly changing direction I began to think that any opportunity at a shot was quickly heading the other way.
The constant buzzing of insects feeding upon me was quickly interrupted by the distant murmur of what I took to be Oscar’s truck. A glance at my watch quickly confirmed what the sky was already telling me; the day’s hunt was nearing an end. With frustration eating at me almost as much as the mosquitoes and deer flies, I frantically watched the black shadow curve and twist through the grass. As the sound of the truck grew louder, the dark figure changed direction once more, eventually pushing its way toward the road to the rear of me. The grasses parted giving way to a small sounder of hogs some 10 to 15 in number. At the rear of the group was the tallest of the hogs, a good sized eater, and black as the night that was beginning to engulf him. I quickly positioned my Remington .270 and switched on the Electro Dot in my Burris 3 x 9 scope. When the red illumination found its home directly beneath the hog’s ear I gently squeezed the trigger, letting the Remington 140 grain Safari Grade bullet do its job. At the echo of the blast the drift of pigs exploded into madness, running in a thousand directions at once. I quickly jacked another round and held on the eater, but it wasn’t necessary.
 A nice sized "table hog" from hell |
Upon seeing my trophy, Oscar commented, “Well, your first trophy with Hunting with Jeff was at the pecan grove.”
Throwing the water that he’d brought down my throat as fast as gravity would allow I barked, “More like I took it in the Orchard of Hell.”
“Yeah,” Oscar suspiciously laughed. “I forgot to tell you how hot it gets down here.”
Your tour guide in Hell, Oscar Lonbarana
Or visit him at his website at www.huntingwithjeff.com