Birthplace: Templeton, California, USA
Date of Birth: 12/31/85
HARRY "ROADKILL" WRIGHT
Born on New Year's Eve, 1985, in Templeton, CA, Harry has been a fixture on the Ranch scene since he began to crawl. He started as a pack mule for his father, Don, about age 6, carrying essentials such as gum, jerkey, water, Skittles and always a few special 'sourballs' for when they would rendezvous with Bill II. He learned many valuable hunting lessons before he started carrying a gun, thanks to the unselfishness of his father, who believed that the best illustration of these lessons was by directly experiencing the 'missed opportunity':
* The Incident in the Safflower Field - Two bucks running. Always shoot at the lead buck, this might allow you to hit the following buck in the ass. Harry learned this by watching his father fire randomly and excitedly (and inaccurately) at both bucks as they gleefully trotted into Poison Oak hill.
* Incident on Poison Oak Hill - Always sit down and WAIT for at least 20-30 minutes after you wound a buck before you go after him. Once again, this was learned through the 'missed opportunity' or 'dumbass' (vernacular) method. After obviously hitting a nice forked horn with the first shot and watching him slip to the top of the hill and under some cover, his father immediately RAN to the spot and, giving the deer no chance to stiffen up and no choice but to jump up and fly into brush so thick that he couldn't be found in the next 6 hours, was able to see only a large red wound on a large deer butt for a very brief instant. Two weeks later, a crippled forked horn with a big red hole in his left flank was shot on the road, from the rock above the reservoir, by the famous Portugee - John Correia. And that's what they call 'Driving the lesson home.'
* Incident After the Fog Lifted - Sitting on point, never relax until the Driver has come off the hill. The corner. In the fog. Two hours. 'Buck' the buck dog tied to his father. Harry watches as the old man (ever the resolute instructor), startled, unprepared, fires 4 times, unsuccessfully, over a moderately close and disputed distance at a big, throwback brush buck that has suddenly appeared where he didn't expect him. Everyone involved is saddened and disappointed, but once again, a lesson is learned.
In the hunting season of 2000, Harry - now licensed to hunt and 14 years old - was left alone on a hilltop for the first time and was privileged to encounter a full-grown bear at a reasonably safe distance of 15 ft., which he quickly extended to about 1 ½ miles in approximately 35 seconds. (Apparently he didn't have his bear tag on him and thought it best to hunt elsewhere.)
In 2001, Harry shot his first deer… and then shot another one. That season there was growing tension about changes on the Santa Margarita Ranch. The new owners had exhibited a higher profile and presence than previous owners and the traditional hunting boundaries that the Estradas had always observed became less defined and appeared subject to change. On opening day, Saturday, after an unsuccessful morning hunt, Harry and his father, armed with the .243 Savage left him by Joe Scuri upon his passing, went out on quad patrol at 1:30 PM to secure the area and make sure things were in order. Although ranch foreman, Bill Estrada II, in light of the recent uncertainty, had cautioned the hunting crew the previous night against any road hunting, the Wrights didn't consider this a road hunt in the normal sense and had set out with the noblest of intentions - the welfare of the crew and some quality father and son time. Under an oak tree on the backside of the center knoll, lay two bucks who never heard the quad, never saw the flash of the binoculars or the unsheathing of the Savage, never heard the question and answer of hunter and guide - "Which one should I shoot?" "The 3-pointer that just stood up." - and one sure never heard the single shot that put him down to stay. Back in camp, the deer was skinned and the head prepared for mounting (probably the first in 40-50 years) by the expert, pre-taxidermy staff of Murray Hathway and Kevin Estrada. "Felix" (so named because of his perfect, unblemished golden hide) hangs today in the living room of the cabin as a testament to stealth, perseverance and a full tank of gas.
Harry's second kill that year came near the end of the season on a routine run into town for ice and a newspaper. It was about… 1:30 PM. Accompanied by his usual guide and father and .243 Scuri Special, he stopped to open a gate near one of the outlying boundary areas of the Estrada perimeter. As he emerged from the truck, he was struck by an indescribable sight. (But I'll take a shot at describing it.) Maybe 40 yards off the road, lay a buck - no, not just a buck - a horse with horns was more like it. A big, swollen-necked, heavy-horned three-and-three surrounded by seven does, everyone laying in the shade, worn out. The legendary breeder and his harem. After piling out of the truck and wiping off the slobber, the deer had finally gotten up when Harry fired. Down he went on his back with all four legs sticking up - it looked like another one-shot kill. But suddenly he got up and ran while Harry and his father sat there, slack-jawed. Well, they had learned their lesson - they waited awhile, then they worked from the top of the hill down, found the big boy, head bowed, panting in some trees and finished him off. One of the biggest deer ever shot on the ranch - over 150 lbs, dressed. The Foreman was there to help them bring him in, skin him and join in the celebration - he can verify it.
So you're off to a good start, Harry - pack mule, bartender, poker player, road hunter, and fine son of a proud father.
Pop / 2003
