Campfire Tales

The Daring Daylight Dance of the Big O Corn Fairy

By Ralph Winingham

Stories that stretch the imagination were as plentiful as raindrops during a thunderstorm at the Big O Ranch in Frio County, but few could equal the tale that had one veteran hunter dancing around the campfire. The South

Texas camp was a 9,230-acre slice of hunting paradise just outside of Pearsall that played host to politicians, priests, poets and even a member of the British Parliament as guests of the regular hunters during its eight-decade reign as a brotherhood of campfire comrades. Officially called the Herbert M. Oppenheimer Ranch, the “Big O” was bound by strict rules: no alcohol, no women and no practical jokes that might cause serious injury or death. The manly man gathering of about 30-40 hunters every weekend of the deer season was a haven for long hours in deer blinds interspersed with great home-cooked meals or yarns shared around a crackling campfire. One of the favorite tales repeated time and again was courtesy of Wes Reed, a veteran hunting compadre with more than 70 years of hunting and shooting experience, including multiple decades at the Big O. Reed walked the walk and talked the talk. Greenhorns and veterans alike were wise to pay close attention when he held court. However, even Old Wes, who often advised his hunting companions to “expect the unexpected,” was hard pressed to make believers out of the Big O crew when he came back from a blind one afternoon with a report of the “corn fairy’’ that got away.

Fortunately for Reed, he was accompanied by a highly trained, professional observer when he witnessed one of the most unusual sights ever recorded at any deer camp. Unfortunately for the author, I was that trained observer. We had been in the blind, known as the “Taj Mahal” because of its satellite television dish, propane heater and other amenities, for about 30 minutes when Reed began toying with what resembled a remote-control device for the nearby corn spreaders. “This must set off the feeder,” he said as he pushed the bright red button on the control. No more than 20 seconds after he mashed down the button, Reed looked out the window and stammered, “Whoa, look at that!” Out from the brush had stepped a statuesque brunette, wearing an all-black outfit of a dazzlingly short leather miniskirt; a daringly cut leather tank top; brightly shined cowboy

The “Taj Mahal” blind at the Big O Ranch offered quite a view of one of the strangest apparitions ever observed by hunters at the veteran deer camp.

boots; and a cowboy hat that barely managed to contain her silky long hair wafting in the breeze. I know professional deer hunters will understand and I humbly apologize to any of my female acquaintances when I point out the corn fairy did indeed have a nice rack. Being a trained observer is a special talent.

The mysterious maiden gracefully made a small turn across the sendero, daintily tossing out handfuls of deer corn like a fairy sprinkling magic pixie dust in her wake. Her corn distribution duties completed, she stopped in the middle of the sendero and turned toward our blind. With a tip of her hat and a wave of her hand, she scampered off into the brush and disappeared from our sight.

In and out in less than 10 seconds, Reed and I simply did not have time to bring any camera into play to record the dainty display. All we could do was stare at each other in wide-eyed amazement at what had just taken place. “Did we just see what I thought we saw? Where could she have come from? How did she get through the brush without getting all scratched up?” Reed asked in a rapid-fire barrage of questions.

It’s doubtful he expected any answers, even if there were any that could be provided by a dumbstruck professional observer, as Reed was too busy repeatedly mashing down the button on the remote control. Push, look, push, look, push, look—he was a remote-control machine on steroids. After several minutes of fruitless attempts to inspire a repeat performance of the dancing deer corn distribution display, we deduced he must have worn out the battery on the remote.

When we got back to camp later that afternoon, obviously with no evidence of our corn fairy encounter, our camp compadres took great delight in having Reed demonstrate the dainty

corn-distribution technique of our mystery maiden. Skipping in a circle and gracefully flinging his hand in the air, I had to admit the 6-foot-tall, 200-pound Reed provided our wideeyed compadres with a very creative imitation of the vision we had witnessed. Despite Reed’s reputation and the fact he was accompanied by a witness with indisputable observation skills, our report of the corn fairy that got away was received with disbelief, interrupted by numerous boisterous bouts of laughter. Repeated comments about “erotic exotics” were just too much for us to handle, so Reed and I decided it was time to take our leave and retire for the night. Days later, we were informed our corn fairy sighting was indeed an elaborate hoax perpetrated for our benefit with the ranch owner’s permission to “bend” the camp’s no-woman restriction. The corn fairy was, in fact, a lady friend and avid hunting companion of one of the camp regulars. The other members of the camp’s cadre were in on the practical joke, which had been intricately planned and orchestrated with cunning detail. After the end of deer season, a luncheon was arranged so Reed and his fellow corn fairy observer could get an up-close and personal view of our mystery maiden, plus enjoy a friendly chat with our ultimate “big one that got away.” Come to think of it, the only subject that Reed never broached during our face-to-face with the corn fairy was his trademark philosophy of “expect the unexpected.”

Rattling master Wes Reed was a longtime hunting companion and witness to the dancing “corn fairy.”

*** Wes Reed, veteran outdoorsman, crackerjack rifle shot and legendary Tiro Al Pichon Association (live flyers) judge, passed away in January 2004 at the too-young age of 81. His corn fairy story was immortalized in “Revenge of Old Boots & Bacon Grease,” the Texas Outdoor Writers’ Association 2006 Book of the Year dedicated to my longtime hunting buddy and dear friend. Reed was fond of saying: “You know the best time to go hunting? When you can!” See page 122 for Reed’s recipe he shared with me during our hunting adventures.

STORY

Rodney Roussarie shot this nice 10-pointer during a reunion hunt with his old college friends.

This story starts in 1979 when my friend Rodney Roussarie enrolled at Texas Tech University after graduating from Crane High School. I had started at Tech in 1978, and soon met Brad Teel, who had been there since 1977. Rodney joined the party in 1979. We hit it off well, and the three of us have been friends for 40-plus years.

We didn’t set any scholastic records at Tech, but we sure had a good time. We all graduated, have been blessed in many ways, and, of course, have dealt with our own life challenges along the way. Our careers and families took us in different directions, but we were able to reunite at Brad’s ranch in North Texas in November 2020.

A bit of background may be worthwhile. Brad acquired his ranch starting in the early 1990s. It’s superb whitetail deer habitat, with two creeks and associated drainages feeding into the Red River, and a great mix of bottomland, pastures, hardwood forests and thick cover. Deer hunting wasn’t a priority then, as the ranch had not been managed for quality deer, but after a few years, sightings of deer in general, and big old bucks in particular, began to increase. With great support from TPWD biologists and game wardens, participation in the MLDP program and coordination with adjoining landowners, this part of Texas is now a free-range whitetail honey hole.

I’ve been fortunate to be part of this since retiring early at the end of 2012. I reconnected with Brad in early 2013, and he invited me to hunt deer that fall. I told him then he just created a monster, and he’s been stuck with me ever since. We’ve done our best to manage his ranch for trophy bucks, mostly by shooting the high potential 3½- and 4½-year-olds with a camera instead of a gun, and respectfully requesting Brad’s guests to do the same. Despite a few hiccups along the way, we’ve been reasonably successful in this regard.

So, in November 2020, Brad and I were enjoying a couple of adult beverages after the evening hunt and we decided to call Rodney and invite him to join us. Although Rodney lives five hours away in Midland, and owns and operates a small business, he jumped at the opportunity. We had a great time recalling a representative subset of our youthful indiscretions, reducing the hog and coyote population, and Rodney connected on a tall nine-pointer the last morning of the hunt.

This was the first time I had seen Rodney since the 1980s. We picked up right where we left off. He was always very fit and athletic, and had remained so. However, he shared with me his family history of cancer and heart disease, and that his father, Bud, had died of esophageal cancer at age 59. Rodney had a very close relationship with Bud. They spent considerable time together hunting, fishing and trapping, and Bud pushed him to excel at athletics and provided him the opportunity to fine-tune his work ethic on oil rigs in West Texas.

The bad news came in early 2021. Rodney was diagnosed with esophageal cancer, at age 59. We all knew this was going to be a difficult journey with an uncertain outcome. Rodney is one tough hombre, and his mental strength and great attitude throughout the ordeal was amazing. He endured months of chemotherapy, radiotherapy, six surgeries with complications, and six months on a feeding tube. From a very lean starting point of 175 pounds, he bottomed out at 145 pounds. He, Brad, and I stayed in touch throughout 2021. The good news is the tumor and surrounding lymph glands were removed, and the long-term prognosis is good.

In early October, Rodney sent me the following text: “I just wanted you to know that you need to get the cameras set at the ranch. Right now! I want the biggest bad-ass deer you can find!!! So the vacation is over and it’s time to go to work.”

This is “Rodney-speak” for: “After months of torture, I’m challenging myself to be able to hunt deer this season. I hope we can make it happen.” Of course, Brad and I were going to do everything we could towards that end.

Rodney didn’t become “tube-free” and start eating real food until December. We scheduled a late-season hunt in mid-

Rodney had been fighting cancer, but he wouldn’t let that get in the way of joining the fun everyone had with this hunt.

January. I arrived on Friday to check things out. Rodney arrived before noon on Sunday after leaving Midland at 4 a.m. Brad arrived on Monday, after escaping from an untimely heavy snowstorm in Colorado.

We had a great time again recalling the next portion of our youthful indiscretions, reducing the hog and coyote population, and hunting deer. The first few days yielded a couple of encouraging trail camera photos, but we didn’t have any live sightings that got our juices flowing. Although Rodney was still figuring out what, how, and how much he can eat with his new internal plumbing, he came equipped with his homemade wok and burner, and made his famous stir-fry which Brad and I agreed was the best deer camp meal we’ve ever had.

The stars lined up on Tuesday afternoon. Rodney spotted a large 10-point buck slinking through the tall grass about 75 yards away on the left side of his blind, and shot him with his trusty .270, a Christmas present from Bud when Rodney was 15 years old. It was a perfect shot. The buck only went a few steps before dropping. I heard him shoot from where I was hunting, and high-tailed it over to Rodney’s blind in case we had to look for a deer in the fading light. No need for that. We had time for photos, loaded the deer in the Mule, and headed for camp. Brad was waiting for us, and we exchanged big smiles and fist bumps. Rodney then insisted on field-dressing the deer himself. Afterwards we enjoyed a few adult beverages and told a few more stories.

The next day Rodney insisted on skinning and butchering the deer himself. I helped out as required, but kept looking at the antlers, which seemed to have grown overnight. I pulled out a tape measure and scored the buck at a bit over 160”, exceptional for a free-range buck anywhere. It was time for more big smiles and fist bumps. We dropped off the cape and antlers at the local taxidermist. Then it was time for Rodney to fire up

Rodney came to deer camp with his homemade wok in hand to do some stir-fry cooking for himself and his buddies.

the wok again and feed us some incredible fried catfish with onions and jalapeños. As much as we would have enjoyed hanging out for a few more days, life happens, and we all had other irons in the fire. So we broke camp on Thursday morning after agreeing we had just created an incredible lifetime memory. Rodney is truly an inspiration on how to deal with a lifethreatening condition. His physical fitness, mental toughness, zest for life, and unwavering support from his lovely wife Donna—they were high school sweethearts, where she also was a track star—enabled him to pass this test with flying colors. Three old friends enjoying the camaraderie and the great outdoors in our version of paradise is priceless. Rodney’s exceptional buck was the icing on the cake, and a notable milestone in his victory lap over cancer. He still has a ways to go to regain his previous level of strength and stamina, but I highly suspect he will be hard to keep up with by next deer season.