The name Bear Creek would indicate that bears once roamed along its banks. When we were growing up, my brother and I also roamed there but never saw a bear. We had some great times though. Bear Creek originates north of the town of Bertram and meanders eastwardly and then southeastwardly until it empties into the San Gabriel River. There are several communities scattered along its banks; one of them is Prairie Point. Perhaps I should say, “was Prairie Point,” because now the name only appears on a historical marker beside the road. Many farms and ranches have given way to subdivisions, each with a different name. All of these people have come to live where we once raised sheep and grew sugar cane, grain and cotton.
In the late 1800's through the 1940's, Bear Creek was the recreational center of the community. Church baptisms were held there as were picnics, fish frys, family reunions and just about any special occasion that came along. Swimming parties were numerous in the summer. Fishing and hunting were year-round activities. Most of the land owners were kinfolk and the rest were good friends. Everyone had free access to hunt and fish all along the creek. Night hunting of varmints and livestock predators helped keep them in check. Panthers and wildcats sometimes provided some thrilling hunts. Hunting raccoons and foxes for bounty was a regular thing.
The residents of the 1930's were not that far removed from the generation which settled that country. They still had a frontiersman attitude about living. Children were taught to respect the land, wildlife and the rights of others. They were taught at an early age how to fish and which ones to bring home for the table. They were also taught which birds were predators, which ones made a tasty meal and where to find them. They learned the same thing about animals, how to track them and where to aim to get a "clean" instant kill. Children, especially the boys, were taught to handle a rifle by age nine or ten. Knowing how to safely and accurately shoot was a necessity on a farm or ranch where rattlesnakes, hawks and varmints were a threat to the family livelihood. I'm sure that all this is still the practice on farms and ranches today.
Our rules were to kill only things that would cause harm, or that we could use for food; never to fire at anything we couldn't see plainly; never to leave any wounded animal to suffer, and never fire in the direction of a neighbor’s house or barn even if you thought you were too far away for the bullet to reach there.
My brother and I were first taught to use an air gun. When it was decided that we knew the rules and could be trusted, we graduated to the 22 rifle and were later allowed to take it hunting. At first we had to have an adult with us, but as we became more experienced, we were allowed to go alone. The following story is about one of those trips.
The day dawned sunny and cool and we thought it was just right for a hunting trip. We decided to walk over to our cousin’s house and ask him to go along. By the time we came back, got permission to take the gun and were allotted our ration of ammunition, it was mid-morning. The cool of the dawn was turning into the heat of the day.
The main reason we wanted our cousin along was so he could bring Bulger with us. Bulger was famous as a good hunting dog. Uncle Sid leased him out to hunters from far and wide; he was famous because he would hunt any animal you set him on, to the exclusion of all others. He would flush doves or quail. He seemed to love hunting rabbits more but would hunt only squirrels if that what you set him on. He was especially good at hunting raccoons at night. Not only was Bulger a good hunting dog, but he was loyal and affectionate as well. We all loved Bulger and he loved us back. Besides, if we got lost all we had to do was say, "Bulger, go home," and he would take us there.
We stuffed a few matches and some left over biscuits in our pockets and trekked off through the pasture toward the creek. Our house was on a rise with prairie all around it. A lot of that was planted fields. We could hunt rabbits in the pasture or we could hunt squirrels at the creek. We chose the squirrels.
By the time we arrived in the woods along the creek, we had decided to cool off by wading in the shallows above the rapids. This led to catching crayfish which we boiled to eat with our biscuits. We often did this, so we kept a tin can for that purpose, turned upside down on a stump near the shallows. After lunch, we decided that, since our clothes were already wet from catching the crayfish, we could go swimming. To do that, we waded down the creek through the shallows and the rapids a few hundred yards to where an outcropping of limestone formed a natural pool of deeper water.
The pool was about eight feet wide with the rock on one side and a mud bank on the other. Everyone swam there, and used the rock to jump from. There was a tree at the water’s edge on the mud bank with a rope tied to it. It let you swing out and drop into the water at the middle of the creek. Everyone also knew that there were water snakes living along washed-out crevasses in the mud bank. We had seen water moccasins there, and had heard rumors of people being bitten. Sometimes the adults would come there, stir up the water along the bank and shoot the snakes. We had been taught to swim in the strongest currents out in the middle of any creek, and stay away from the banks. We felt pretty safe doing that.
The day was passing by and we hadn't started our hunt. Bulger decided we might not get around to hunting, so he went trailing along the bank. In a little while he began barking. We knew he had something going on so we went looking for him. He had found an armadillo hole. When he saw us coming, he decided it was time to attack. It's a fact that armadillos can usually dig faster than dogs, but Bulger didn't care. He dug into that hole with all his might, and only came up for air. The animal was digging ahead of him and tossing the dirt in his face; the poor dog had dirt in his eyes and mouth, but wouldn't give up.
We knew that sometimes armadillos share dens with rattlesnakes, so at first we tried to pull Bulger back. That was impossible, so we let him be the judge about the snakes. We didn't think he could ever reach the armadillo and and figured he soon would get tired and quit. Instead, he seemed to be gaining energy, so we began to help him. We reasoned that we might dig into the den from the top side; that way, we'd have the animal coming and going. We dug with sticks, thin fieldstones and our bare hands. Bulger took turns digging alternately with us and in his first hole; back and forth he went, as the afternoon slid by. We knew we were in trouble for being gone so long, but we didn't want to disappoint the dog.
Suddenly the armadillo came out of the first hole and Bulger grabbed him.
Knowing that he was caught, the armadillo balled up to protect himself, pretending to be dead. The dog pushed him around with his nose waiting for us to do something. Since the dog had bit him, we decided to finish him off and take him home to cook. On command, and seeing the gun, Bulger proudly stood back like a good hunting dog while the shot was made. On the way home we met momma and grandpa who had come out to find us.
They were pretty upset, but that armadillo saved us from a spanking.
Of course, he had to be dressed and cooked, but that night at the supper table, we felt like our hunting trip couldn't have been more fun. We were glad that Bulger decided to hunt armadillos.
Read more articles from the Summer 2008 issue.