Birthplace: Santa Margarita, California, USA
Date of Birth: 00/00/00
Rudolph Estrada, better known as 'Rudy', 'Grandpa Rudy', 'the Old Man', is the reason there is a Ranch. Rudy was an avid hunter, having been brought up on venison stew and jerky, hunting was just in Rudy's blood. The problem was Rudy always had a difficult time trying to find a place for him and Billy, his son, to go hunting. Now you would think in those times, places to hunt would be plentiful, but in San Luis Obispo County that wasn't the case. Most of the good hunting was on private property, and although Rudy had many relatives and friends in the area, it always seemed to be against his nature having to ask for permission every time he wanted to go out for a hunt. Rudy simply was frustrated with the situation because it was something he loved and he wanted to his son to experience some of the pleasure that had always been the joy of his life. Fed up with not having the convenience of being able hunt when he wanted, Rudy decided to look around and find his own place so he could hunt whenever he felt like it without having to deal with anyone else.
Rudy began his quest to find just the right spot, checking out property in the Santa Margarita area where he had his roots and was familiar with the territory. His cousin, Rosamel Estrada, had recently sold some property about 5 miles east of the town of Santa Margarita, inside of the boundaries of the former Santa Margarita Rancho. Rosamel sold the property to move closer to town, but the new owners failed time and time again to make the mortgage payments testing Rosamel's patience. Eventually becoming fed up with his debtors, Rosamel asked Rudy if he would be interested in buying the place. Rudy had been familiar with the property since he was a young boy and had hunted on the property on several occasions. He fell in love with the property years earlier and couldn't wait to make it all his own. It was exactly what he wanted. The front of the property was situated right at the edge of Santa Margarita Ranch pastureland, then backed up against golden rolling hills covered in live and white oaks, and extending into a large open canyon in the back which bordered the Las Padres National Forest. It was an ideal hunting ranch; the deer were plentiful; the cabin was hidden just out of view to the occasional ranch worker; and it was conveniently located within a half hour of his home in San Luis Obispo. Well, it didn't take Rudy long to shake hands and seal the deal. That was in 1938, and was the day the Ranch was born. This was a purchase of a dream come true for Rudy and dream that would bring joy and pleasure to family and friends for many years to come.
About Rudy the Man
To say Rudy was a man of principle would be a gross understatement. There was no 'gray' in Rudy's principles; things were right or wrong, good or bad. Rudy strongly believed in God, his family, a man's word, the truth, and respect of others. He was proud of his heritage, his country, and his Ranch.
Many times when we were at the Ranch alone, he told me how much he loved his mother, and when his father died, how he was left as the oldest son to care for his younger brother and older sister. I can also remember stories he told about when he was in the Marines, and throughout his talks you could feel the patriotism flow from his words. In the Marines, Rudy was known as Popeye because of his natural strength, which was frequently demonstrated by his ability to take down some of the most toughest and meanest leathernecks in arm wrestling.
Rudy was a passionate man who when he spoke, people took notice because he rarely opened his mouth without having something meaningful to say. When you were invited to the Ranch to hunt, Rudy would take you to the side and give you his rules in plain simply language. You knew by his tone that this was a sacred place and you were privileged to be there. You also knew, without him mentioning it, that any violation of those rules would have severe consequences.
There was an incident that happened some 40 years ago that clearly demonstrates Rudy's strong belief in principles. It was the day Grandpa Rudy kicked one of his best friends of the Ranch…forever. His name was Burt Buzzi, and he had worked with Grandpa for over 30 years and they were very close. In fact, at one time Burt gave Bill Sr. and his family a place to live when they moved back to San Luis Obispo from Vallejo. Anyway, that particular morning Burt took his truck and left the cabin to go hunting, which was not unusual because we had a lot more territory available to us and we would just park the truck in a location and pick it upon our return. About an hour before Burt arrived back at the Ranch, we heard a shot. Back then, there was very little other activity going on in that area, so any shot could be clearly heard for miles. When Burt arrived, Grandpa asked him if he fired a shot, and Burt replied no, and said he hadn't seen anything but does. We discussed the shot for a while then we all sat down and ate lunch. After lunch, as was the custom or should I say almost the rule, everyone laid down for an afternoon nap. When I woke later, Grandpa and Burt were already up and talking. Out of the clear, Grandpa asked Burt again if he fired a shot. Burt repeated that he hadn't and seemed surprised that Grandpa asked him again. Grandpa asked him to get up and come out to Burt's truck, but for some curious reason Burt didn't follow. When Grandpa got to the truck he pulled back an old piece of canvas in the bed of the truck revealing a small spike. Burt couldn't get an explanation or an apology out of his mouth fast enough before Grandpa told him he didn't want to hear it. Grandpa told Burt to give him his Ranch key and take his deer and never come back. During this whole time, Burt is pleading for Grandpa to listen to his story, but Grandpa wouldn't listen. Grandpa repeated "….Just get the hell out of here and don't come back. I don't want to talk to you." Burt finally left, probably thinking that he needed to give Grandpa time to cool off before approaching him again. But Burt never came back. Grandpa told me later that day that Burt knew what he was doing when shot the spike and he was jeopardizing our reputation by bringing the spike back to the Ranch. But that didn't loose Burt his hunting privileges and a lifetime friend, but his lying did. Grandpa told me he couldn't give his friendship to a man whose word you couldn't trust. The fact is there were others over the years who made similar mistakes, but were honest about it. Now, that's not to say that you wouldn't get a lecture and be required to stay with the 'Old Man' for the night or two contemplating your error, but by Rudy's standards, that was considered appropriate punishment for the misdeed. But for a friend to lie to Grandpa was a break in trust and was simply unforgivable.
Rudy was also a very good hunter and damn good shot. In those days, everyone had open sights and Rudy could free hand shot with the best of them. His shooting technique was somewhat unconventional, at least by my experience. He would just raise his rifle to his shoulder, point and shoot. He never seemed to lower his head and aim using the sights; it was similar to the way many hunters shoot a shotgun. Technique aside, I seen him knock down many a buck over 100 yards away, and some running. In fact, the first time I seen him drunk was when he shot a buck approximately 200 yards out on the run. He shot the deer out from some hunters that were poaching on the Margarita Ranch. It was midday and hotter than hell, and they showed up at the cabin lost, and wanted to get back to the road where they left their car. Grandpa wouldn't let them through our gate, but told them to cut across the field and follow the creek out the to road. They knew going through our gate was much shorter and less visible, but they didn't think about arguing with the Old Man, and turned around and headed for the creek. As soon as they got into the creek, Grandpa told me to get in the jeep. We went down the road just beyond what is now known as "Doug's Dip", turned off the engine and waited. It wasn't five minutes and out runs this nice three-pointer from the creek heading up the hill. Grandpa immediately gets out of the jeep, raises his rifle and shoots. The deer drops like a rock, lies for a few seconds, and gets back up moving towards poison oak hill. Grandpa fires again, and this time the deer doesn't get back up. When we got to the deer, the bullet holes were within inches of each other, right behind the front shoulder piercing the heart and lungs. Of course by that time the hunters came out the creek but Grandpa told them to get back in and follow it to the road or he'd get the Ranch foreman to help them. Back at the cabin, he celebrated by having a number of Seagram 7 shots and highballs, all the time laughing about the way he used those guys to drive the creek. I think that was the only time I ever seen Grandpa drunk.
I spent a lot of my childhood with my Grandfather and nothing will ever replace those memories or the special relationship we had. When we were young, Glenn and I couldn't wait for Grandpa to take us out to the Ranch during the summer when dad was working. We'd always stop by Dana's to get a 25 or 50 pound block of ice for the old ice box to keep the drinks and perishables cold. Well, it was more like cool than cold, but it made a difference in the 100 degree weather which was common between July through September. When we got to the Ranch, it was like our own private playground. We built secret forts in the brush, went hunting with our BB guns, tracked wild animals, and could do just about anything we wanted to as long as we didn't hurt one another. Grandpa always knew what we were doing but never interfered. He'd always have something good for our lunch, like Vienna sausages, salami, cheese and 7 Up. And we'd eat like it was the last supper and relax after lunch like the big boys. Nothing was better for two boys growing up than having a place like the Ranch to fulfill our dreams. Grandpa brought this same pleasure to everyone fortunate enough to be a part of the Ranch.
Bill Jr. 2003
