Dear Arnold, Take 2

Mein Schnooki-putzi Arnold:

I am writing to ask you to please sign AB 821....the State bill banning the use of lead ammo in the range of the California condor.

I am a hunter. I do not understand the objection to requiring non-lead ammo. All of us ethical shooters have been doing it for years.

OK....I admit it: I am a Mitt Romney kind of hunter. My last hunt was in 1977....but it was a good one.

See, our friend Marc had given us a fat check to start this catering business in Carmel Valley....and he wanted to have a big party in December to prove that his investment was sound, and we knew what we were doing.

And he wanted venison to serve to his friends that were flying in from all over.

This was before New Zealand venison was available. America was still in the grip of Bambi-mania....if you wanted a deer, you had to shoot the fucking thing yourself.

So, my friend Chester and I went out deer hunting in early December. Oh you say....not exactly deer season. So sue me. We had a party to do.

We failed in all aspects of our hunt. Garrapata. Long Ridge. Guerrilla runs into Rancho San Carlos at midnight, sleeping on anthills in the full moon. Nada.

Finally, at 7am on the Sunday before the big party, we found ourselves at Hurricane Point: exhausted, disgusted....smoking a fatty and drinking Heineken's.....for hydration, you see.

There below us, walking calmly across the ridge above the sea......Bambi, his brothers.....and Bambi's mom! We ran to the truck to retrieve our weapons. I took responsibility and grabbed my .243. Chester ran interference: Waving his Heineken bottle, we whipped out his Little Soldier and ostentatiously peed onto the roadway....scaring away any early morning tourists that might have been tempted to stop for the view.

The .243 was a beautiful machine: Sako action and competition barrel; some crazy telescopic sight I got from an IRA guy in The City. Good enough for James Earl Ray.....Sad, but true. Martin never had a chance.....

I had to prop the rifle between my feet as I lay on the slope below the vista turnout. I got a decent glimpse of the doe. Downhill, 200 meters.....drop the muzzle a tad to compensate.....

Bang!

The doe disappeared.

Chester and I stashed the guns, and climbed down the mountain. When we got to the ridge below Hurricane Point, there was nothing in sight. Fuck....

Then we checked the cliff below us....and there was a scrub oak still gently bobbing up and down....with a weight of....something.

We scampered down the cliff and climbed across....and there was the doe. Shot through the throat, hanging upside down as in the best abattoir.....bled out.

At huge risk to life and limb, we got a line on her...and a come-along....and eased her out of the tree and into the arroyo nearby.

By now it was 8:30, and Highway One was buzzing....even in 1977. We gutted the doe, and took turns carrying her on our shoulders as we crawled up the arroyo to the road. The ticks and fleas she carried climbed all over us in turn, and were Nature's funeral choir....and then some.

It took three hours to climb the arroyo. Three long hours with the ticks and fleas.

We hung the doe......salted and smoked the hams...made sausage of the forelegs....and hung the saddle for 10 days. I still have the aroma of the fermenting meat in my nose.....not a bad thing: a rich, wonderful, earthy fragrance like no other.

We wrapped the saddle in fat back, and put it in a super hot oven. When the meat hit 115, we pulled it.

To this day....the best piece of meat I have ever eaten....second only to Don Butt's Dall Sheep loin he suffered for in Alaska and gifted us in a moment of generous insanity.

Apparently, the Indians would thank the deer for the gift of its life, and revere every part and portion. Chester and I did the same.....We really did worship that deer. She saved my economic life.

Anyway, Governor...times change, and now I now longer need to hunt. I have guys bring me stuff....more than I can deal with....but I am still ready. We still have the weaponry. We still have the skills. We have the gun dog. We pray for the day off when someone will take us somewhere where we can use them.

My friend Jake Butts, and his daddy Don.....have this kind of time....and put it to good use. They have noticed that a small piece of projectile will kill most gamebirds. Birds are small fragile creatures. We could shoot them with wood pellets, and they would still make the dinner table. We don't need lead.

For Christmas last year, we bought Jake and Don specially spiced pepper loads for their Purdy shotguns that start seasoning the bird as soon as it is hit. Fennel/Rosemary; Garlic/Mushroom....like that.

Why the freak-out about lead ammo?

Cost?

Is it cost that is the problem? Do you have any idea how much my guns cost? And my house is worth about what one of Jake's Purdy's is worth!

And time? Like I could get a day off to go shoot something! If I could...I would throw rocks at the bastards.....or load my old Hawken black powder rifle with some no-longer-useful wedding rings......

And the goddam dog, who even now..... at this moment....despite two walks in the woods for two hours......thinks he needs more attention from me....at 10pm? After four designer, organic Niman Ranch beef and pork meals?

Like I need a second wife! Copper ammo is the least of my worries, for chrissakes..... Forget the gun dog....I would be better off with a Byelorussian mistress with a cocaine problem. Or no problem at all with cocaine......

Freedom?

Like George Bush and the ATF are somehow gonna get one up on me if I can't get lead? The Black Helicopters are gonna land and the U.N. will take over?

Sir, as a semi-retired revolutionary....let me clue you in: when push comes to shove you want to shoot the other dude with steel ammo. See, the steel round passes through the guy, and he stops shooting at you and freaks out at the ensuing hydraulic leak.......and it takes 20 other dudes and a mountain of machinery and a huge pile of money to save his ass. The lead round, on the other hand, blows up and kills the guy......and those other 20 dudes are now free to use all that machinery and money to hunt you down and shoot you.

Finally, Sir: Last month I was teaching a class in deep Big Sur.....(well, basically I was cooking for a class, but I have my pretensions). I took a break in the middle of the day.....and went down to the beach for a nap with the above mentioned dog....a German Wire-haired pointer if anyone cares. The dog actually let me nap! Jesus wept!

It was magic: Big Creek flowed in from the Big Sur mountains, conveniently chilling my bottle of Gruet; the sun drifted lazily towards the horizon without a care in the world; the surf banged away on the stone beach, just as the creek rustled along the stones and baby bay trees to confront it; a little breeze wafted in from the redwoods along the creekand the sage up on the canyon sides......Dreamy....

When we awoke....Puppy and I...... On a rock above us on the beach...... was a giant condor. Jus chilling....looking at my lame, bright white Irish ass, motionless on the beach. Thinking about lunch, no doubt. It was not worried about puppy. At all. I took some fotos which I am not allowed to send you because you don't accept attachments. What a magnificent creature! Fucking huge...... Creepy....

Did you ever see Beastmaster? You could have landed the lead role, trust me. Then Tanya Roberts would have a real job, instead of trying to get me to go to Vegas......

I did some checking, and the science guys think that condors probably hang out at creek and river mouths waiting for meals....seaborn or landborn...... but they have never observed the behavior. The science guys had killed a calf, and left it on the next ranch over near the coast to try to coax a condor or two towards the water to see if it was a real behavior or just a theory.

I got proof!

Anyway, Sir: This bird is doomed if all these other shooter dummies won't get with the program. They are like the people that think that banning smoking in bars will cause the Constitution to crumble.

Get a grip! Their buddy George Bush has already fucked over the Constitution to the point where the lead ammo thing is meaningless. And since they can no longer smoke in bars...the money they save now will more than pay for copper ammo.

Also....though this is a minor point: the women that study the condors are very hot. Bird Nerds are hot. Maybe you should check it out.

So......Please, sir.....Sack up. Grow some balls. You can get past that steroid thing. Really.

The NRA are not the only hunters. The rest of us will appreciate your courage and foresight and honesty if you sign this bill.

I will even remove the curse I put on your family for killing Tookie Williams.

Well, maybe.....

Hasta!

Michael Jones