Back in the mid sixties there was a vest stretch of Southern California landscape, an old Spanish land grant, owned by the Irvine Company. Long before the houses and shopping malls of Newport Beach, a boy could spend countless hours in this paradise exploring sea cliffs looking for hawks’ nests, paddling the waters of the “back bay” and wandering the sun drenched hills with a dog and a .22, looking for something to plink. Dennis had an idyllic boyhood.
Winchester Model 1890 .22 WRF Rifle
One day, when Dennis was about sixteen, he and his best friend Tim decided they were old enough and man enough to bag themselves a deer--a boy’s rite of passage to manhood.
They took a carbine and drove to the Irvine Ranch. There they came upon a fence and gate with multiple padlocks. Without missing a beat, Dennis simply shot off the lock. Why not? They did it all the time in the movies.
Once inside they wandered around a bit and finally spotted a deer, which was quickly dispatched with a clean shot. A deputy patrolling the ranch a few hills over must have heard the shot, because Dennis spotted him driving their way in a hurry. They threw the deer in the back of the car and quickly made for the gate, running over a skunk on the way…they were in a convertible.
Safely on the other side of the fence, they made their way home with their prize. If nothing else, their adventures usually ended with bringing home food. Planning for an unexpected meal of wild game often occupied the thoughts of their mothers more than contemplating any near-death experiences associated with obtaining dinner. No further questions were asked.
Back then their fathers had very strict rules about hunting. Hunting was allowed, but with bow and arrows only. No guns. This presented a problem. But adolescent minds quickly improvise when under pressure. The solutions aren’t always the best, but some of us learn faster through trial and error, not by the admonitions of our parents.
The boys cleverly stuck an arrow in the bullet hole, and hung the deer up on the back porch to clean it. Tim’s uncle wandered outside after awhile to see how the boys were doing.
While Dennis and Tim were cleaning the deer a bullet dropped out of the carcass and landed on the ground with a “tink.”
The uncle looked at Tim, Tim looked at Dennis, both boys looked at the uncle…
“Aw, I won’t say anything,” said the uncle, and he walked back into the house.
Dennis saved that bullet and wrote on it, noting the date that he shot his first deer. It is in a jar somewhere, with mementos of other boyhood adventures.
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Just an end note: Dennis eventually became one of those patrolling deputies for Rancho Mission Viejo, another land grant just down the road. Funnest job he ever had, he says. Yes, he did come across tresspassing deer hunters. But that is a story for another time...
