Kensco, I've had enough rattler experiences that I can sure relate to your tale! They are some spooky snakes, although all I've ever messed with have actually been pretty gentlemanly about it. Several had a dang good reason to bite me and didn't. Thank goodness.

I have a good friend who thought handling rattlers was no big thing. He "pinned" the snake with a stick and then got it behind the head and picked it up. Only problem was, he didn't grasp the snake CLOSE ENOUGH behind the head and the rattler was able to swivvel his head enough to bite him. My friend almost lost his arm before that party was over. Very bad scene.

I bent over to pick up a piece of .357 brass one day and found myself face to face with a 3.5 foot rattler out sunning himself. He wasn't amused by my interruption. And by the time I got back with my shotgun I wasn't amused either! Things like that can sure get a fellows attention in a hurry!

Hey guys

Is this some sort of family reunion

Ain't the world a small place

/ JOHAN

I used to love staying in that Artesia Hotel right by the train tracks.

Pecos45, my mother says that younger Bunch daughter was nicknamed Twinkie or Winkie, her real name was Winifred. You are right about the older daughter, Mildred.

Other friends of ours in Artesia were the Mills (he might have been the principal at one of the schools, the son I think was named Sydney maybe), and the Hubbards (they lived down the street from that great public swimming pool Artesia had).

My mother and sister are wondering what brought this all on. I told them old age and lost loves.

Kensco -
That "snake attack" story is one of the best I read in a long time. I had to go get some Windex to clean the Mt. Dew off my monitor. It's turned what started out as a really bad day into a reasonably decent one.

Thanks,

R-WEST

Kensco, the Artesia Hotel is totally gone now but they have rebuilt the train station next door. Really fancy.

Vernon Mills was the school superintendent.

I learned to swim and play grab ass with the girls in that swimming pool you speak of.

You need to come home, Kensco, and go stalk the old hunting grounds once again.

Pecos 45

I rodeoed all over New Mexico when I got out of High School...Almogordo was one of my haunts, I had some friends there, Pat Dardy, the Cox girls, Denny Calhoun and a bunch from El Paso...

Won the saddle bronc riding two years stright at Buster Prathers rodeo at Silver City and Demming as I recall, broke my back in Cruces and an arm in Carlsbad...fun days, drank a good deal back then...

Worked on some big ranches out of Cloudcroft south...Worked for old man McGregor (now McGregor firing range) out of a chuck wagon camp, now that was some kinda fun and mostly a bunch of wild kids, that were allowed to come and go as they pleased and just got paid for the days they worked..That didn't interfere with our Rodeoing..Malcomb McGregor was my mentor and a great man, taught me many a lesson that paid off later in life...told me years later that he would have left that ranch to me if I'd of hung around and given up the wild life, I was always smart in that respect, who wants to be a million aire....

Kinda like old home week around here, except I was around before everyone else was born I suspect.

Ray, it sounds like with all them broken bones from rodeoing you HAD to drink a fair amount just for the pain. But I envy you for SOME of the nifty experiences you must have had doing all the above. We'll have to all meet at the Well Head in Artesia some day and choke down a few pints of Roughneck Red while talking about the good old days.

I've prowled around most of the same country as you but never dreamed all these years later I'd be talking about it with anyone. Neat stuff!

P45

Pecos, Ray, Kensco,

You make it back to Artesia and the Wellhead beer is on me. (Might even spring for a few of the "Peel 'n' Eat" Shrimp.

Words just keep popping up. I've got a McGregor Range story.

When I lived in Cruces as a teenager I used to apply for the Mule Deer hunts on the military reservations, in the Organ Mountains and McGregor Range.

I hunted McGregor out of my 1968 Plymouth Roadrunner 383 cu. in. 4-bbl, 335 hp, forest green with black vynil roof and interior, 4-speed hurst.

It was a two-day hunt, either sex. My brother and two friends were on the tag, and as I recall two girl friends and one wife were along.

We split up hunting. When we got back in to camp, out on the flats, in the evening, one of my friends said he's downed a good buck up in the mountains and wanted us to help him get it out. I spoke to the other guys, we had a full moon, we decided to eat and rest, then get it off the mountain that night since we would only have one more day to hunt and none of the rest of us had a deer.

We parked two vehicles facing the mountains, with the women in them, and took off. It was a strange sight as we walked and glanced back the four lights became two lights, and the two lights finally appeared as a single light as we kept following the friend further and further into the mountains. We'd told the girls to turn the lights on every so often and run the engines some to stay warm. By midnight we hadn't found the buck. The friend wasn't sure where it was, then admited to us on the mountain that he killed two bucks, a little one first then a bigger one as he was dragging the first. He said one of us could have the other buck once we found them.

Our desire to help him immediately disappeared. I told him what I thought of what he'd done. We decided to keep looking. By 1:00am everyone was beat. I told the guy we were headed in, but I recommended he find his buck the next day.

We started off the mountain dragging-butt, finally picked up the headlights, then suddenly I noticed a strange light on the side of the mountain. It was like a reflection from the moon, but it was moving along with me down the mountain. When I stopped, it stopped. When I moved, it moved. The longer I stumbled along the more spooked I got. We were all strung out by then. The weird light disappeared when I got within a quarter mile of the cars. I got in the car and warmed up while I waited to see if the "UFO" attacked any of my friends.

My brother came in last. I felt stupid, so I didn't mention the light. The first thing he said was, "did you see anything strange coming off the mountain?" I made him tell me what he saw first. We saw the same thing, only difference was, it circled him once.

We decided the guy that had been our friend wasn't anymore. He asked if we'd help him recover the deer in the morning. We told him he was on his own. (He eventually recovered one of the bucks. We never spoke much after that trip.)

After three hours sleep I was up and hunting. I jumped a herd of does early, and trailed them back into the mountains. Hours later, about noon, they bedded down in a draw and I circled them, snuck back, and jumped them. I decked a big doe, and started to cleaned it. Halfway through I took a break and looked up. Two buck were feeding on the side of the mountain about 125 yards away, wide open hillside. I thought about killing one for about five seconds then went back to my business at hand.

I drug her for a while then got her over my back and shoulder and started trying to make some headway. On the third haul, I looked up and saw a hunter with his gun up, sighting on me through his scope. That was that, I dropped her, left my jacket on her and started walking out.

I didn't find anyone in camp to help.

I ended up getting a hachet from my car and cutting her into quarters, kind of, three pieces as I recall. I made three trips back into the mountains, with blisters the size of silver dollars on my heels.

One trip out with a third of the doe on my head I stepped on a small desert rattler. I was so damn tired it didn't freak me as bad as it should have, but I did have the energy to throw the part of the doe I was carrying on it first, then stomped the scary little bastard dead-dead, picked up my doe-part and trudged on. (Turns out I lost my favorite hunting knife right about then.)

I dumped all my doe parts in the trunk, stripped my boots off and fired up the Plymouth.

When I got to the checkpoint and walked in barefooted, and feet covered in blisters, the game people looked at me like I was the victim of a car accident. I told them they hadn't seen anything yet, to wait until they see the doe I killed.

They went with me to age it. When I popped the trunk I thought the game guy was going to puke. He said he'd never seen a deer cut up quite like that. He asked me if I used a gun initially or if I was just some axe murderer on the loose.

I wasn't in the mood for his humor. One of the toughest hunts I ever went on. We figured later I probably walked about thirty five miles in those two days. Had to throw the boots away.

Kensco, yeah remind me to be busy the day you invite me to go hunting with you. You're way to rough and ready for this old fart!

P45, you are right about Mills making Superintendent.

My dad and I met Mr. Mills in Artesia years later when my dad was working in Santa Fe for the governor. We were in Artesia to tour the construction progress on that underground grade school that was being built. It was like wandering around in a potash mine at that point.

Kensco, if I remember right that is "Abo Elementary," the underground school.