"That's chupacabra," he said, referring to the Mexican myth about a varmint-sized demon that sucks the blood of goats. "This represents my heritage." In the taxi to a barbecue restaurant in Austin, I passed a neighborhood of large homes. "I prefer space," said the taxi driver.

"Why?"
"Lot of good hunting and fishing out there." "What do people hunt for?"
"Oh, lots of pheasant in this area."
"You get any yet this year?"
"It ain't season yet, but I just shoot targets anyway. Cans, bottles, ground squirrels, chipmunks, you know."
"Varmints?"
"Yeah, varmints."

My last night in Austin, having learned to appreciate this Texan propensity to chat, I sat over a display of brisket, ribs, queso, chicken-fried steak and pork with strangers. Some of these people were from New York City, some from Seattle, and more still from San Jose and Plano. They all seemed a bit bewildered by all this food, all this animal. Texan's love animal. Where else would you employ a Corps of Camels, hunt varmints, and treasure bats?

Had the U.S. Army ever employed a Bat Corps? In the library, I was surprised to find that in 1942, the U.S. Navy rented the use of four bat-caves in Texas Hill Country. They were to construct a squadron of trained bats, to which were attached small devices capable of emitting large flames. The idea was that the Navy would drop-ship thousands of burning bats on foreign soils from airplanes flying at a thousand feet. The burning bats would (naturally) fly all over the place, and seek cover. Namely, in rooftops and the like, causing massive fires and destruction.

The literature describes that in 1943, the Bat Corps project was terminated.

"That's chupacabra," he said, referring to the Mexican myth about a varmint-sized demon that sucks the blood of goats. "This represents my heritage." In the taxi to a barbecue restaurant in Austin, I passed a neighborhood of large homes. "I prefer space," said the taxi driver.

"Why?"
"Lot of good hunting and fishing out there." "What do people hunt for?"
"Oh, lots of pheasant in this area."
"You get any yet this year?"
"It ain't season yet, but I just shoot targets anyway. Cans, bottles, ground squirrels, chipmunks, you know."
"Varmints?"
"Yeah, varmints."

My last night in Austin, having learned to appreciate this Texan propensity to chat, I sat over a display of brisket, ribs, queso, chicken-fried steak and pork with strangers. Some of these people were from New York City, some from Seattle, and more still from San Jose and Plano. They all seemed a bit bewildered by all this food, all this animal. Texan's love animal. Where else would you employ a Corps of Camels, hunt varmints, and treasure bats?

Had the U.S. Army ever employed a Bat Corps? In the library, I was surprised to find that in 1942, the U.S. Navy rented the use of four bat-caves in Texas Hill Country. They were to construct a squadron of trained bats, to which were attached small devices capable of emitting large flames. The idea was that the Navy would drop-ship thousands of burning bats on foreign soils from airplanes flying at a thousand feet. The burning bats would (naturally) fly all over the place, and seek cover. Namely, in rooftops and the like, causing massive fires and destruction.

The literature describes that in 1943, the Bat Corps project was terminated.

Great Plains Catfish Heaven, Paddling and driving the Louisiana Bayou Paddling and driving the backwaters of bayou country with a swamp maverick who claims that Louisiana will sink, or face horrific damage from a hurricane, unless efforts are made to reverse the damage to the coasts and bayous. Flyfishing with Mr. Phu, Lake Minnetonka Fishing with brothers on the shore of that all-Minnesotan lake in this Northern Great Plains suburban center. Port Sulphur, Louisiana Notes on fishing with Andre in the gulf after Hurricane Katrina ravaged the coast. Harmony, Minnesota Driving along the Laura Ingolls Highway. Texas Hill Country Texas' heart is a place unlike the rest of Texas, and also symbolic of the Great Plains. Stepping into the Hill Country.