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My cousin's(by marriage) family owns a large pheasant ranch outside of Dufer... Hulse I believe...sounds like it might be the same place. My cousins name is Ricky too, but he'd only be a few years old in 1978. He ran the operations for several years and1978
We were juniors in HS, and my good friend Bobby had a deer tag and was looking for some friends to go hunting with. I didn't have a tag and had never deer hunted before but had been up to this spot he wanted to go outside of Dufur OR that was known as Uncle Fricky's Ranch 3 or 4 times before and had great fun hunting pheasants and quail and agreed to go, also talked our friend Ray into going along although he was not a hunter.
We left on a Friday after school and after a short 3 hour drive in Bobby's 61, 4 door Impala blasting Judas Priest on his Pioneer Super Tuner with the bass turned low and the treble on high the whole way there.
The ranch was a paradise of around 500 acres 1/2 of it wooded with an old vacant 1920's house that was spartan yet had running water and electricity and a wood stove, a stereo with 6 foot tall speakers. We of course spent that night getting lit up.
Next morning were up bright and early and Bob is ready to get after it, we dragged Ray out of his cot and all hopped into the Impala to take a short mile drive through the ranch to get to where Bobby wanted to start his hunt.
Once again Bobby insist on cranking Judas and when we get to where Bob wants to start, he continues to just drive around in the Impala, next thing I know were cruising down a dry creek bed, Bob is driving, I'm riding shotgun, and a very queasy hung over Raymond is getting tossed around a bit in the back seat.
Stereo blasting rolling up this wash and I am thinking, no way in hell or we going to see anything. Then sure enough Bob and I spot a doe on the driver side of the vehicle just standing there with a what the hell are they doing look on his face 30 feet away.
Bobby slams the car to a stop and reaches for his 30-30 which is muzzle down between us, I put my left hand out to keep the muzzle from pointing my way while Bob excitedly grabs it and wrestles it out the driver side window and I use my right hand to open the car door because I knew things were about to get much louder then the stereo.
I got half way out before the blast of the rifle and by the time I turned to look the deer was down and flopping through it's death throws.
Bob is out of the car jumping around looking at the down deer and figuring his next move, Ray is in the back seat still in total shock, and I just watch.
Bob is freaking out cause he forgot his hunting knife, he had been taught that the proper way to finish a deer was by slicing it's throat.
Ray is out of the car now, Bob picks back up his rifle cause the deer was still trembling (his first shot was money, he hit the doe right below the head in the neck) and starts to shout Die, Die and shoots the deer three more times in the throat simulating a knife cut.
A few minutes go by and the deer is done trembling, Ray is still in shock and all our ears are ringing and then comes Bambi.
Bob flips out on Bambi trying to get it to leave, cursing at it, throwing twigs and branches at it. I look over at Ray and he is on his hands and knees puking.
Ray never took up hunting.
I used to go pull clays there occasionally... this was going on 20 years ago though and I haven't been out there in a long time... don't know what they do there now.
After the shoots, we'd go out with our .22s and slay ground rats at the old dump...
Good times!