The Great Corn Bust of 2007...

[Moe]

....Now in keeping with 'full disclosure'... I used to work on quail/trophy deer plantations in South GA (the names of them will remain unpublished for obvious legal-reasons), and also this thread 'has been published before on Upland Journal. com' (a couple months ago); so I appoligise for it not being 'an oringinal post' here on OYOA; .....but its likely many here don't have a full grasp at just how stupid I can be, so here goes....???

..Bear in mind I'd been working at this catastrophe of a plantation for almost two years now, was a bit of a drunk I'll admit...(and is a true story unfortunately).....
____________

..I don’t recall exactly what pissed me off to do what I did next, but it had to be something. Bubba and Junior had together formed an inseparable bond and one that had driven everyone crazy up till then except me; though I was apparently next in line.

It’d been noted in the newspaper by several LEO’s over the years that “since the larger plantations got away with baiting, it made little sense to pursue the smaller guys for doing the same”; such was this bitter-history within the Georgia Wildlife Enforcement community’s’ outlook.

Then rolls in Moe Birds, an outsider of the worst sort, a mild mannered weirdo of grand proportions physically, but ‘not a lot going on upstairs once you got to know him’? ...Or so peolpe said.

While many took me for a college-educated sort; if truth be told I was far from it and remain still. My last job before moving to Georgia to take the plantation field by its’ heels; was at a pet crematorium in south Florida where my sole job was to travel around Alabama and pick up all the dead dogs, cats, and hamsters, from every Vet, pet-store, and any other business requiring my disposal services - in my unrefrigerated truck.

.............

Flash Forward to year-three at quail/deer plantations and I’m heading home down my lonely dirt road leading to my lonely dirt-road house sunken deep within said plantation, and instead of gunning it to 100 suicidal miles-per-hour listening to Metallica as usual; I stop abruptly and ‘cue up’ on my radio the local LEO of Fish and Game?

I half assed act like I’ve mistakenly done so saying:”…Hey Bubba…got yer ears on?”

“Who’s this?” the mike responds…

“Oh I’m sorry I thought this was Bubba, from Little Bastard Plantation?”

“No, this is Jerry Walther from Fish and Game; who’s this Moe?”

“Ah, heck it is.”

“What are you doin at this hour?”

“Oh nuthin much, just wonderin whether your ever gonna catch these baiting fools out here I guess?”

Silence took over for about a full minute.

“What’s that bout catchin folks out yer way?”

“You know, our very own Bubba; what ya think…?”

“Holy sh!t, what are you talkin bout?”

“Don’tcha know?”

“I know he’s the worst in the state - the talk of every wildlife meeting on the subject we ever had; and is the main reason we don’t go after em like we used to in this county or any other nearby;…but what you getting at?”

“How’d you like to pop a half dozen rich ****** tomorrow morning right here on Little Bastard; with my blessing?”

“No sh!t?”

“No sh!t, I’m sick of it; fed up and ready to lease the whole damned lot.”

“I done know, that Bubba’s got me locked out everywhere; besides I’ve checked those trough-feeders - there’s no stands nearby?”

“They’ll be on them tomorrow; all of them and ‘just use your instincts’ - he only hunts them with hang-on stands when the wind is perfect.”

“Oh sh!t, that’s what it is?”…”I figured it must be something like that - so tomorrows’ the best day?”

“Peak of the rut, got a full house of rich x%#” who love to hunt over bait, and Bubba’s about as ‘full of himself’ as ever; I don’t see why not…do you?”

“Thanks Moe, this is HUGE!”

“Yeah no problem; I’m sick of the whole game. I’ll be ‘mistakenly’ leaving a few locks un-locked tonight, so as to not slow you down; and of course this stays between us right?”

“I won’t tell a soul, so help me God!”

“Yeah and just watch and see when they try and take this sh!t to the local comptroller and see whose got your back?”

“No sh!t, cause that’s the biggest problem; all these corrupt local politician wannabes?”

“No sh!t. I’ll do my best to run ourselves afoul of whatever we’re supposed to do to win, and do it as poorly as we do everything else; shouldn’t be hard.”

“This is HUGE!”
……………………..

....................

As I awoke the next day, I did feel that familiar twang in my gut,…that uneasy feeling I’d possibly done something the night before while intoxicated that might not’ve been kosher?
…I couldn’t quite put my finger on why I felt this way, even as I was puking my living guts out for the ten-thousandth time into my commode and barely fitting my girth between the toilet and tub I was so bloody fat?

While I was struggling to my feet, I heard a distant rifle crack and my thoughts came rushing back!?

“HOLY SH!T, I turned us in last night!?”

……………………


.

 

[Moe]

The drive in was a slow and sobering one, meant to delay and rehearse my response to the inevitable. It was 8 miles of dirt road to get across the plantation passing nothing but massive fields of peanuts and cotton during season, but this time of year in late November all was barren save the edges lined by thousands of acre of long leaf pine. It’s a trip I’d made every morning and evening for the past year and a half and I began to think if things didn’t fare well for me it might be my last?



I decided to play dumb. With any luck, no one would be the wiser; assuming the Game Warden kept up his end of the bargain by remaining quiet. Playing dumb wasn’t my usual act, though it clearly was just about everyone else’s; instead I was the guy who had at least his wits about him on most occasions (between the hours of 9 and 5 anyway), and fairly regularly I’d surprise a few with some residual knowledge that’d sunk in while attending eleven months on Fish and Game School before dropping out to work at a plantation. Besides what I’d learned and tried to incorporate from school, I was the only one on staff who actually knew what went on at other plantations too; given my year of guiding at the famed Dim Wit Plantation in Bumpkin, Georgia.

I’m not certain whether it was my occasional spurts of wisdom and a big word thrown into the mix ever now and then, or if it was that I’d had the audacity to finish high school, but Willie had long ago given me the nickname “Professor”…

...As in:”Hey Professor!” he yelled at me that morning as we passed, he with a load of quail hunters in his jeep all dressed in orange headed out for the morning.

Willie jumped from his moving jeep without applying the brake and his guests rolled away for several feet before coming to a stop. He ran to my truck window with that beady eyed grin like a schoolboy in on a prank: “Did ya here?”

“Hear what”?

“He got em!”

“Who got who? What are you on about?” I felt dizzy

“Jerry Walther that’s who,…got Bubba bad this mornin! …Pulled two guys outa there stands at sunup, gave em both tickets, and told them: ‘if anyone else was over bait they better git down cause he knew where ever feeder was’?”

“Oh sh!t”

“Yup, I nude it was gonna happen ventually?”

“Oh no, is that why those trucks are parked at the barn?”

“Yup, heck Bubba don’t know what ta do; he’s beside hiself! …Told me not to tell you though; so pretend like you don’t know awright?”

“Okay, I’ll lay low and see what happens.”

Willie stood there and began to recap what was just said word-for-word, as was his nature and you knew better than to interrupt him on his second go 'round; else be accused of ‘crossin the line’; never mind his guests were sitting within earshot and visibly not amused.

“…Yup, I nude it was gonna happen ventually?” he said and spat on my tire.

“Okay, well I’ll let you get going then.” and eased along toward the lodge

…………….

Once inside I was a nervous wreck. I paced back and forth under the deer heads and eyeballed the bar thinking I might need something to take the edge off; as was my nature? That’s when I heard the side door slam and looked quickly for a place to hide, but it was too late. Miss Flora, our cook, came in and said:”Well good mornin to ya Mister Moe”

“Good morning Miss Flora.”

“I guess you heard about all the ruckus?”

“Yeah, I heard; how did you?”

“Oh Willie, how else?..You know that fool can’t keep nuthin quiet.”

“Oh boy”

“Yup, I spect by sundown everybody in Allen County will know bout it don’t you?”

“Oh boy”

…………….

I excused myself and drove back toward the office for some peace and quiet. As I passed the barn I noted only the Mexicans were about and the guide-trucks were gone, so I eased up to the cleaning shed. Out poked the head of Paco and he walked to my truck.

“Hay mane, don’t tell Bubba I told ya, but did ya hear what happened?” he said

“No what?”

“Oh mane, the game-man got em bad! Gave two guys tickets for shootin over bait and then Bubba went around and brought everyone back in.”

“They shot something too?”

“No mane, just hunting I mean.”

“Where are they now?”

“Bubba and Junior took em all out to other stands that don’t have bait yo?”

“They’ll never make it back for lunch then at this hour?”

“I don’t know mane, I gotta go get birds from Willie.”

I called Miss Flora and told her that lunch might be late and went to the office to lay my head on my desk till I was obliged to lift it and head back toward the lodge around one.

………….

It wasn’t like we hadn’t been warned several times. Just two weeks earlier for reasons that could only be to pacify a few locals upset Bubba had been baiting so prolifically; and the well worn argument: “Little Bastard Plantation was pulling deer off surrounding properties”; we’d had a helicopter circling over the property ever since.

A few letters from state wildlife guys had arrived and viewed with laughter by Bubba and Junior; along with dozens of phone calls recently complaining about it as the Hillbilly Hunting Hour – regional television show - that had been airing last-seasons’ spectacles filmed at our property; and weren’t advanced editors enough to crop-out “the piles of corn scattered here and there beneath the tree-stands they’d just shot a buck over”?

Besides the 150” sheds I’d held and showed to all who’d came that’ bow-season; getting guys pumped for ‘what was possible on our property’; and then just days before the gun-season opened was found shot dead by a poacher – since we didn’t allow Fish and Game on site (scoring 162”). The baiting-topic itself had just about split the entire hunting community in two because of a recent published poll on the subject and the uproar that followed. I tried rationalizing this all to myself that ‘while sure I was heavily intoxicated and scarcely recalled every detail of the conversation at the time’; …’maybe all was not for the worst that it happened and something good might come out it as well?’


None of this helped though, and I vowed to remain ‘playing stupid’ for the greater reasons of staying employed throughout the next few weeks at least. Still, as nervous as before I’d driven to work that day, I eased on past the barn hoping and even praying no one was about?

Instead, I see people wearing orange and not the quail hunting type. I ease up and see a guy holding a camera and another kneeling beside a buck. I stop and get out going over to congratulate them and they are ecstatic about their luck after moving stands. The man seated by this nice 130” buck is one who in fact was ticketed that same day, but could care little; as he smiled ear to ear -as I myself took a few shots.

As we’re standing there listening to the fella recall the morning’s events, up pulls Bubba with two more hunters at about 1 o’clock; all smiling too as the bed of his’ truck held two more nice bucks. The tensions ease as we unload them and begin taking pictures next to the hay bales. To top it off in rolls Junior, with the other fella ‘who got helped out of his stand that morning by LEO’, and he’s not unhappy in the least. He too has scored and all have done-so after being moved off the trough feeders and placed back on stands in funnels, along travel corridors, and well used game trails beside creek-bottoms; just like hunting should be.

That weekends total came to seven mature bucks and eleven does, none taken illegally over bait.

As a bonus, the game warden kept his end of the deal up by remaining quiet, our hunters were forced to pay fines when some paper-work affidavits on our end went missing; and no one ever found out about my little episode until just NOW!

Moe
________
http://moebirdhunts.blogspot.com/
.

 

[noharleyyet]

Moe, reading the title I thougbht it was gonna be about the corn to fuel conversion scam that jacked Texas deer bait prices thru the roof.

....whoosh!

 

[Sytes]

You say your unemployed? You should look into writing short story's for school grade kids. I can see it now, a son of a game warden who seeks to follow in his dad's shoes - doing after school stealth reports of poachers - secretly sticking the entire case into some annonymous form for his father to find - and BOOM - The poachers are taken down!
I could see several 80-100 pg books each covering a new adventure of Johnny - the secret game warden!

If you use this and find yourself successful - ROYALTY BUDDY! I want my royalty fee - say, 5% of profits. Haha!

Anyhow, good read - thanks for sharing!

 

[Moe]

You say your unemployed? You should look into writing short story's for school grade kids. I can see it now, a son of a game warden who seeks to follow in his dad's shoes - doing after school stealth reports of poachers - secretly sticking the entire case into some annonymous form for his father to find - and BOOM - The poachers are taken down!
I could see several 80-100 pg books each covering a new adventure of Johnny - the secret game warden!

If you use this and find yourself successful - ROYALTY BUDDY! I want my royalty fee - say, 5% of profits. Haha!

Anyhow, good read - thanks for sharing!

Thats not a bad concept?

The book's already been written for adults and filled with all sorts of unPC stories and profanity unfotunately, like when I later fired all the illegals; but a good editor (if you know one) could clean it up and remarket it for kids?
...But it'd require A LOT of clean-up I'm afraid.

Naw, I just posted this here becusae of the timely bust of some nonresidents in MT (in elk forum) poaching over-bait, and to sorta balance out 'my rants' and not be taken too seriously.

That and when I call someone a "red neck" its in jest; especially since I by definition am a redneck myself - just not the proud kind like most folks down south are.

I strive to be a sportsman, and by god I'll be one someday.... (I hope).

Moe
______
http://moebirdhunts.blogspot.com/
.

 

[Sytes]

Was complimenting your ability to use words to visually describe an event... Some have the ability though don't know it... Others don't and think they have it... Now a days - If one is not Colin Powell or an author such as John Grisham - "sophisticated" books are out of the range for unknown named writers... Though a book that visualy inspires a grade - high school student... is one that series are built from ~ then word of mouth...

You mentioned you were unemployed, atm... you have time - fluid with your words and seem comfortable with a computer - you have most all you need to scratch something out and pass on to an editor... see what happens. - Meh, just rambling.