Sunday, April 1, 2001

Hunting exotics on the range

I'm not altogether comfortable with certain aspects of hunting exotic animals outside their natural habitat.
   My problem mainly involves so-called "put and take hunting," which is loosely defined as shooting disoriented, conditioned or relatively tame animals that are placed on a ranch just prior to a hunt for the purpose of being shot by a trophy-seeking yuppie with a wad of money to burn and a space on his wall.
   In extreme cases, this is called a canned hunt, when the animal is confined to a small pasture. This is rare. But still, both practices defame us all to a point, even though they represent a small percentage of the overall exotic hunting business in Texas.
   There are more ethical and tasteful methods of hunting exotics, which don't breach the code of fair game chase, not to mention spoon-feed the fury of anti-hunting groups.
   I'm talking about the more popular practice of stalking and shooting transplanted wild game that doesn't eat from a trough, is well suited to its new habitat and has adapted over time to its new environment. If years, rather than weeks or months, separate the release of an animal from the hunting of that animal, all the better.
   This is not a black and white issue. There are many gray areas to explore. I'm sure I haven't heard every argument.
   But I have heard from a handful of exotic hunters who believe a valid defense is found in the "don't-knock-it-until-you've-tried-it" rebuttal. The assumption here is that the enjoyment of shooting an animal that was taken from a cage and placed on a ranch a week prior would cause me to abandon my principals. Based on this logic, pleasure alone would dictate our scruples.
   For the record, I have not hunted anything except wild North American animals in North America. I don't get out much.
   This does not disqualify my opinion, however.
   Hunting exotics
   My attitude on exotics is based mostly on my heart and, in part, on what I've read and gathered from conversations with men who enjoy, promote or otherwise have no ethical conflict with the entire spectrum of activity contained within hunting exotics.
   By now, you should know I believe that the farther we get from hunting's natural roots the more we compromise its inherent dignity.
   Having said all this, I believe nilgai on the King Ranch are fair game. Exotics are not subject to state game laws and seasons. And, like wild hogs, they can be, and often do, offer excellent and sometimes even affordable year-round hunting opportunities.
   South Texas pioneered the practice.
   According to King Ranch lore, the introduction of nilgai in South Texas was the result of a circus train derailing in Kenedy County. This is completely untrue.
   Though records are vague, nilgai have been on the King Ranch at least since the 1930s. Some say a few were released as early as the late 1920s.
   Nilgai history
   According to a 1983 book by William Sheffield, Bruce Fall and Bennett Brown, The Nilgai Antelope in Texas, a handful of animals from India, their native range, were purchased from the San Diego Zoological Garden and released on the ranch. This first attempt proved unsuccessful, probably because the animals disbursed and, therefore, never bred.
   Then in 1941, eight cows and four bulls were released on the Norias Division of the King Ranch. This release by Caesar Kleberg is said to be the origin of free-ranging nilgai in North America.
   Kleberg felt that exotics could be ecologically beneficial to the South Texas habitat and provide greater hunting variety on the ranch. That nilgai are considered excellent table fare, is another possible motivation.
   Nilgai are native mainly to the foothills of the Himalayan Mountains through Central India, where habitat ranges from grassy and cultivated plains to hillsides and brushy areas with scattered trees.
   Herd's survival
   Today, Texas holds a major portion of the world's free-ranging nilgai.
   They have no natural predators on the King Ranch, unless you count the occasional calf or weak adult killed by coyotes.
   They have adapted well. Except for the occasional hard freeze, climatic conditions on the King Ranch are comparable to the weather in India. The ranch's nilgai thrived until substantial die-offs in 1972 and 1983 during sustained wet freezes.
   But the herd survived. At last count before the book was published, there were an estimated 8,000 to 9,000 nilgai on and around the King Ranch, spread over at least 10 counties. Thousands more outside the ranch have been counted since 1983. Low fences and highways don't hold them.
   Other populations of nilgai, descended from the King Ranch herd, were in more than 19 Texas counties and one ranch near Nuevo Laredo as of the 1980s. Estimates today are as high as 25,000 to 30,000 in South Texas, 15,000 to 20,000 on the King Ranch proper. Most are east of U.S. Highway 77.
   These animals are wild, just as wild as feral hogs in Texas.
   The same goes for a variety of other exotics in South Texas. The most popular and hardy breeds include sheep, axis deer, fallow deer, red deer, blackbuck antelope and elk.
   Perceptions
   I admit my preconceived notions of nilgai hunting were mixed. My perception ranged from visions of cattle-like herds of animals shot on senderos at long range to camo-clad trackers crawling through thornbrush and to high-seated hunters shooting from vehicles across grassy plains.
   Turns out all of these methods are used in Texas, and others.
   But I did not believe all three would be employed during the same hunt. I was wrong.
   According to veteran nilgai guide Luther Young at the B Bar B Ranch Inn near Kingsville, it's not uncommon to see 15 to 20 animals during a day's hunt on the King Ranch and never get a clear shot.
   But this scenario wasn't an option in the optimistic imaginations of Eric Grunwald, 16, and William Kaffie, 17, the two Ray High School students I rode along with last week.
   "We're gonna see them anywhere from 75 to 750 yards away, either standing broadside or at a full run," Young told the two young hunters. "How many boxes of shells did you bring?"
   Luther shot a glance at Eric's father, local printer John Grunwald, and smiled.
   Both young men had hunted nilgai before. Their answer was typically teen-age cocky?
   "Don't worry, we won't need that many."
   The hunt
   For the first several hours, the boys would be perched on the bench seat atop Young's converted Suburban. They could shoot from up there, but were instructed not to fire while the vehicle was in motion.
   After a brief safety talk, we were off.
   Once on the ranch, a tap on the roof from the boys was Young's signal to stop, when they spotted an animal. We had about 12 hours of daylight to burn and the run of 80,000 low-fenced acres. I didn't think we would use it all of both.
   And after an enthusiastic roof rap just minutes into the hunt, I figured I'd be home by noon. My first glimpse of a big bull nilgai was impressive but fleeting.
   After tracking the animal as far as we could without a machete, we abandoned the search and continued roving the roads, senderos and pastures. Young explained that the bull was probably a young bachelor or an older animal that had been ejected from a herd by a dominant bull.
   Either way, it had faded into the brush, as they typically do, before a rifle could be shouldered.
   It would be awhile before our next opportunity.
   Clear view
   Whether walking or riding, mornings on the King Ranch scatter wildlife like mullet on a Laguna Madre grass flat. We saw rabbits, coyotes, turkey, hogs, javelina, a fair variety of raptors and other birds, a coachwhip snake, an indigo snake and more than 100 white-tail deer. This, too, is typical at the ranch.
   Hours into our jostled ride over occasionally rugged terrain, Young decided to soften his technique. He placed the boys separately on high ground where senderos crossed. This vantage gave the boys a clear view of hundreds of yards.
   This didn't pan out either. Who told me hunting nilgai was easy?
   Before they nodded off toward the end of their two-hour stake out, the boys had spotted plenty of game, but none was fair.
   Fast forwarding to the afternoon - we had scared up another nice bull in a forbidden pasture - our search continued into rougher territory.
   "THUMP, THUMP, THUMP," the roof resounded with urgency, jolting me out of complacency and forcing me to brace against the centrifugal lunge that follows skidding tires.
   I had spotted them also, a herd of tan cows and younger nilgai, with one, maybe two, black bulls, probably 400 yards away.
   The animals reacted simultaneously, bolting into the brush, out of sight.
   "Hold on tight," Young shouted, as he turned the wheel hard and accelerated.
   The chase
   Young had explained earlier that nilgai almost always run in a straight line. And generally they cross fences, usually under them, at certain points, where repeated use has cleared a path.
   So all we had to do was gauge the herd's general direction and anticipate an interception point. Easier said than done.
   The trouble with this obvious counter plan is that trucks cannot negotiate fences on the run. So when we approached a gate, the elder Grunwald hopped out and scurried to open it.
   Imagine my surprise when the bucking Suburban shot the gap and left Grunwald choking on dust.
   "Get ready, guys," Young shouted to his bucking hunters, who at this point probably were more concerned with staying in the saddle.
   Out of the brush came three sprinting nilgai, small ones, crossing at an angle about 75 yards ahead of us. They veered when we appeared. The bulls and larger cows must have taken different routes.
   Young's heavy foot lightened then switched pedals. The truck stopped but the chaos continued.
   "Take the lead animal if you can," Young barked.
   I covered my ears just in time. I'm not sure how many shots fired. Two animals fell.
   "Nice shootin'," Young said, getting out of the truck to congratulate his hunters.
   When my heartbeat slowed and adrenaline levels neared normal levels, I drew an unlikely parallel.
   The hunt had been similar to trolling the gulf for billfish: hours of boredom capped by moments of sheer panic.
   Beats the heck out of staking out a dung heap. Or so I'm told.