Lamesa Pilot Takes Guest Gunner
On Helicopter Hunt For Varmints
By John Bradshaw
LAMESA — It's against the law in Texas for anyone to charge hunters for the opportunity to shoot on aerial hunts, and that's a shame. Money would flow and predator numbers would dwindle if that weren't the case.
A few weeks ago I was given the privilege of riding as gunner by Don Chiles, and it was by far the most exciting hunt I've ever been on. Chiles makes his living as a crop duster and farmer, but a few years ago the feral hogs got so bad that he was forced out of the peanut business. He needed a helicopter for his own preservation.
In 2000 he paid for a helicopter to come in and fly his country for hogs, and afterward he told his wife he had to have a helicopter of his own. In 2002 the same thing happened. Finally, a little more than three years ago he bought a helicopter.
"It took me about six months to learn to fly it," Chiles said. "I really bought it for my own protection. We couldn't even grow peanuts out here."
The 69 year-old pilot has been paid on a few occasions for cattle gathers, but he readily admits that the helicopter is still a hobby. He has had a handful of paid predator and varmint hunts, as well.
"I don't really push it, though. It wouldn't be fun if I had to work at it," Chiles said.
He did say that he would love to get paid each time he hunts, but that doesn't happen. For now, he flies his own country and that of his neighbors every once in a while, trying to keep the coyotes and hogs at bay.
Chiles was more than willing to allow me to come out and gun for him. He's certainly a nice guy for doing so, but it was soon apparent that he also loved every minute of it. He admitted that flying the helicopter is the most fun he's ever had.
I met Chiles at the office of Chiles Flying Service at the Lamesa Airport at seven in the morning. I had never ridden in a helicopter and had heard plenty of stories about people getting sick all over the cockpit. I took a Dramamine and turned down the kolaches and coffee Chiles offered.
Before the flight, Chiles made certain I had a hunting license, and he got his paperwork ready. He must have a signed LOA, or landowner authorization, for each place he hunts.
It was cool that morning, about 40 degrees at dawn. I had brought a sweatshirt and a Carhartt coat, but Chiles said that wouldn't be sufficient with my door off and the cold wind blowing in. He loaned me a pair of camouflage coveralls. The coyotes never saw me coming.
Chiles pulled his helicopter out of the hangar with a golf cart. He has a Robinson R22, Beta II. Chiles and I were shoulder to shoulder in the small cockpit, with the pilot on the right side.
As Chiles went through his preflight check, he told me a couple of rules about the gun. He said to either point it at the floor or out the door, and if it's out the door, never point it up at the rotor blades. Also, I was to be careful not to bump into him with the butt of the gun or my arm.
He provided a 12-gauge semi-automatic that had a long barrel and a tube just as long. It held 10 shells when fully loaded. There was a pouch on the floor filled with buckshot shells. Chiles advised reloading at every opportunity. I soon found out how quickly an automatic shotgun can be unloaded.
Chiles said we'd go find a coyote or two, and then go hog hunting. After the little helicopter warmed up, we headed northwest from Lamesa to a wheat pasture where Chiles' neighbor was grazing some cows and small calves. The man had been having some trouble with coyotes.
The wind blowing through the missing door was crisp, but the excitement of a first helicopter ride made up for it. We both had headsets, which kept our ears warm.
Within 15 minutes of takeoff we reached the pasture Chiles had spoken of. The land was completely flat and clear of brush, and Chiles immediately spotted a coyote trotting right through the middle of the cattle.
When Chiles flew closer, the coyote took off at a run. Chiles matched its speed, about 100 feet away and 40 or 50 feet off the ground. A couple of times I was forced to hold fire when the coyote ran past unsuspecting cows. I figured shooting a coyote at that range with a shotgun would be a piece of cake. I missed the first eight shots.
Stage fright was setting in, and Chiles didn't help matters when he said over the headset, "Well, we'll run him to death in a little while."
Finally I found the range. Chiles and I were both relieved. Chiles took us up a little higher, and within half a mile we spotted two more coyotes. Perhaps the nerves were settled, or maybe I was just lucky, but both coyotes rolled with one shot each.
From there we headed northeast, basically toward O'Donnell and the salt cedar thickets and salt lakes that cover so much of that country. From the air, countless hog trails could be seen cutting through the plowed ground between areas with cover. Nothing was yet planted, but Chiles pointed out how many crops would be damaged through the summer by the hogs that made those tracks.
Chiles knows the country well, because we flew right over the place where he grew up, and he knows exactly where he can and cannot hunt. He flew high and fast over the places he doesn't have permission but slowed and circled over the country he has the paperwork on.
He was soon circling over a small pasture with an old house sitting next to a small tank. One of us saw a coyote, which was brought down with a couple of shots. Almost immediately Chiles said, "There's another coyote," and banked hard to the left. When I looked out my door, almost straight down, there stood a bobcat in the salt cedars 30 feet below. Chiles straightened the machine, and directly in front of us was a coyote leaving out.
When I told Chiles I had just seen a bobcat, he turned and went back for it, despite the coyote right in front of us. We circled the area for five minutes or so and never even glimpsed the bobcat. By the time we gave up on the cat, the coyote was long gone. Chiles was unconcerned; there were plenty more.
We continued flying north and were soon nearly straight west of O'Donnell. Chiles dropped down over a pasture that was nearly completely covered with salt cedars. About 10 or 15 hogs, nearly all of them very large, broke cover and began running through the trees.
It was difficult to pick a target with so many hogs ducking and diving through the trees. The trees were bare, but they were so thick that the pigs disappeared at times and were nearly always behind some sort of brush. Chiles said it is extremely difficult to hunt there once the trees bloom.
I began firing, often missing, occasionally knocking a pig down and constantly swearing I had hit the hog that was still running away. The pigs were much harder to bring down than the coyotes. Occasionally a hog hit a clearing at the right time, and those shots were much easier.
Our headsets were attached to the back wall of the cockpit by short wires. There was no problem with them while sitting in the seat normally, but each time I got excited and began hanging out the door firing, my headset was pulled off. I kept putting it back on and having it pulled back off. Chiles finally got tired of that game and hung my headset up on the rack.
By the time we left that pasture, four hogs were down for certain and a few more were hard hit but had disappeared. Within a few minutes Chiles began to circle a salt cedar thicket that surrounded a small salt lake. A hog feeder was set up next to the lake, not for Chiles but for commercial hunters. He cautioned not to shoot near the feeder because of a game camera located nearby.
A group of 10 or so big hogs and as many little pigs exploded out of the trees, some into the shallow lake and others into the somewhat clear surrounding pasture. The hogs that went into the lake were difficult to shoot because of the tall grass and winding trails within. The grass was tall enough that even the big hogs could just disappear.
I fed shells as fast as I could, but several times I pulled the trigger on an empty gun. My right thumb was bleeding from repeatedly getting it caught under the carrier while excitedly jamming in shells and watching pigs at the same time.
We spent 15 minutes or more circling the area, flushing hogs first one direction and then the other. Chiles had no interest in the small pigs, which weighed 20-30 pounds or so. He only wanted the big ones. More hogs refused to fall even when I was fairly certain they were hit solidly. Others crashed to the ground. One group of four pigs left the cover single file, and Chiles flew up right behind them. I began with the last hog and moved up the line, dropping three hogs with three shots. The last hog ducked back behind the helicopter and got away.
Chiles is a calm and careful helicopter pilot, and he claims he is a careful spray plane pilot, as well.
"There are old pilots and there are bold pilots," he said. "I might not be as wild as some of these people I've seen, but I've never been close to a wreck yet."
He has been close to a wreck, though, in it actually. What's left of his first helicopter sits in his hangar. An instructor crashed it while Chiles was riding gunner on a hog hunt. The men weren't hurt badly, but the helicopter was.
On the way back to town Chiles slowed to check several small pastures or lakes that looked promising, but nothing was found until we spotted two coyotes lying down in a small clearing surrounded by trees. The grass was only about a foot tall and sparse, and from the air it appeared that the coyotes were lying right out in the open. They probably would never have been seen from the ground, though. Both were taken down with a few shots.
At that point, it had been an hour or so since Chiles had said there was only about 45 minutes worth of fuel left. I began to get a little nervous, but Chiles had an ace up his sleeve. He landed the helicopter at a nice barn on his farm, where he had a tank of aviation fuel. Luckily, he had a case of shotgun shells there, too.
A few minutes later we were back in the air, again headed toward Lamesa. As we neared Highway 87, Chiles flew over a small dry playa. We again found a coyote lying in the open. This one was lying with his legs stretched out and at first looked dead. When Chiles hovered above it at only 30 or 40 feet, the coyote only raised its head and looked up at us. Even though the coyote was still, the helicopter wasn't, and Chiles was nearly yelling at me to shoot. I missed, and the coyote jumped up and took off. He was soon brought down, though.
We flew back to Lamesa, right above the highway with the shotgun hanging out the door. The entire flight lasted about three hours. The headcount for the day was seven coyotes and 10 hogs, far fewer than Chiles' record, which stands at 90 hogs in one full day.
Once the helicopter was hangared, Chiles headed to his office to complete the required paperwork. He had to fill out a form called a Landowner's Authorization to Manage Wildlife of Exotic Animals by Aircraft. This form includes the date and time of the hunt, the LOA, pilot, shooter, license number and number of animals taken.
Chiles couldn't hang around and shoot the breeze for long after the flight. As soon as the tanks on his spray plane were full he was back in the air, making a living.
http://www.livestockweekly.com/
On Helicopter Hunt For Varmints
By John Bradshaw
LAMESA — It's against the law in Texas for anyone to charge hunters for the opportunity to shoot on aerial hunts, and that's a shame. Money would flow and predator numbers would dwindle if that weren't the case.
A few weeks ago I was given the privilege of riding as gunner by Don Chiles, and it was by far the most exciting hunt I've ever been on. Chiles makes his living as a crop duster and farmer, but a few years ago the feral hogs got so bad that he was forced out of the peanut business. He needed a helicopter for his own preservation.
In 2000 he paid for a helicopter to come in and fly his country for hogs, and afterward he told his wife he had to have a helicopter of his own. In 2002 the same thing happened. Finally, a little more than three years ago he bought a helicopter.
"It took me about six months to learn to fly it," Chiles said. "I really bought it for my own protection. We couldn't even grow peanuts out here."
The 69 year-old pilot has been paid on a few occasions for cattle gathers, but he readily admits that the helicopter is still a hobby. He has had a handful of paid predator and varmint hunts, as well.
"I don't really push it, though. It wouldn't be fun if I had to work at it," Chiles said.
He did say that he would love to get paid each time he hunts, but that doesn't happen. For now, he flies his own country and that of his neighbors every once in a while, trying to keep the coyotes and hogs at bay.
Chiles was more than willing to allow me to come out and gun for him. He's certainly a nice guy for doing so, but it was soon apparent that he also loved every minute of it. He admitted that flying the helicopter is the most fun he's ever had.
I met Chiles at the office of Chiles Flying Service at the Lamesa Airport at seven in the morning. I had never ridden in a helicopter and had heard plenty of stories about people getting sick all over the cockpit. I took a Dramamine and turned down the kolaches and coffee Chiles offered.
Before the flight, Chiles made certain I had a hunting license, and he got his paperwork ready. He must have a signed LOA, or landowner authorization, for each place he hunts.
It was cool that morning, about 40 degrees at dawn. I had brought a sweatshirt and a Carhartt coat, but Chiles said that wouldn't be sufficient with my door off and the cold wind blowing in. He loaned me a pair of camouflage coveralls. The coyotes never saw me coming.
Chiles pulled his helicopter out of the hangar with a golf cart. He has a Robinson R22, Beta II. Chiles and I were shoulder to shoulder in the small cockpit, with the pilot on the right side.
As Chiles went through his preflight check, he told me a couple of rules about the gun. He said to either point it at the floor or out the door, and if it's out the door, never point it up at the rotor blades. Also, I was to be careful not to bump into him with the butt of the gun or my arm.
He provided a 12-gauge semi-automatic that had a long barrel and a tube just as long. It held 10 shells when fully loaded. There was a pouch on the floor filled with buckshot shells. Chiles advised reloading at every opportunity. I soon found out how quickly an automatic shotgun can be unloaded.
Chiles said we'd go find a coyote or two, and then go hog hunting. After the little helicopter warmed up, we headed northwest from Lamesa to a wheat pasture where Chiles' neighbor was grazing some cows and small calves. The man had been having some trouble with coyotes.
The wind blowing through the missing door was crisp, but the excitement of a first helicopter ride made up for it. We both had headsets, which kept our ears warm.
Within 15 minutes of takeoff we reached the pasture Chiles had spoken of. The land was completely flat and clear of brush, and Chiles immediately spotted a coyote trotting right through the middle of the cattle.
When Chiles flew closer, the coyote took off at a run. Chiles matched its speed, about 100 feet away and 40 or 50 feet off the ground. A couple of times I was forced to hold fire when the coyote ran past unsuspecting cows. I figured shooting a coyote at that range with a shotgun would be a piece of cake. I missed the first eight shots.
Stage fright was setting in, and Chiles didn't help matters when he said over the headset, "Well, we'll run him to death in a little while."
Finally I found the range. Chiles and I were both relieved. Chiles took us up a little higher, and within half a mile we spotted two more coyotes. Perhaps the nerves were settled, or maybe I was just lucky, but both coyotes rolled with one shot each.
From there we headed northeast, basically toward O'Donnell and the salt cedar thickets and salt lakes that cover so much of that country. From the air, countless hog trails could be seen cutting through the plowed ground between areas with cover. Nothing was yet planted, but Chiles pointed out how many crops would be damaged through the summer by the hogs that made those tracks.
Chiles knows the country well, because we flew right over the place where he grew up, and he knows exactly where he can and cannot hunt. He flew high and fast over the places he doesn't have permission but slowed and circled over the country he has the paperwork on.
He was soon circling over a small pasture with an old house sitting next to a small tank. One of us saw a coyote, which was brought down with a couple of shots. Almost immediately Chiles said, "There's another coyote," and banked hard to the left. When I looked out my door, almost straight down, there stood a bobcat in the salt cedars 30 feet below. Chiles straightened the machine, and directly in front of us was a coyote leaving out.
When I told Chiles I had just seen a bobcat, he turned and went back for it, despite the coyote right in front of us. We circled the area for five minutes or so and never even glimpsed the bobcat. By the time we gave up on the cat, the coyote was long gone. Chiles was unconcerned; there were plenty more.
We continued flying north and were soon nearly straight west of O'Donnell. Chiles dropped down over a pasture that was nearly completely covered with salt cedars. About 10 or 15 hogs, nearly all of them very large, broke cover and began running through the trees.
It was difficult to pick a target with so many hogs ducking and diving through the trees. The trees were bare, but they were so thick that the pigs disappeared at times and were nearly always behind some sort of brush. Chiles said it is extremely difficult to hunt there once the trees bloom.
I began firing, often missing, occasionally knocking a pig down and constantly swearing I had hit the hog that was still running away. The pigs were much harder to bring down than the coyotes. Occasionally a hog hit a clearing at the right time, and those shots were much easier.
Our headsets were attached to the back wall of the cockpit by short wires. There was no problem with them while sitting in the seat normally, but each time I got excited and began hanging out the door firing, my headset was pulled off. I kept putting it back on and having it pulled back off. Chiles finally got tired of that game and hung my headset up on the rack.
By the time we left that pasture, four hogs were down for certain and a few more were hard hit but had disappeared. Within a few minutes Chiles began to circle a salt cedar thicket that surrounded a small salt lake. A hog feeder was set up next to the lake, not for Chiles but for commercial hunters. He cautioned not to shoot near the feeder because of a game camera located nearby.
A group of 10 or so big hogs and as many little pigs exploded out of the trees, some into the shallow lake and others into the somewhat clear surrounding pasture. The hogs that went into the lake were difficult to shoot because of the tall grass and winding trails within. The grass was tall enough that even the big hogs could just disappear.
I fed shells as fast as I could, but several times I pulled the trigger on an empty gun. My right thumb was bleeding from repeatedly getting it caught under the carrier while excitedly jamming in shells and watching pigs at the same time.
We spent 15 minutes or more circling the area, flushing hogs first one direction and then the other. Chiles had no interest in the small pigs, which weighed 20-30 pounds or so. He only wanted the big ones. More hogs refused to fall even when I was fairly certain they were hit solidly. Others crashed to the ground. One group of four pigs left the cover single file, and Chiles flew up right behind them. I began with the last hog and moved up the line, dropping three hogs with three shots. The last hog ducked back behind the helicopter and got away.
Chiles is a calm and careful helicopter pilot, and he claims he is a careful spray plane pilot, as well.
"There are old pilots and there are bold pilots," he said. "I might not be as wild as some of these people I've seen, but I've never been close to a wreck yet."
He has been close to a wreck, though, in it actually. What's left of his first helicopter sits in his hangar. An instructor crashed it while Chiles was riding gunner on a hog hunt. The men weren't hurt badly, but the helicopter was.
On the way back to town Chiles slowed to check several small pastures or lakes that looked promising, but nothing was found until we spotted two coyotes lying down in a small clearing surrounded by trees. The grass was only about a foot tall and sparse, and from the air it appeared that the coyotes were lying right out in the open. They probably would never have been seen from the ground, though. Both were taken down with a few shots.
At that point, it had been an hour or so since Chiles had said there was only about 45 minutes worth of fuel left. I began to get a little nervous, but Chiles had an ace up his sleeve. He landed the helicopter at a nice barn on his farm, where he had a tank of aviation fuel. Luckily, he had a case of shotgun shells there, too.
A few minutes later we were back in the air, again headed toward Lamesa. As we neared Highway 87, Chiles flew over a small dry playa. We again found a coyote lying in the open. This one was lying with his legs stretched out and at first looked dead. When Chiles hovered above it at only 30 or 40 feet, the coyote only raised its head and looked up at us. Even though the coyote was still, the helicopter wasn't, and Chiles was nearly yelling at me to shoot. I missed, and the coyote jumped up and took off. He was soon brought down, though.
We flew back to Lamesa, right above the highway with the shotgun hanging out the door. The entire flight lasted about three hours. The headcount for the day was seven coyotes and 10 hogs, far fewer than Chiles' record, which stands at 90 hogs in one full day.
Once the helicopter was hangared, Chiles headed to his office to complete the required paperwork. He had to fill out a form called a Landowner's Authorization to Manage Wildlife of Exotic Animals by Aircraft. This form includes the date and time of the hunt, the LOA, pilot, shooter, license number and number of animals taken.
Chiles couldn't hang around and shoot the breeze for long after the flight. As soon as the tanks on his spray plane were full he was back in the air, making a living.
http://www.livestockweekly.com/
