I Spy Baby

Last Friday our families gathered to see something they've never seen before. Our little tiger squirm around in Amy's belly. Not only that, they got to see it in "3D". No, there were no blue and red goggles involved, and no, the baby did not jump out at you resulting in a room full of spilled popcorn. There was, however, a large screen on the wall so that everyone in the room could see it all. In the end, we all walked away feeling as though we know a little more about the little guy in question.

Our hour long session was at Clearview Ultrasound. During the session we were able to see our baby move around, and for the most part, hide his face. That's right, he wanted nothing to do with us and was determined to keep his face hidden. You'd think that after seeing his balls on the big screen that showing his face wouldn't be a problem. But I guess he figured we had seen enough for that day. So instead we focus on the rest of him, all the while trying to get him to roll over.









The picture, like the regular ultrasound, took a minute to get used to, but once you were oriented, you could see muscles flex (and he's got guns), folds in the skin, and even hair. But as I mentioned before, it's the face you're after. The doctor said to us, "you know, it's usually the babies that don't have a name yet that refuse to show their face." Maybe next time then he'll show us his face. What do you think Logan? Will you throw us a bone?

RC-102

This past summer my father and I were selected for a management hunt at the Richland Creek WMA. These selections are based on drawings conducted by the Texas Parks and Wildlife and allow for a fair method of selection for which the general public can participate in wildlife management hunts within various State Parks and Wildlife Management Areas (WMA). The hunt in which my father and I participated was last week, and was the first deer hunt I have ever been on. Though I've been hunting before, this was the first opportunity I've had to hunt deer. Let me tell you, I'm hooked.

Leaving Austin around 2pm on Monday, the drive to RCWMA was nice...once you get off I-35 in Waco....oh yeah and get out of Waco for that matter. The sun was low on the horizon when I finally got to camp, and as I drove up the dirt road to the camp grounds, I could see my father talking it up with another hunter who came up from the Lake Jackson area. I joined the conversation and as the sun began to set you could feel the cold damp air coming from the lake which was about 1/4 of a mile away and 30' above us in elevation. My father and I soon rushed to set up camp before it got dark, and by the time the stars had revealed their position and the orange moon peaked through the bare branches of the trees, we were enjoying a cold beer and talking about the next days hunt.

With a check in time of 11:30, we had plenty of time to get everything together before orientation. None the less, my father and I were up and moving with the rising sun. Dew hung heavily on every surface and the sky was clear and blue.
By the time all the hunters gathered for orientation, the day had warmed to a comfortable 72 degrees. The order of business in the orientation was simply to go over the procedures of the hunt and explain what was a legal harvest and what was not. Added to the list of legal harvest were hogs and coyotes, though neither would ever make it into my sights. By the time all the paper work was signed and we were shown to our compartments, it was mid afternoon, giving us just enough time to scope out the hunting grounds and get ready for the evening hunt. I ended up setting up a temporary blind (using camouflage netting and underbrush) on the edge of some heavy thicket that gave me a couple of choice lines of sight. My father on the other hand worked a game trail on the other side of the compartment. As the sun moved lower and lower in the sky, I began to see what the bulk of deer hunting involves....waiting. To sit still and quietly wait is hard, but once you get lost in thought, time seems to slip by. I didn't see much that evening, though a Bobcat trotted by about 15-20 yards away. As the sun set, signaling and end to shooting time, I packed my bags and walked towards the truck.

Rising early the next morning at 5 am sharp, we heated up some water for coffee and oatmeal and were off and to the blinds by 5:30. After arriving at our compartment and heading our separate ways, I walked lightly towards my blind using the available moonlight. The air was cold and damp and after getting settled and beginning the wait, I could feel it seep through my clothing. Luckily the sun rose quickly and the mourning doves that had spent the night roosting in the trees behind me took off in search of food. Time went by and it wasn't until about 7:20 that I saw the first movement. Two doe emerged about 350 yards away walking into the opening. They were there for only a moment and soon disappeared into the brush. Again, 10 minutes later, they emerged to feed for a moment, and just as before, dipped back into the brush . I began to see more movement not far from where I saw the first two doe. Frustrated at being so far out of range, I began to check my watch and question whether or not I should stay put or try to work my way towards the crossing. The time was now 8:45 when I finally decided to leave the blind. Leaving everything behind except for for my sidearm and and extra magazine (thought I might get lucky with some hogs even though it was solid daylight) I carefully started to make my way out of the blind. Right then two doe jumped out about 40 yards away. I froze then slowly set might sights on one. As my finger slowly pulled on the trigger, I heard the most frustrating sound: "click". No, I had not forgotten to load the chamber. One problem with my semi-auto rifle: when releasing the the slide, it doesn't always slide all the way closed. Right then, the deer flared their tails and ran off into the brush. With my position compromised, I headed on out of the blind and quietly made my way 20 yards up. Right then the two doe out at 350 yards popped out again. I froze. They lingered for about 15 seconds and walked back out of the clearing. At that point I again moved my way forward. This repeated for the next 30 minutes as I slowly made up 150 yards. The morning dew had soaked the leaves under my foot silencing my advance, and the wind blew lightly in my face. When I finally made up an acceptable distance, I slowly got down on my belly and leveled my rifle. The two doe I had been working were now 150 yards out and closing. Patiently I waited as they got closer. The time was about 8:45 by the time the two deer got within accurate range of 110-120 yards. As I set my crosshairs on one of the doe, a group of 4 popped out at about 50 yards. I quickly changed targets and and fired on a doe in the closer group. Unaware of my position, one of the does from the original group sat nervously on the edge of the brush, but as I leveled my crosshairs on her, she finally decided to make a break. Since she was facing me, I was never able to get a clear broad side shot. I quickly walked to my deer to make sure she was down, then once again took the prone position beside her and waited. I waited for about 15-20 minutes, though I should have waited longer. Sure enough, as I set down my rifle and stirred to move the doe out of the lane, the group she had been with returned to check out the scene, and just as quickly as they came, were gone with white tails flared.

My father soon arrived after flushing a buck my way. A nice buck he had seen in his section, and since they were off limits, I pretended to level my rifle and take a shot. Wish I had my camera on me.

With my knife in hand, my father coached me through field dressing my deer. I must say that it is not so much the smell (which isn't pleasant), but rather the steamy smell that rises up into your face. Nothing quite like it. The whole process took a few minutes and when it was all done, my father congratulated me and smeared my face with blood. "That's tradition", he said, "Now you're officially a deer hunter."







With buzzards now circling, and my zone now clear of activity, we took the deer back to the check station to get it registered. Back at the station, they aged it (a young one of about 1-1/2 years....good tender meat), weighed it, and put it in the walk in cooler so that we could go back to hunting and clean it that evening.

After lunch, my father and I went back to hunting, though we didn't see anything that evening. I had set up in a different location but didn't see a thing. Around dusk I could hear the hogs squabbing with each other and headed my way. Right then the bobcat emerged once again about 20 yards away, though this time he had no idea I was there. The sun set before the hogs ever came, so I loaded up and headed back.

That evening, my father again coached me through the steps up skinning and quartering the deer. We took our time so that we got a good hide (had to tan the hide of my first deer), and got everything into the igloo and back into the walk in cooler.

The next morning started out just as the day before, but noon soon came and we did not get any other deer. I had seen a few out or effective range, and not wanting to gut a deer, I refrained from shooting. Earlier that morning, however, I had again seen the bobcat. It emerged from the brush and immediately saw me a took off. Rather rare to see a bobcat, but to see the same one 3 days in a row was awesome. At noon we headed back to camp, broke camp, then headed to the check station to grab my deer.

On the way back home I thought of the trip and I couldn't help but be sad to leave. Yes, because that meant back to work, but more because I was really having a great time with my dad. Just as he had been there for my first fish, my first duck, etc, he was there for my first deer. That means a lot to me. There's nothing better than your father showing you the ropes.

When I got home that evening I started processing the deer, though I would have to finish the next morning. By noon the next day, I had everything processed into hamburger meat and chili meat, with the back strap and tenderloins set aside for special meals. It felt good to "bring home the bacon" in more of a literal sense. And, to celebrate, I threw two burgers on the grill and chowed down. Good eats!

So, thank you Pop for being there for my first deer hunt. I really had a great time and I hope we can do it again soon. Maybe one day when my boy is old enough, I can share the same memories with him.

Birthday Suit

Contrary to the title, no I will not be posting nude pictures of myself today. I will spare you the agony. Instead I will give you some insight as to how it feels, for me at least, to be 31. Ready? Here it is: I don't feel a damn bit different. I don't "FEEL" different. Now, I'm sure my wife will be quick to point out the new gray hairs I've acquired this year. In fact, she pointed them out last weekend. Yep, right there on top of my head. Not so bad since the first ones appeared on the side. Spaced out, you really don't see them. Of course it could be worse. I'd rather my hair change color than fall out, so I consider myself blessed.

What else? Oh, I'm no longer that strapping young buck I was at 21. Funny how during the time of my life where my diet was at it's worst, I looked my best. Of course, I was exercising then instead of sitting on my ass like I do now...maybe it has less to do with aging and a decline in testosterone as it does with my sedentary lifestyle. I need to fix that. I now have a good reason growing in Amy's belly.

That brings me to my next point. I was asked yesterday how it feels to know you're having a boy at 31. I suppose it feels a lot better to know I'm having a boy at 31 than at 41 or 21. In fact I believe its the best time of my life to have a boy (or girl for that matter). Going on 3 years of owning a home, being happily married, and having a steady job, well, I don't think you could be in a better position. Furthermore, I'm young, and if I can motivate myself to get a little exercise and get back in shape then I should have the stamina to keep up with the little booger.

Here's another good one. This morning I was told that 31 is a pretty anticlimactic birthday. Let's think about this for a minute and consider the climax of previous birthdays. If my memory serves me correctly, and it's a bit fuzzy, my birthdays spanning from roughly 17 to about 27 (a solid ten years) usually peaked late in the evening with a celebratory regurgitation of that evenings alcohol. Never pretty and never quite as good coming up as it was going down. In most cases this was followed by a spinning of the room, wishing to god I'd make it through the night, passing out in my cloths (or not) and waking up swearing I'll never do it again. Frankly, I'm getting a little old for that these days so it's safe to say I could do without the climax.

My plans are to take it easy. I mean, with Thanksgiving the next day, you pretty much have to. I'm thinking a nice dinner with the family, a good bottle of wine from our stash, and while I sit laid back relaxing with my feet propped up, I might just think of a name for my boy. (Sound like an old man yet?...don't care). And though I may open a few presents, I think the best one comes next week when I take the week off to go hunting with my dad.

So all in all it's just another birthday. I'm just glad to have made it another year.

Cheers.

Slugs, Snails and Puppy Dog Tails

We're going to have a BOY!!!!

Today we went in for our 20 week ultrasound. As the nurse mentioned, we were as excited as first parents typically are. And why wouldn't we be? This was the first time we would see our child since he more closely resembles a baby than an alien. at 8 weeks, it's just nubs and a distorted shaped head. Now we could see it all.

As the nurse spread the blue jelly across Amy's stomach, I think the biggest curiosity I felt was in regards to what the baby looked like. I've relied on, for the most part, illustrations that I never truly felt we're accurate. Of course, what isn't accurate compared to an ultrasound? Any illustration is probably better than the grainy snow we are left to interpret in an ultrasound. still, most illustrations are lumped with a time frame of 4 weeks. A lot can happen in 4 weeks. What does our baby look like RIGHT NOW?

It's rather disorienting at first. What's up? What's down? It takes a minute to realize that most of the time you are getting fragments and not the whole picture. An arm here, a cross section of the chest here, ears there, now the brain. You imagine the perfect side view where you "see" your baby. And, just when you get that perfect shot, baby realizes he doesn't like the sound and moves around on you.

Here's his Mug Shot:



Apparently he's an Aggie (can you see the Thumbs up?):


Now this one's harder...the thigh, the butt and the turtle:


See what I mean? "That's a whaaaat?" It's those brief moments when the baby is cooperating that you get to see most of the body, or even the cross section right down the middle. The spine is the coolest, and I don't know why we didn't ask for a picture of that. That's okay. In December, when the family is there for the 3d ultrasound, we'll make sure we get it all.

So are we excited it's a boy? Of course! Speaking for myself, I'm looking forward to all the "boy stuff". Fishing. Camping. Boy scouts. Football. Sharing all of that with my son will be the highlight of my life. Only then will I understand the joy my father felt when he saw me catch my first fish, for example.

Now, to find a name. What will we name our boy? Stay tuned......

BIG Things That Crawl...and Fly

While walking to my truck yesterday, I stumbled across a caterpillar crawling it's way towards my tires. Not just any caterpillar though. A big one. I immediately thought of my sister as she is deathly afraid of these things. I thought of how she would be both completely disgusted and completely intrigued at the same time. This thing was huge. Bigger than my fingers, I'm not sure how most birds would go about tackling this meal if at all.



I believe this is the Eacles imperialis, otherwise known as the Imperial Moth. Given it's location, it could have been feeding on the many oak trees, or as I believe, the large Japanese Maple nearby.

Now Steph, I know this may haunt your dreams, but please show the boys. I'm certain they'll get a kick out of this thing!

Isapa Hunting

So last night I had this dream that I went to some imaginary deer lease my boss had. This place was somewhere out in west Texas...No, perhaps New Mexico or southern Colorado. There was a light cover of snow on the ground, and much of the prairie grass was still visible, peaking up in patches through the otherwise smooth rolling surface of snow. This was my first time on the lease, so much of the landscape, as well as local etiquette, was new to me. What would follow in the dream would have me cursing the f'n Isapa as the alarm went off.

I recall arriving with my limited assortment of shotguns and rifles. Of course, my time here would be spent hunting all sorts of animals, not just deer. This was the land of wealthy, where choices on what to hunt were limitless. After establishing that my hunting tools were crap, (after all, the motley crew of lease holders were all wealthy douche bags that could afford only the best) I was sent off to hunt birds. Not Quail, Pheasant, Mallard, or Gadwall, but some random assortment of song birds that I couldn't identify to save my life. I felt like the young spartan sent off to fend for himself, except instead of defending myself from giant wolf monsters, I was defending myself from a laundry list of fines from shooting various state honored songbirds.

The night before the bird hunt, I studied with great fervor the various game/song birds of the area, hoping to only bag legitimate species. To my dismay, for every legal bird I studied, there was an illegal bird that was practically identical. "PROTECTED" slapped right across the image. Wouldn't you know it, that when the day rolled around and I set off alone to harvest my limit, every bird that I bagged was the damn protected state song bird. After the hunt, I gathered my treasure bag of punishment and return to the base camp. One by one, through laughs and ridicule, the warden tallies the damages. Not only were these birds protected, but too small to eat. My punishment? Not fines. Not jail time. No, I would be banned from hunting the treasured Isapa.

As the sun rose the following morning, I recall watching from my bunk, all the other hunters riding off into the hills for the morning hunt. Laughing, joking, and patting each other on the back as they downed whiskey and smoked cigars, the hunters faded from 6' tall figures to 1" tall blips on the horizon. Hunters Weekly magazine flopped across my lap, at least I could enjoy the warm fire while those bastards had all the fun.

Then came the Isapa. From my window I could see the gazelle like creatures bounce around like giant rabbits on speed. One by one, drunken men took aim, falling over with each shot. A free for all. Fake pearly whites seen from miles away. In the other room I could hear and tea kettle going off and the footsteps of the tiny Hispanic women as they prepared the feast that would await the hungry stomachs of the hunters after a day in the hills.

One by one the men return. Hanging their trophies on the skinning racks, they showed off their field dressing skills and spoke in accents only a drunk man could understand. once again I was subjected to the taunting of the men as they paraded the fact they THEY got to hunt while I was stuck in the cabin. Furious, I left them men to fill their faces and bask in their own egos. I grabbed my "poor man's guns" threw them in my bag and left out the back door. The screen door creaked and swung shut behind me in a crack that was quickly muffled by the falling snow.

As I walked away, the men's laughter grew quite and inaudible with each step. Soon, all that I could hear was the crunching of snow under each of my feet and the delicate sprinkle of icy snow as it hit the white surface of the ground. The cabin was soon a glowing box on the horizon, and as I made my way to the train station, I couldn't help but feel belittled. I felt like Grendel as I gazed upon the building full of drunks. I hated those filthy bastards. I hated those damn birds. What good were those tiny creatures anyway. They had about as much meat on them as a blue jay. But most of all, I hated those damn Isapa. I don't know why, but I hated them more than those inebriated fools in the cabin. I hated how they bounced around as I lay trapped in the room. Standing there gazing around at the falling snow, I realized the irony. I realized that in the end, it was I who was free. The Isapa now hung by their hocks, split wide open from their throat to their groin.

As I woke up, I found myself laughing at the Isapa. More so, I found myself laughing at the word "Isapa". I decided that as soon as I had a minute I would find out if there really is anything that goes by that name. Sure enough there is: International Society for Aging and Physical Activity. So, rather than deal with the obvious underlying adequacy issues stemming from the upcoming baby and whether or not I'll be a good father and still have the freedom to do the things I want , I'll take this approach: I'll take it as my subconscious telling me that I'm getting older and it's time to start becoming active again, therein ensuring that I'll have enough energy and stamina to kick the living shit out of the next Isapa that comes my way! Boooya!

Glass Half Full

The last couple of weekends have been more about great company than hunting and fishing. I say this because I seem to be coming home with more ice in my cooler than anything else. No Teal in my bag, nor fish of fresh or salt water. Am I just a poor hunter? A poor fisherman? Well, I wouldn't say that. No pro by any stretch, but I've come home with my fair catch before. I've reached my limit on my occasions, just not this month. Down on my luck I guess. Doesn't matter though. I've had great company. Though I did not bag any Teal or catch any Redfish on my trip with dad, and though I didn't catch any bass on my trip with Patrick, I've enjoyed the time outside and the conversations I had with both men.

The weekend before last my father and I woke up around 3:30 and headed out to Justin Hurst WMA. Formerly known as Peach Point, the place was justly renamed in honor of the game warden, Justin Hurst, who was recently gunned downed by poachers while on duty. It's a shame that cowards would do such a thing, especially to such a good man.

Upon arriving to the WMA, we found ourselves car #30 in line...not a good sign as we were left with the poorest choices of spots for the morning hunt. None the less, we walked our way through the muck to our designated hunting area and set up our decoys. As the light began to announce it's arrival, dragonflies took to flight to start a hunt of their own: Mosquitoes on the menu. Mosquitoes were light that morning, which is quite unusual in my experience, especially after all the rain we've had. During most hunts, you're lucky if they don't carry you away.

Much of the morning, we found ourselves observing the birds either flying by just out of range, or working areas on the horizon. You could hear the thump of shotguns going off in areas all around. There was a great deal of excitement all around....except on our pond. Quiet. Many birds worked the channel about 100 yards out. I'm ashamed to say we did get a couple of Teal within range, but rusty on the draw, the birds flared and laughed at our attempts. Perhaps warming up with some skeet next pre-season would be wise.

With the sun now up and the morning flights behind us, we packed up and headed out. After a bite to eat, we headed to the check out station to announce our empty bag. An Aggie girl working on her PhD was swabbing bird assholes to check for avian bird flu, a study she is conducting. What a way to spend a morning, huh? Suddenly I was okay with my zero, thankful I didn't have an asshole to offer.

Time to try our luck on the coast. The old man and I headed off to cast our lines into the surf in pursuit of the Red Drum, aka Redfish that have come to shore to spawn. As we drove the shore looking for a spot, we saw truck after scattered truck of fishermen, none of which were reeling in anything of interest. Couple of small 18" sharks maybe. We finally chose a spot and pop busted out the net to catch some Mullet to use for bait.




Once we had bait, we cast out the lines out and put the poles in the side of the truck. Now we wait. Soon we pulled out a few sandwiches mom had made and watched the tide roll in. You can see the brown waters of the Brazos river merging into the Gulf from about a quarter mile away. Slowly those brown murky waters were getting closer. By the time they reached us, we would be packing up and heading out. In the meantime we would catch a small Redfish and one of the biggest Hardhead Catfish I've ever caught. Hardheads are worthless, so back it went, and the Redfish was under 20", so back it went as well. Empty handed we left the surf.



Tired and longing for the a shower and clean sheets, Pop and I headed for the comfort of home. Perhaps in the next few weeks, before November rolls around, we will be back at it. Maybe next time we'll come home with a Red.

A week passes and already I'm lookin' to fish. I had originally planned to hit Town Lake, but once I found out Patrick was heading to the ranch, I figured that the destination might as well be Lake Somerville. I'm not familiar with the lake and I've been wanting to do a little exploring. I would later come to find that I have a lot of searching to do before I find the hot spot for bass.

I woke up early on Sunday, around 3:30, and having packed the night before, was on the road in no time. I reached Ledbetter by 5:30, and after deciding on the Nails Creek Sector, was back on the road with Patrick by 6:00. I've never been to the Nails Creek Sector, so it was all new to me. As we got closer, the fog got thicker. This we literally going to be a shot in the dark. As we pushed off in the canoe, the Q-beam proved useless. Only a thick glow of light appeared after 1 million foot candles bounced off every molecule in that foggy horizon. As the sun barely lit up the sky, we could make out the outline of grass beds and lily pads.




Patrick and I fished the edges of the labyrinth for I don't know how long. We tried all sorts of jigs and spoons. Went for bass, went for crappie. Just couldn't escape the fact that we were just in a bad spot. Finally Patrick threw out a line for catfish, and we got some activity from there. Eventually, we paddled around to see check things out. We stumbled across a man made tributary and followed it up stream along it's winding banks. Calm and quiet, it was rather relaxing. We tied up the canoe somewhere along the way and set down for lunch. During this time we came across some pretty neat things, from water moccasin to a herd of wild hogs.




By about 1:00 we were headed back to the boat ramp and on back home. Somehow the drive back to Austin was just about more than I could take. Tired from lack of sleep and the physical exertion of paddling the canoe combined with driving alone and coming home empty handed, all I wanted to do was get home and go to bed. Still, as exhausted as I was, and even though my cooler was empty, I'd do it all over again. To be outside in nature, hunting and fishing, we'll, it's just something that runs deep in a man's blood. You'd be crazy not to do it.

Sunday Already?

Another one of those weekends. Easy come, easy go. They always seem to go by fast if you don't hit the ground running at the end of the work day. I've found that on those Friday nights when you just want to crawl on the couch and fall asleep watching a movie, you end up having a rather short weekend. I can only attribute this to the fact that Friday night might as well be a day of the weekend. Even with a fun filled Saturday and Sunday, hiding out on a Friday night always makes the weekend feel short. Now add to that a weekend filled with yard work and you've got, well, no weekend at all.

I am excited, however, about a new toy of mine. A little 14" chain saw. What guy wouldn't want a chain saw? Do I need one, you might argue "no", but let me tell you, I cut down one tree by hand and that was just to prove I could. I'm done proving myself. I have shit to do, and all that matters is getting the job done. Came in handy this weekend when legging up the ligustrums at the driveway, and chopping the one down by the gas meter. The ceder in the front yard, yep, it's next. I just got tired of trying to schedule a time to use the chainsaws from work. I mean, I've been cursing that damn cedar since I moved in! It took me all day to get all the work done. Can you imagine me out there with a hacksaw?

Saturday night we went over to my mother-in-law's for dinner. Let me tell you, it's wonderful having a mother that can cook. But to have a mother-in-law that can cook as well is the jackpot. One thing thats certain is that no matter where you end up for Thanksgiving, dinner is going to to be good. Anyway, she made chili rellenos that will give Z'Tejas a run for their money, and tres leches from a secret recipe translated from Tony's mother in Mexico. Marsha. Tony. Thank you for a wonderful meal!

Just like that. The weekend was over. I certainly DO NOT feel rested. Whatever. At least I get to go hunting with my dad next weekend.

ACL/Wimberley Weekend

Tired. Sore muscles. Don't feel like moving. Worth it? Always.

Friday Amy and I headed over to ACL for the first time in a couple of years. We waited until the last minute, buying tickets on Thursday. After the last time we went, we had not wanted to go until now. (in 2005, a hurricane was hitting the coast and causing major winds in Austin. Combine that with a drought, thousands of people, and dry bermuda grass and you get a dust cloud that literally makes you sick). The city now waters the grass in preparation and weather this year has been generous.

On our way to the festival, we were delayed after a propane tank exploded near a concession area. We could see the black plume of smoke rising to the sky. All in all, it took us almost two hours from when we parked until we finally got inside. Once inside, we grabbed a bite from the Stubs BBQ stand. We tried repeatedly to locate my sister, but as festival goers know, finding people can be hit or miss.

After planting down at the AT&T stage for Joss Stone, we finally connected with Sara and Emily. Brandon, Brock, Sara, Amy, Worth, Clint. Ran into all those cats, too. It was hot as usual, but Amy and I stood with it, comforted by the knowledge that we were not doing the same thing the following day. Suck it up and enjoy the fun was our goal. From there we packed up to go see LCD, a new band for me that I had not heard before. Definitely would like to add some or their music to my library. That's what I love about ACL. I'm guaranteed to walk away having heard a lot of music that I might otherwise have never been exposed too. Once the show wrapped up, we took in a little Queens of the Stone Age before heading back over to the AT&T stage for the rest of Spoon. As usual, Spoon put on a good set, and it was during this time that the worst part of the heat was behind us. There really is nothing you can do about the heat. They added a shade tent this year, among other things, but with the intersecting waves of music at that particular location, it was not an ideal place to chill. Also, apparently they went "green" this year, meaning changing everything from running bio diesel in the generators, to corn based plastics, and yes, no more cans. Made my cooler full of ice for the beer pointless....plastic cups only.
We soon headed out to catch a little of the Reverend Horton Heat show before making it over to the AMD stage for The Killers. By far the best show of the night. Perhaps one of, if not THE best, show I've seen at ACL. They really made the afternoon worthwhile. Towards the end of the set, you could feel the crowd behind you start to shift as many tried to beat the crowds. Amy and I split, and rather than endure the lines for the buses, hiked our happy asses up to 6th and Congress. By the time we got home we were beat. That night we slept soundly.




The next day Amy went off to the spa for a massage, and I headed out to Wimberley to meet Nolan and a friend for a couple rounds of disc golf at the Circle R course.
With that weekend being the last time the place would be open (except for tournaments), we had to endure the heat and throw hard. The first course was very similar to the Slaughter Creek course in regards to the narrow lanes, and tight corners, though not nearly as bad. The 300 yard average more than made up for it. It was an overall "off day" for my game, but set next to these two guys, anyone could look bad. They both throw hard, accurate, and make it look easy. For the first 9 holes, We stayed within a close proximity to the main office, and enjoyed abundant shade from the many trees. This part of the course was well maintained, and before finishing the remaining 9 holes, we had a chance to stop at the trucks to load up on water. The last nine we great. I particularly enjoyed the hole at the dam. crisp clear water flowed over forming a clean pool, about waist deep, right next to the chains. Nolan had sunk his disc, and though he cursed at first, he soon soaked his dogs in the refreshing water.




The next course (18 holes) was miserable. I could safely say that on a cool spring day it would be the bomb, but by the time we started up on that 18, it was high noon and hot as hell. Traversing mostly open hill tops, the holes were long and for the most part, the fairways had not been maintained well. We spent as much time looking for our discs as we did hiking and throwing. I would like to say we finished the second course, but the heat got the best of us and it was time to call it a day. We skipped ahead to the last hole which is a straight downhill run. Easily about two hundred feet in grade change, and about 500' in straight distance. I threw a disk that I had found that day, and as I predicted, it veered a little off course. screw it. peace. I was out. By the time I got home, I was dehydrated, sun burned, and my allergies were making me miserable. After a bite to eat at Cypress Grill, we again called t an early night.

Amy and I woke up the following day and headed off to meet my sister and brother-in-law. We ended up at Maudies for bloody marys and breakfast before dropping them off at ACL. I'm not sure how they made it through all three days, but I guess when you have a break from the kids, you have to make the most of it. It was good to see them. Amy and I really miss having them here in Austin. I guess it's our turn to make the trip. Perhaps this fall? Hopefully. Last chance before the baby comes.

Progress is Good

Amy and I went to go see Dr. Schneider yesterday for our 12 week visit. Much to my disappointment, we didn't get to set another ultrasound. :( I was bummed. So excited I was to see "Lil' Longhair" again. But no. Fortunately we were able to listen to the heartbeat. Everything sounded good and strong. Last time we got to see the heartbeat; Yesterday we were able to hear it for the first time. Being a very visual person, I thought seeing the image was way cooler, but that's just me. Simply being able to have some sort of contact with the baby this early is pretty rad though.

After the appointment we agreed it was time to start telling people. We can't hold out any longer! Told the people at work, and will be telling my friends one by one. Word travels faster than we can spread it, so if you heard from someone else, blame it on the grapevine.

Amy's Pregnant!

So I'm going to be a dad. I can't tell you, unless you've been down this path yourself, how that feels. More importantly, I can't tell you how unbelievable it feels to see the heartbeat in an ultrasound for the very first time. It blows you away. Until that moment, it's rather abstract. A notion. A blue cross on the pregnancy test. I can't imagine how it was before the ultrasound, but to have access to these simple technologies is huge. It really does make it "real". Let's face it, with all that women go through during pregnancy, for them, it's real from day one. And, for obvious reasons, women develop a connection with the unborn child much earlier than their partner. But to see the little tyke in there, with it's heart beating in real time...well, the little booger might as well have came out and shaken your hand. "Hey dad, nice to meet you. I'd love to stay and chat, but I need to get back to developing my organs. Check back with me in about four weeks, cool?"

I'm anxiously waiting for the next OB visit. I plan on going to them all. It's fascinating, and I can't wait to see how he/she has grown. The appointment is almost here! by that time, the fetus will be about 2.5" and will look completely different than before....more human than alien.

It's still to early to tell the world, though if you're family, you probably know by now. For this reason I'll delay this post. Just thought I'd get it down in writing.

Tree Frog

Last weekend I was watering the plants on my porch and came across this little tree frog chillin' in my bromeliad. Had I been in Houston, I might not be surprised, but Austin? With all the limestone, cedar, and dry terrain, one wouldn't think these guys linger. But there it was, it southwest Austin, far from any major source of water. It's one thing to have a bromeliad...I can transport the thing and create an environment, but the frog? How far did he hop his happy ass to get to that choice spot in the shade? It's not like he heard through the grape vine that there was a choice spot just south of Davis St....or did he? Perhaps I didn't know as much as I thought, so I looked it up. Hyla cinerea. I was wrong. It didn't hop here, it walked. Still, what was it doing here?

WestMul Clan Reunion---Somerville/Llano

Well the WestMul Clan did it again. A few weeks ago we all got together for another "reunion trip", sans Jerry. All present included Joseph, Neighbor John, Patrick, Nolan, and myself, Longhair John.

We started out by meeting up at Bertolino's ranch as it was the perfect rally point for our next stop. Next stop: Lake Somerville Birch Creek State Park. Though it's not necessarily the prettiest park in Texas, it's halfway between Austin and Houston, and has more than enough space to roam around and not be bothered. That's key. We don't like to be bothered, and quite frankly, we do this out of courtesy to others. We get drunk. We get rowdy. In fact, we're said to "get drunk and act like a bunch of idiots". And to ensure that we don't get bothered, we typically head out to an island somewhere on our wonderful Texas lakes so. This prevents youngsters from hearing our filthy language and parks rangers from pestering us about those damn public display of alcohol laws.

After scouting out possible campsite locations (for base camp) that would give good access to the lake, we settled on a spot, unloaded, and prepared for a recon trip to the island. By this time, the sun was in full effect, the humidity was so thick you could cut it with a knife, and all we wanted to do was cool down. So after taking the boats down to the shore, loading them up the beer filled coolers, and chuggin' a few to "lighten the load", we headed off to the island. The island (dubbed Eagle Island for the bald eagle we saw as we approached shore) is about 1 mile from shore and is a decent paddle. Mostly heavily over grown it's something I'd like to explore in more detail during the winter when most of the vegetation has defoliated. For now though, our focus was getting out of the boats and jumping in the water. The heat had penetrated deep into our burning flesh, and the lake water was calling our names. Though Texas had recently been bombarded by rain and all of our lakes and rivers were swollen and murky, we didn't care. Cool water is cool water when your over heating, and lake Somerville was no exception. Beers in hand, we waded out into the water, some questioning the presence of gators in the water, but only Nolan and I knew that no such critter lives in those waters. I say we goofed off for about two hours before we decided to scout the island. We didn't get far before we stumbled across what seemed the only semi-open spot on the place, and something about it said it was the place to be. Covered mostly in 6" sedge like grass, with scattered palmettos, and massive Muscadine grape vines, it was the perfect spot to drag the coolers and seek refuge from the glaring sun. Patrick had brought along a little pony keg that we all chugged from and Joseph, the bartender, busted out the liquor and made drinks for everyone. I must saw that by this time we had drowned sobriety in the lake and were strolling hand in hand with inebriation. I couldn't help but think, while I sat down in that grass, how good it felt to be far from work and the responsibilities of life and just hanging out with my best friends. About this time the monkeys in us found great interest in the large muscadine vines and contests ensued on who's drunk ass could balance the longest. Through all of this activity, hunger follow and dusk was approaching, so Joseph and I jumped in the canoe to go get food and bedding. I have never realized how nice an open lake is at night. The air is cool, the water is calm, and you really feel it when you are that close to the water. On the way back to the island, we could see and smell the thunderstorm in the distance. The others waited back on the island and enjoyed the chance to quietly watch the evening activity and try their hand a little fishing. The night was peaceful and there was much activity in the air. Gadually it grew quiet and we all began to carve out some sort of bedding. For those who lacked hammocks, the sedge grass provided ample bedding for a comfortable nights sleep. As I lay in my hammock, I watched curiously as a boat skirted the shore of the mainland patroling the shore with it's bright spot light. I wondered if they would cast their bothersome lights upon us and wake us from our slumber. But alas, my eyes grew heavy and I drifted to sleep.

The next day we rose to the sunrise and sluggishly gathered our things. We weren't in any particular hurry, but the thought of coffee and breakfast will get you moving. Our paddle back was leisurely and it wasn't long before we were packed up and on our way back to the ranch. We made a few stops along the way to check a few things out, and to tell you the truth, I think we were stalling. This leg of our journey was almost over. Since Joseph was only in town from Cali for a few days, he and his brother would be splitting off from the group and heading back to Brehnam to see their mom. Even if it was only for a day, having the whole group together is a blessing. When we got back to the ranch, I made my famous migas and sat back to enjoy the coffee. We unloaded the Lewis bags and prepared to make the journey to Junction, Texas. Destination: Llano River State Park.

Patrick, Nolan and I headed out to Junction around mid-day. It was still unclear to us whether or not that's where we were going as we were questioning the whether or not we should make that journey when all the drive up sites were taken. Normally we never do those type of sites, but we really just wanted to relax and make a steak dinner and the walk in sites didn't sound all that great. We planned on heading over to Guadalupe State Park but when we called along the way, we were informed that they were completely booked. We pulled off at bastrop State Prak to see what that place offered, but they too were booked. So we called up Llano River and booked the walk in. It's a good thing we did as they have to be some of the coolest walk-in sites I've been to. They are a lot like the walk-in sites at Enchanted rock with the exception that there are a lot more trees suitable for hammocks. The park overall is geared towards RV camping, but walk in sites more than make up for it. We took our time setting up camp, hanging hammocks and setting up tents to keep our things dry should it rain. After gathering a few things we headed out to explore the park and see what she had to offer. Rain poured down on us as we headed out, but that didn't dtop us or keep us from enjoying ourselves. I recall the look son the RVers faces as we strolled by in the rain. Thought we were crazy. But funny thing is, the kids knew exactly what we were doing. Most adults forget how to play in the rain. The day seemed to fade away after the hike and I think we were just ready to get a good nights sleep.

When we woke on the following day, We made breakfast on Patrick's whisperlight stove and talked about the day ahead of us.
I think we agreed that the best plan of action was no plan at all. With that in mind, we packed up and headed out. We had walked by Buck lake the previous day and thought that that would be a good starting point. I regretfully left my spinning rod at the campsite, but Patrick had brought his along. He had this "as seen on TV" fishing rod about the size of a football. I teased him about it, but the damn thing worked. Granted, no prize fish were caught, but for a small contraption that fits in a backpack, it was fun. While Patrick fished Nolan and I sat in the shade of the Pecan trees and soaked it in. The whole area was filled with these huge pecans that just made the area so cool you would have thought you stepped into an AC room. After doing a little fishing, We headed straight to the river. Cool and clear, the water was perfect. As we walked along the bank, we saw an island that looked perfect. Remember, we love islands. Once we got on the island, Nolan and I discovered the perfect place to hang our hammocks and chill. The river ran on either side of the island, but right through the middle lay a minor course that cut between sycamore trees at perfect spacing. We hung the hammocks so that sat about 6" above the water, allowing us to drag our feel in the refreshing current. Again Patrick did a little fishing while we relaxed in the shade. We took some time to swim and body float the river. After a while we headed back to camp for lunch and then went back to the river for more. The rest of the day was spent relaxing and that evening we chowed down on burgers and beer. A man from Austin sat alone in the site next to us and strummed his guitar for us, playing a great selection of tunes. Night fell rather quickly that evening and before you knew it, all was silent.

The next morning we rose early and made eggs and bacon. We packed up quickly so that we could enjoy the rest of the day. After loading up the gear, we grabbed the fishing rods and tried our hand at the fish. It was a bit late in the morning, but we didn't care. Before long, we were back in the shade drink cold beer wishing the day would not end. We sat there for a good while talking of all sorts of things. We watched people come and go. It really hit home how great the trip had been, and with the weather and mood so perfect, no one wanted to leave. Just one more day! Please! I sat and smoked my pipe and wondered when the next trip would be. When the crew would get together again. I also thought of how I couldn't wait to bring Amy here. We watched the park ranger drive by from time to time. Should we go to the river one more time? It was such a long drive ahead of us and boy is this beer cold! We ran out of the handful of beers left, and spent a while drinking water and rehydrating. Finally, Nolan broke down and slapped a bottled beer into his koozie. It was like a beacon. Sure enough, along comes the ranger. Walking towards us in that cowboy sort of strut. We knew what he was coming over here for. Long story short, he made us pour out the beer and gave us the lecture on what "public display of alcohol" meant. On that note, we decided it was time to leave. We loaded up and headed off. One last stop: Cooper's. IF you don't know, you're missing out. Pit style BBQ, served by some backwoods Cletis (is that mean?) who asks you, "You want that dunked". Killer ribs and definately worth the trip to Llano. After that, Patrick headed his way and Nolan and I headed back to Austin.

It was a great trip. one of the best I've had in a while. I always love spending time with my bros. The multi park trip is definately the way to go if you take the time. No plans, no problem. I look forward to the next trip. Until then, we all are off in our corners of the globe again, doing what we do. Where will the next trip be? Who knows. You know you can't plan that shit.

By the way, most of the pictures you saw were shot by Patrick with a few shot by Nolan.