Coach Knight hunting stories

[Cavanagh]

My friends dad was Coach Knights hunting buddy when at IU. He is a true Indiana boy through and through, and his hunting stories bring out all that is Indiana. I am sure many of you will really enjoy them. Many details will hit home.

I think they are public on Facebook, but if you have to be his friend to see the stories I’ll copy and paste them on here.

His name is Randy Roberts, wearing an IU shirt with two grandkids on his lap in his profile picture.

Let me know if you can read them.

 

[kkott]

My friends dad was Coach Knights hunting buddy when at IU. He is a true Indiana boy through and through, and his hunting stories bring out all that is Indiana. I am sure many of you will really enjoy them. Many details will hit home.

I think they are public on Facebook, but if you have to be his friend to see the stories I’ll copy and paste them on here.

His name is Randy Roberts, wearing an IU shirt with two grandkids on his lap in his profile picture.

Let me know if you can read them.

nada

 

[Cavanagh]

nada

From 1954-1990 Indiana Outdoorsmen were fortunate to have Bill “Bayou Bill” Scifres as the outdoor editor for The Indianapolis Star. My job with DNR at Lake Monroe afforded me the chance to meet Bill in person several times. I can vividly remember the first time I saw Bill. The lake was about 5-6 ft high and had flooded the little bay east of the Paynetown Gatehouse. Some call that bay VIP Cove because the Conservation Officers keep their boats in a pocket of the bay.

Anyway, I was driving past that bay and saw a guy out among the trees in cold 50 degree water wearing chest waders and casting. Upon closer examination I figured out that he cast throwing a Johnson Silver Minnow with an inverted spinnerbait skirt on it. I thought he was crazy, but parked to watch for a little while. After about 10 minutes he set the hook on a really nice bass and brought it to his side. I was hooked and waded this area several times over the years when we had high water.

However, what does this have to do with bird hunting? My boss at the time, Tom Weddle, was a good friend of Bill and had told Bill about some of my grouse hunting exploits. Bill was a friend of Bob Knight, and Bob was wanting to do some grouse hunting, so Tom & Bill arraigned for us to meet. At that time my friend, Jack Brannon, was primarily a fishing buddy, but he hunted with Bob, so he set our first hunt.

To preface anything I write about Bob I want to say he has been as good of a friend for 40 years as any that I’ve known. He’s not at all like he’s sometimes made out to be by the media. He’s loyal and honest to a fault. He is especially kind to the “little guy”. Nothing that I write about Bob should be misconstrued to be negative.

I’d be lying if I told you that I was not a little intimidated by Bob in the beginning, but he couldn’t have been more congenial and put me at ease. This was taking place during the winter of 1980-81, and the Hoosiers were not playing well. Of course, they would end up winning the National Championship that year but on the day of our first hunt Bob was obviously tense.

We went to a place I called Deerlick. Deerlick was a classic old home site with lots of honeysuckle, autumn olive, partially open, partially so thick you couldn’t walk through it without coming out bleeding. An old road divided in into two parts. It held grouse and migrating woodcock. Jack’s setter Reb became birdie almost immediately, but the grouse came up out of site and flew across the road. We kept following Reb and he pointed 3 different woodcock, of which Bob shot two.

Jack called Reb in to check out a thicket and Reb went on a classic point. We tried to encircle the thicket but the grouse got nervous and took off. Jack took a quick shot with his little Franchi 20 gauge and dropped the grouse. Jack Brannon was one helluva good wing shot!! From there we hunted around one side of the road and across the road in the direction the earlier flushed grouse had gone.

We had gone about 200 yards and were spread out in a fairly open area when suddenly the grouse came up pretty much right in front of Bob. I’ve seen Bob make some amazing shots, but on this day his aim was not true. As I said, he was obviously already tense because of his team’s struggles, and missing that open grouse was the straw that broke the camel’s back. He said it’s time to take me to Assembly Hall!

And thus went my first of many hunts with Bob Knight.

 

[Cavanagh]

More memories of hunting with Coach Knight. I hope you enjoy them.

#2

In an earlier post I said that my friend, Jack Brannon, was the best quail hunter I ever knew, and that his Setter Reb was the best bird dog I ever hunted over. Jack was a man of many talents and accomplishments. He was a two sport star at Worthington High School and went on to play baseball and basketball at Butler University for Hall of Fame Coach, Tony Hinkle. He taught and coached all over central Indiana.

We had fished together many times before we ever hunted together. The last 17 years of his teaching career were at Bloomington North. A teaching job blended perfectly with his love of quail hunting as he seldom missed a day going hunting for a few hours after work. He lived a short distance from Bloomington North and could have his clothes changed and his dog loaded up in less the a half hour.

Jack would routinely kill 200+ quail every year. Killing birds over a dog makes the dog, thus the dogs he kept were always good. The first time he took me hunting was on the Owen County side of the Monroe/Owen County line. We hunted a short distance along a brush line when Reb went on point. When Reb went on point, you knew the birds were there.

We walked into the point and about 15 birds came up. As I’ve said before, Jack Brannon was a helluva wing shot and he downed three on the flush. I got one. Reb watched where the singles flew and by running about 50 yards past where they settled in, he pinned them between us! I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. We each ended up getting another single, at which time Jack said it was time to stop and leave some for next year’s seed. Over the years I saw Jack leave easily found birds so there would be birds for next year. He tried to never leave less than 6-8 birds from a covey for seed.

Another example of Reb’s intelligence took place on Grubb Ridge. Jack had loaned Reb to Coach Knight and me on a day when he couldn’t go himself. No sooner had we reached shore than Reb went on point and we shot a woodcock. After we picked up the bird Reb kind of disappeared, which was strange for him. We looked where we thought he went, but couldn’t find him. Bob became impatient and yelled, “ dammit Reb come here”. No Reb showed and now we were both pissed off. We finally quit yelling and got quiet when we heard labored panting in a little hollow place right next to us. We crested the little rise and lo & behold, there was Reb on point!! I swear he had called us to him. We rewarded him by promptly dispatching of the woodcock.

One final example of the Jack Brannon/Reb team’s excellence. Those of you that are familiar with Lake Monroe may have eaten at The Scenic View Restaurant. Sitting at The Scenic View, if you look due east you’ll see a small segment of the lake and a hillside above the east side. These days there is at least one house up there, but it hasn’t always been that way. About thirty-five years ago Jack and I were hunting up on that ridge with Reb.

Grouse are no doubt the most difficult upland bird for a dog to handle, and for a hunter to hit. Case in point, Reb was hunting out in front of us about 50 yards when a grouse got up wild in front of Reb. He had done nothing wrong, the bird was just very wary. We could tell that Reb was watching the bird, and again he ran about 50 yards past where the grouse had appeared to land. He had the bird trapped between us, went on a creeping point, then froze. We walked toward the point and the grouse exploded. Jack made a nice shot and Reb brought his reward and dropped it at his feet.

SIMPLY THE BEST !!

 

[Cavanagh]

More of my hunts with Coach Knight. I hope you enjoy it .

#3

I am not a good turkey hunter by any stretch of the imagination!! My cousin, Tom Hewitt, is my definition of a turkey hunter. He has shot the “grand slam” of American Turkeys plus a total of over 60 Turkeys since he started hunting them. I, on the other hand, have shot 6 🦃!! And none of them in Indiana.

My first two turkeys were Rio Grandes shot in Southwest Texas in 2009. Bob had just finished what would be his last year at Texas Tech and he had his administrative assistant, MaryAnn Davis, call me to set up a hunt. I blocked seven days off my calendar and flew south. I arrived mid-morning and by early in afternoon we had his Suburban loaded and headed south. On our way south we stopped in the famous West Texas town of Eldorado at a little restaurant for a bite to eat. It was obvious that Bob had been there before because the waitress brought him his signature drink.......Diet Coke with Chocolate Milk!

We were headed for a ranch owned by a Lubbock area neurosurgeon. This wasn’t just your typical ranch, it was over 50,000 acres. When you were outside at night there was no artificial light to be seen on the horizon. By the time we settled in the sun was going down, but we managed to hear a big flock of turkeys going to roost, close to the ranch house. Predawn the next morning found us sneaking through the mesquite trying to get close to the roost before the birds came down. But before we could get very close the turkeys woke up and started flying down from the roost.

Bob whispered for me to find a place to sit so I walked over near the closest brush I could find and sat down. YOWWWWEE I had sat down on a cactus!! It took everything I had not to jump up, yell out loud, and start picking my butt! Stupidly, I put my hands on the ground to push up and got a hand full of cactus. While I somehow managed to stay quiet and while we heard a bunch of turkeys come down, we never saw one bird. We hunted around the rest of the day and I had a decent chance to shoot one that Bob called in, but I thought it was too far. I should of realized that I was shooting 3 1/2” mags through a super tight turkey choke and tried that 50 yard shot.

The next day Bob broke out the side by side 4 wheeler and we went to explore other parts of the ranch on the fire lanes that crisscrossed the ranch. Bob would drive a couple miles, then stop and let things quiet down, then make a few calls. After a few stops we heard one gobble and started heading in its direction. We stopped and Bob called again, then we got ready to move. Suddenly I thought I heard one and had Bob stop. We were kind of down in a little ravine so I got off and popped over the ravine when I saw a nice Tom practically running toward where Bob had called. When it was about 30 yards out I shot and dropped him. I had my first turkey!!

The wife of the neurosurgeon that owned the ranch was there when we got back and she gutted and breasted the bird for me, then fixed us a good lunch. We cleaned up and sat down to rest a while before starting the long drive back to Lubbock. When we got there Bob’s wife, Karen had a big Texas size steak dinner waiting for us. I had been totally spoiled 😁!! Below are few pictures of this hunt.

I will follow up with the second part of my Texas hunt in my next post.

 

[Cavanagh]

Several of my Facebook Friends have suggested that I write a book. I am flattered and in the process of writing a collection of short stories.

More of my stories about hunting with Coach Knight. Enjoy !!

#4

(Texas hunts cont.)

The day after I killed my first turkey Bob decided to stay closer to home and we went to a small ranch southeast of town that had a little creek running through it. We parked at the edge of a field and settled in the patch below. Bob got on one side and I on the other side, where the turkey should come from. He called for about 10 minutes when a turkey materialized, like turkey and deer will do. I was only about 20 yards away and it was an easy shot 🦃. I now had my second Rio grande!

A short distance from where I shot the turkey above was this tiny creek. Bob always had his fly fishing tackle in a special built locker in the back of his Suburban. He caught several bass out of this tiny creek, but got his favorite fly stuck up high in a tree on the other side of the creek. He was sick about it, but the fly just wouldn’t come off a branch. Having had to of been resourceful at getting baits out of trees myself, I got my turkey gun out and blasted that limb twice from about 20 yards. The limb fell, we got Bob’s fly, and he proceeded to catch several more bass.

 

[Cavanagh]

Another story about bird hunting with Coach Knight. Enjoy

#5

Finding new places to hunt was the lifeblood of our hunting success. Sometimes we found places by actually driving around and looking, sometimes they fell in our laps. Today’s story is about one of the later.

Most fans of IU Basketball and Coach Knight know that funding the IU Library was near and dear to his heart. It has been said that he was responsible for over 5 million dollars of donations to the IU Library. When he started coaching at Texas Tech he and his wife, Karen, donated $25,000 to start the the Coach Bob Knight Library Fund, and he later donated another $40,000 to the fund and procured another $200,000.

Because of his support of the IU Library, Bob became friends with Marian Armstrong, Assistant Professor in the IU Graduate Library School. It just so happened that Marian owned a big family farm near Springville, Indiana. She knew of Bob’s love of hunting and offered to let us bird hunt there. It would become one of the best places we ever hunted.

There was a long driveway leading up to the old house and barn and I was amazed at the old farm house. One time when we were there some of Marian’s family were at the house and took us through it. It was beautifully decorated with 40s & 50s decor. I felt like I had taken a step back into my childhood. In the side yard there was even a working hand pump and a trough to hold water. Frequently our dogs and we drank the cold water that came up out of the pump.

When we first started walking through the property I was a little disappointed because initially it was just rather open woods, but after a short distance we could see where quite a bit of timber harvesting had taken place and the cover became thick. We would later discover that, as far as hunting was concerned, there were three distinct parts. First was the ridge that we were on and the somewhat open logging road on top, to the west of the house. Second was up on a hill northeast behind the house. Third was an area to the north near and along a power line. Each offered different cover types.

Our first hunt was on the ridge to the west of the house were there were many downed tree tops left over from timber harvesting. On the top there was an old logging road with a clearing on either side with some nice successional cover. Away from, Babe, we flushed a grouse out of a downed tree top that Bob killed with a nice shot. We continued to hunt the downed tree tops and the greenbriers around them for some distance.

We each shot one more after flushing them from a tree top, and I shot one over a nice point by Babe while Bob had wandered off to check some brush. We decided to turn back because he had practice in about an hour. On the way out Bob flushed a bird but did not get a shot. As I mentioned earlier, Bob was a tenacious pursuer of grouse and he took off following that grouse a long way but never got it up. I was ready to walk quickly through the fairly sparse bottom that looked like anything but grouse cover but Bob decided to go to every little spec of cover. I SO wanted to tell him he was wasting his time when right in the middle of an open patch he flushed a grouse and shot it with ease. He never said a word but I could tell he wanted to say, “take that, Roberts”!

More posts about Armstrong’s will follow.

 

[Cavanagh]

Another story about bird hunting with Coach Knight. I hope you enjoy it.

#6

Frequently Bob would have me pick him up at Assembly Hall and drive to where we were going to hunt. When he did this he almost always had either a 3x5 or 4x6 index card on which he would plan that day’s practice schedule while I drove. Many times he was so engrossed in his planning that we might not speak all of the way to our hunt. Other times he might bring a stack of his daily mail bound by a big rubber band and he’d go through it on the way. The man just did not waste much time.

This was an exhibition game day and he decided to drive himself because he had a new complimentary Ford Bronco that he wanted to try out. So I parked at Assembly Hall and threw in my gun and my dog box with Babe in and we headed for The Drug Farm. I made it my policy never to speak about basketball unless he asked, and his mind was elsewhere this day, so it was a pretty silent trip down to Greene County.

We decided to hunt a little bit different area near the Drug Farm that looked really good. We kicked up one wild and did not get a shot so we followed it up. I took Babe to one side of the cover and Bob went to the other. He was wading through greenbrier and brush so thick that his arms were bleeding, when he kicked up that grouse again and got it on his second shot.

Bob could walk farther, faster, than anyone I ever shared the woods with. We set out on a sojourn and kicked up just enough birds to keep us interested and pursuing for a couple miles. I got one when Babe flushed it out of a downed treetop. I was breathing hard from all of the exertion and had to shoot three times instead of the one shot it should have taken.

We had now each killed one and were a long way from the truck. “Never Quit Bob” still wanted to check each little spot on the way out, and we took too much time. Once we got back to the truck Bob realized what time it was and started driving really fast on gravel roads. Bob was a good driver, albeit a fast driver, but he went into one curve like he was Steve Kinser, and got the front end loose. He almost had us stopped when we lost traction and he hit a little sycamore tree on my side!

The collision had knocked the fender back into the front tire and wouldn’t let it turn. He backed into the road and I got out and grabbed a log which I used to pry the fender off the tire, then we took off like a bat out of hell back toward Bloomington and his exhibition game. We didn’t have cell phones at that time so there was no way to call ahead and let his staff know he was running late. We arrived at the 17th street entrance closest to his office about 10 minutes before tip. He pulled up to the barricades that were there to stop people from using that entrance, and a somewhat over zealous parking lot attendant waved us off and came huffing up to my window. I rolled the tinted window down and pointed to Bob. She got an “Oh Shit”! look on her face and quickly moved the barricade, I drove him up to the front door, and he made it to the bench before game time!

Before he got out he asked me to take the Bronco and see if I could fix the damage. I took it to our shop at Fairfax with the tire rubbing every time I turned right. All I could do was make it so it wouldn’t rub anymore, drop it off at the Ford dealer the next day and take a replacement to him. We never spoke of that accident again!! You

 

[Cavanagh]

Another Coach Knight hunting story. Enjoy!

#7

Anyone that fishes the Middle Fork area of Lake Monroe will be familiar with the hunting spot I’m going to feature today because part of it is the only pine tree point up there. I had looked it over from the water for years while fishing but never got out on the bank until someone abandoned a campsite and tent on the southern shore about halfway up the peninsula. It stayed there all winter one year and into the spring next year when, as a function of my DNR job, I took a large flat bottom boat and removed the mess.

While I was out on the bank I could see some cover up away from the shore that looked like good grouse cover. I made a mental note and planned to come back by land soon. To get there I drove past TC Steele Memorial off Highway 46, out to Deckard Ridge Road to where it joined Axsom Branch Road and on to what we called Moonlight Ridge. There was an old abandoned road that had been Axsom Branch Road West, but it was barely passable.

I found a place to pull my truck off and got out to explore. Just off to the northwest I saw some pine trees that had obviously been hit by a tornado because they were twisted and battered. Most of branches had been torn off, opening up the canopy for sunlight, which let things like brush, sumac, and bittersweet grow. When I walked up to the opening I was amazed at the amount of grouse poop I found. What was particularly interesting is that all of it had an orange color to it. For those that don’t know, bittersweet is orange! I knew that I had found a grouse honey hole!! Now I just had to wait for season to get here.

The next season rolled around, but I went to my established spots first, so it was the end of October before I went to Moonlight Ridge. I went by myself the first time just to make sure I wasn’t overestimating how many birds might be there. I’m the kind of guy that eats desert first, so you’d know that I’d head right for the bittersweet patch rather than save it for later in the hunt. It did not disappoint.

I knew that Babe would be coming in hot after the long ride out there so I kept an eagle eye on her. As she got close to the promised land I could tell she was smelling birds and I yelled “WHOA BABE”, and luckily she did! I walked up past her and three grouse catapulted out of the brush and one out of the tree where the bittersweet was growing. They offered fairly good shots and I should of doubled up but ended up killing only one, and it was on my fourth shot!

While following up one of those birds I saw a nice patch of perfect regenerating stuff and could just not help swinging to check it out. Babe was about 30 yards away from me when I walked one up and dropped it on a little point within feet of the water. I now had my limit and wanted to save any remaining birds for Bob and me to pursue the next day he had time.

Fast forward about a week and B.j. McElroy called me and asked me to pick up Coach (as they called him), that he wanted to go hunting (they were happy!). So, I threw on my hunting clothes, got Babe, and picked him up at Assembly Hall. On the way out of town I tried to describe the place we were headed without being too optimistic.

At that time I was driving a Dodge Ramcharger with the back gate that was hinged at the top. We parked in the same spot near the bittersweet, and I was anxious to get Babe out and go get Bob a grouse. I opened the back gate, let Babe out, and got my gun while Bob was getting his. I thought that he had his gun out and was stepping away, so I reached up and slammed the gate down. Suddenly, Bob yelled out really loud because I had slammed his arm in the gate as he was reaching back in for something.

I immediately got sick at my stomach because I just knew I had broken his arm. Once I regained my senses I apologized over and over again and he just held his arm and grimaced in pain. I put my gun back in the truck and started to put Babe in so I could rush him to the hospital, but Bob was hearing nothing of it. He said we came to hunt and we were going to hunt. I’m thinking, “how are you going to shoot with one arm”? Haven’t I told you that he was tenacious and tough?!

The remaining details of the hunt have left me because I was so upset, but I do remember we each got one grouse, so it wasn’t a total loss. The next day his arm and shoulder were black & blue, but he never skipped a beat 😁🏀!!

 

[Cavanagh]

More hunting with Bob stories. I’m sure that you will get a chuckle or two out of them.

#8

Yesterday Emily and I went on one of our long drives and ended up going through Springville, IN. Doing so reminded me of a couple humorus hunting stories that happened there.

Highway 54 runs through Springville and there was a blinker light marking the crossroads where it crossed the main drag. On the north side of 54 there was a little general store that had a room in the back where they would serve lunch sometimes. This store still exists. On the south side of 54 there ws a small red & white concrete block building that housed a diner. It is still there. We frequently ate at one of them when we were down that way hunting.

One day Jack Brannon and I were hunting with Bob at Armstrong’s and it must of been a long hunt day because we stopped around noon and went in to the general store for a bite to eat. This had to be during the 1990-91 basketball season because Damon Bailey was in this freshman year.

On this day they were serving ham & beans with cornbread and fried potatoes. They must of been good if I can remember them 30 years later! A nice young lady set us up in a back room and I could tell she was nervous because of Bob. As I’ve seen him do countless times he engaged the young lady in some small talk to ease her tension.

We were enjoying our lunch when some old fart walked into the room and just stood there a minute or two, looking us over. After a while he looked at Bob and said, “what is wrong with Damon”? This was the year that Damon was Big Ten Freshman of the year. He played with Calbert Cheaney, Eric Anderson, Pat Knight, Matt Nover, Alan Henderson, Todd Leary, Greg Graham, and Pat Graham. They were really good and Damon had started every game, but the old fart obviously thought that Damon should be scoring and playing the role like he did in high school.

Bob looked up at the old fart and said, “I dont think there is anything wrong with Damon”. Well, the old fart looked at Bob increulously and said, “us down here think it’s you”! Jack and I started laughing through our beans & ham with about half our last bite coming out of our noses! We thought for sure that Bob was going to get up and mop the floor with the old fart, but all he did was to get up and leave, giving the guy a “Ted Valentine hate look” as he walked passed the guy, and walked on out to the truck. Jack and I sat and laughed our asses off for several minutes before we joined him in the truck.

A second humorous incident happened in the year after Bob threw a chair across the court in protest of an official at a IU/Purdue game. We had been hunting several hours in the moring at Armstrong’s. There was heavy, wet snow hanging on limbs in most of the trees and tons of it had fallen on our heads. We were wet, cold and hungry and if had been up to me we would have gone home, but not “never say die” Bob!! So we headed for the little red & white diner. There were 3-4 tables with two chairs each and a counter top with several bar stools in the diner.

We sat down at one of the tables and ordered. As I side note, in all the years we hunted together I never paid for one meal, even though I insisted. Bob is a generous man for sure. But, I digress again! We had been there maybe 5 minutes when an old goober walked in and sat down at the bar. He ordered, then got up and moved the two unoccupied chars closest to us to the other side of the room, then loudly told the waitress the he had moved the chairs because, “you never know when he’s going to throw one”!

This time I had to put my arm on Bob’s because he was going to clean that old goober’s plow!! We took our final bites and headed for the truck and a couple more hours of hunting. At the time I didnt think it was too funny because in was a cruel thing to say, even to Bob. And, we've never spoke a word about it to this day. But, after 30 years I can find a little humor in it now !!

Another humorous hunt didn't take place at Springville but down highway 446 from Lake Monroe on the west side of 446 where there use to be oil wells. Bob called and wanted to meet me at my office to take he and Dr. Brad Bomba hunting. I had been around Doc Bomba a few times with Bob, but had no idea if he had a clue about hunting. However, he arrived with all of the requisit hunting gear and none of it looked new, which is always a good sign when you're going hunting with someone new.

The place I took us to was just off a gravel road that was adjacent to a small soybean field running south to north. At the north end of the field were three fingers that looked like great grouse cover. They had sumac, honeysuckle greenbrier, and some tree tops. As we got near the cover Doc Bomba headed for the rightmost finger. Bob and I headed for the middle two. Upon entering his finger Bob flushed a bird but could not get a shot.

That bird flew kind of between us about a hundred or so yards up so we decided to follow it up. Babe was not interested in going the way I wanted her to go and I had to go persuade her to hunt for me, not herself. On her way back to our side she locked up on point in a honeysuckle patch and I was able to get into position for any easy shot while Bob went after the one he had flushed.

I could see him across the woods tearing his way through some greenbrier and honeysuckle mix. That greenbrier was brutal and when Bob flushed tht grouse he was chasing I could hear it tearing at his hands, arms, and legs. But, he got off a shot and the bird went down about 40 yards up, which is a long distance to kill a grouse.

Babe and I headed over to help him find the downed bird, but all three of us could not locate that bird. Finally, Babe went on point at an old rootwad surrounded with greenbrier. I dug and kicked aaround to no avail and Bob and I thought Babe was lying to us, but she wouldn’t leave. Finally, I got down on my hands and knees looking in and around the rootwad. Suddenly, I saw a little twinkle where there should not have been a twinkle and I realized that the twinkle was the grouse’s eye. I promptly pulled the bird out, let Babe snif it and while, then put it in Bob’s game pouch. He was one happy camper!!

All this time we had lost track of Doc Bomba and had no idea where he was, so we started heading back to the truck figuring he might be there. When we got out to the open field it was obvious that Doc wasn't there. As we walked through to bean field we heard a shot from Doc Bomba’s direction and were glad to know where he was.

About 15 minutes later we see Doc coming out of the woods, and as he got closer we could see a smile on his face. When he arrived at the truck Bob said, “did you get one, Doc”? He just smiled and reached around to his game bag. Were were both very happy for him until he pulled a plucked rubber chicken out and told us that at least he didn’t get skunked!!

That was the one and only time I ever hunted with Doc Bomba, but to this day I snicker every time I think about his rubber chicken!!

 

[Cavanagh]

More bird hunting with The General. Enjoy !

#9

Two years while I was hunting with Bob IU won the NCAA Champoinship, those being 1981 & 1987. Those years Bob was busy up into the spring. The other years once they were out of the tournament we often went driving and looking for potential spots to hunt. If we found a likely spot Bob or a friend of Bob’s would make contact with the landowner. I can’t ever remember him being turned down. He also frequently had people tell him about “great” places they knew of. A few of them were good, but several came from people that just wanted to say they did something for Bob. I tried to steer him clear of such “users”.

Winter was over and things were starting to “green up” on a day we were out driving near New Hope in Owen County. We were driving by an open farm where it did not look like grouse territory, but Bob saw a farmer at a gate, stopped, and started up a conversation. The guy’s name was Nolan Figg and I would later work with his wife, Gloria, at Spencer-Owen Schools for 18 years.

When Bob got around to telling him that we were looking for thick, brushy cover for hunting grouse he told us he had a spot up on the hill that they called “The Jungle”. He said that they had a big timber harvest a few years back and that it had grown back up into cover so thick that you couldn’t walk through it. Bob and I looked at each other and smiled because of what we thought we had found.

Woodcock season came in over a month before grouse season the next year and we hunted them a couple times in September. On both of those hunts we were feeling like kids the night before Christmas with thoughts of grouse at Figg’s Jungle dancing in our heads 🎄! We couldn’t wait and the first day that Bob could get away we headed over there.

Nolan had showed us the farm trail that led up to The Jungle and we started driving up the hill. It was a good thing that we were driving a 4WD because there were a couple wet areas where we needed it, but once we got up on the hill it was dry. As we got close to the spot it was obvious what Nolan was talking about because there was an edge about 50 yards wide that was in a good successional stage, then a clearcut area full of downed tree tops, greenbriers, honeysuckle, sumac, grapevines and blackberry stickers. I wasn’t sure little old Babe could navigate her way through it, but she burrowed her way around.

Bob and I started wading through the gauntlet, poised for a flush any minute. Babe got too close to a bird and it flushed wild but made a bad choice and flew through an opening right in front of Bob. He made a nice right to left shot at about 25 yards. We continued up through the really thick stuff but it may have been too thick for even grouse because we got no more flushes. So, we headed up to the top where it was a little less challenging.

Once on top it opened up a little with downed tree tops scattered throughout. I was watching Babe off to my left when one flushed wild but flew straight away from me, offering what should of been an easy shot but I made it interesting by missing the first two before finally hitting it on the third shot!

We finished that day with two each and also did some exploring, looking for fringe areas that might hold birds for future hunts. Our exploring took us down the hill to Raccoon Creek and we pretty much simultaneously said, “Smallmouth”! Bob and I hunted Figg’s several times in the next 5 years and never came away without killing at least one.

I had never fished Raccoon Creek until I was working for Spencer-Owen Schools, but when I did I had many good trips wading it for Smallmouth, catching many each time. These Smallmouth seemed almost virgin, like they’d never seen a human or a tiny torpedo top water 🎣‼️

 

[hookyIU1990]

Thanks for posting these Cav

 

[George.Smalley]

No offense intended, but if you replace the name “Bob” with a name like “Cooter”, all you’re left with is some stories about rednecks shooting guns.

 

[hookyIU1990]

No offense intended, but if you replace the name “Bob” with a name like “Cooter”, all you’re left with is some stories about rednecks shooting guns.

By the way, I drove by your house the other day.

 

[T.M.P.]

No offense intended, but if you replace the name “Bob” with a name like “Cooter”, all you’re left with is some stories about rednecks shooting guns.

leave your mom out of this ..

 

[George.Smalley]

leave your mom out of this ..

That’s a witty retort. Good one.

 

[Coach Pete Bell]

No offense intended, but if you replace the name “Bob” with a name like “Cooter”, all you’re left with is some stories about rednecks shooting guns.

No offense intended, but if you replace your name “George” with a name like “Dick”, all we’re left with is your autobiography.

 

[George.Smalley]

No offense intended, but if you replace your name “George” with a name like “Dick”, all we’re left with is your autobiography.

Another good one. You guys are clever and funny, definitely not unimaginative and stupid like everyone says.

 

[Cavanagh]

My favorite by far.

More bird hunting adventures with Coach Knight. You’ll get a laugh out of one 🤣😂🤣.

#14

I was always a voracious reader about all things grouse. Most of what I had read said that grouse will not fly very far across open water. But at least two times I had grouse fly across an expanse of open water to escape being shot. The first time Bob and I were out on Grubb Ridge hunting with Jack Brannon’s Reb. We had him because Babe had died and I was between dogs. We had hunted all the way across to the east side when Reb pinned one down between him and the maybe half mile of open water to Moonlight Ridge. We both knew this bird was ours.

We were about 15 yards from the water when the grouse flushed and headed ACROSS the lake. As it flew there were patterns of shot all around it from 4-5 rounds but the dang thing flew all the way across and hit the ground running.

Another time Bob and I were out on Moonlight Ridge with Babe when she went on point out on a point of land that had sumac, honeysuckle, and greenbriers. We had that bird pinned down and it would have to fly right back toward us. But it didn’t. Instead it flew across the cove with us not even drawing a feather. My view of where it landed was blocked but Bob said he knew exactly where it was.

He took Babe with him and I watched from the other side because I was further away. Babe was kind of dilly dallying so Bob gently (?😜) asked her to go where he wanted, and she wisely agreed. The grouse had run up the bank about 15 yards and was in a little honeysuckle patch. Babe pointed, Bob shot, mission accomplished!!

When Bob’s son, Tim, was in high school he took an interest in hunting and went with us a few times. One time in particular Bob really wanted to get him a good shot, so we took him out on Moonlight Ridge. We purposely steered him to the best spots, but to no avail. Bob and I had each killed one. We walked into a good looking area where we thought Tim might get a shot. This was the spot with all of the bittersweet that the grouse loved.

Tim asked us to stop because he had to pee. He found a safe place where he could lay his gun down, then proceeded with his business. He was finishing and Bob gave him the obligatory “don’t shake it too long”, when a grouse flushed about 10 yards from where Tim stood. Of course he couldn’t get off a shot with his business in his hand, and we both broke out laughing 😂!! Bob walked over to him and said, “son, Randy finally gets you a good shot and there you stood with your pecker in your hand”. Tim did not find the humor in the situation that Bob and I did 🤣😂🤣‼️

Finally, a story initially vetoed by Mitch but he later acquiesced and agreed to lift the veto. Mitch, was one of the mentally toughest athletes that I ever knew. Part of that came from his four years older brother, Lucas and his friends Kyle Blevins, Ryan Blevins, Luke Watson, and Kyle Sturgeon. Part of that came from ass chewing coaches like me, Doug Waltz, Bob Pryor, and my hunting buddy coach Bob. The Coach Knight one has become a classic for the ages!

Mitch was nine at the time. Bob had invited us to a big dove hunt over in West Terre Haute. Some of his friends over there had a huge wild game feast each year at coal mine property. This day we had turkey, deer, elk, moose, pheasant, beaver, bear, quail, and lots of ducks. We ate ourselves into submission!!

My boys and I drove over by ourselves and Dr. Rink road with Bob. The hunt site was a big reclaimed coal mine site that had wheat, clover, and some sunflowers. As I remember there were nine of us including Lucas and Mitch. We spaced ourselves at safe distances around the field, except for Bob. He set up behind a big round bale of hay, kind of in the middle of the field.

We had no sooner gotten set up when doves started flowing in in groups of 15-20. We were melting down our barrels and killing lots of doves. I kept reminding Lucas and Mitch to shoot high, but one fairly low bird was too tempting and Mitch shot at it. He killed the dove with his Remington 870 pump, but in the act he also peppered Bob. To put it mildly Bob was pissed. Other than Bob Pryor I’d never heard such a string of cuss words!

He was not hurt, but he yelled and screamed for what seemed like hours, but was probably just a few minutes. Then he walked over to Mitch in his “hate Ted Valentine” style and gave him hell directly. I was feeling pretty bad for Mitch when Bob started my way. I, too, was ready for an ass chewing and when he got to me I was ready. Instead he just looked at me and said, “frosted his little ass, didn’t I”?

Shortly after this Dr. Rink needed to get back to Bloomington but had ridden with Bob. Bob told me to give Rink my car and we could ride back with him. As I remember, both of my boys gave me a pleading NO look, but I gave him my keys. We road back with Bob and the shooting incident never came up.

The next day I get a call from Bj McElroy or MaryAnn Davis asking me to hold for Coach Ellenberger. Now, anyone that knew Norm knew that he was a jokester so I was not at all surprised when he said, “Roberts, tell that little assassin of yours to get the job done right next time”!!

 

[Cavanagh]

Coach Knight stories continued

#15

I have four short snippets about Bob that I think you will enjoy.

My daughter, Maggie Jones, was born in November 25, 1988. A couple of weeks before she he was born we were headed to hunt on a farm owned by the family of one of Bob’s managers in Martin County. I had yet to tell Bob that we were going to have another baby, and I’ll never forget exactly where we were when I told him about having a baby. Bob said, “Roberts if you’re not careful you’re going to screw yourself out of a place to live!”

I have told you several times just how tough Bob was, but I’ve failed to mention how tough his wife Karen was. One day over a very cold and snowy Christmas Break Bob called me wanting to go hunting the next day. The high temperature for that day was forecasted to be below zero. Added to the fact that I had a family Christmas function that day and I had to decline.
I figured that he would decide that discretion was the better part of valor and stay home. But “never say die Bob” talked his wife Karen into going down to Armstrong’s with him. And to top it off he actually killed a grouse!!

When my kids were young I got involved with Smithville Youth Basketball which took place at the old Smithville High School which was about five miles away from our home at Fairfax. The building had fallen into disrepair. The worst problem was that the roof leaked like a sieve. I was elected to be president of the board second year I was there. It was decided that the roof had to be repaired. Katie Watson was the treasurer at that time and she and I went to a local bank seeking a $50,000 mortgage loan to fix the roof. We were promptly turned down.

A few weeks later Bob and I were going hunting and he asked me how things were going at Smithville. I told him about the roof needing repair and that we had been to the bank seeking a $50,000 mortgage to fix it but had been turned down. When we got back to Assembly Hall he had me come up to his office. Once there he proceeded to call Bill Cook, President of Cook Incorporated. I’ll never forget that conversation. Bob said, “Potentate, I have a good friend that is with Smithville Youth Basketball and they have been turned down at the bank for a $50,000 mortgage loan to repair the roof.” Later that afternoon Bob called me and told me to go back to the same bank and sign the paperwork for the mortgage. It was waiting for us.

Bob had resigned at Texas Tech in the middle of the 2008-2009 season. In the Spring of 2009 he invited me to come down and hunt turkeys with him and I jumped at the opportunity. On one of the days we were walking to a site and when we got to a gate Bob stopped and I could tell that he was in deep thought. I just stood there and didn’t interrupt his thoughts. He finally said, “Roberts what would you do if you were me, would you take another coaching job or would you retire?” I knew that Georgia had been talking with him and that the job was his if he wanted it.

I knew that he wanted my opinion, that his question was not just rhetorical. So I asked him why he would coach again? I asked what more could he accomplish? I mean, he had done it all and at that time he had won more games than any coach had. Then I asked him if he enjoyed the freedom to go hunting and fishing like we were any time he wanted to. Thirty minutes later he had called a turkey in that I shot and caught bass in a little creek. He never answered my questions but he never coached another game.