J.Y. Jones: Seeing The World, Rifle In Hand

J.Y. Jones, of Dublin, has quite a collection of sheep and goats. The author says, “That means a lot of climbing. Which is why I remember years of J.Y. running everywhere, including the inside stairs at our local hospital while everyone else was using the elevators. Tweezers couldn’t find fat on the man for decades. Even now, at 80 years of age, he’s as slim and straight as an arrow.”

“It started with a .22 rifle my dad brought back from World War II,” Dr. J.Y. Jones is saying. “I killed my first squirrel and rabbit with it.”

No one could have known at the time that a rifle from the other side of the world would prove instrumental in the life of a man who would go on to more rifles, as well as practically EVERY side of the world, over the course of a hunting lifetime. He’s written several books, including “Another Rifle, Another Land,” and “One Man, One Rifle, One Land.” 

“I believe I may be the only hunter in history to take more than 100 species of free-ranging, big game animals without hunting in Africa,” J.Y. said.

And that was before his African safari…

Ask folks in Dublin about James Young Jones and you’ll likely get a nonplussed look. But J.Y.? Faces light up. Which says a lot about a man.

I’ve been honored to know the good doctor for more decades than either of us care to admit. I knew early on about the hunting, but the very first things you learn about J.Y. are that faith and family top his list of the important things in life.

When we first met, he was in the midst of a 25-year quest to take every huntable species of North American big game—with the same rifle. From the Arctic polar bear to the jaguar from the jungles of Mexico, his Remington 700 .30-06 finally sealed the deal. The polar bear, on a dogsled hunt, was particularly memorable because of importation restrictions at the time. I wrote a letter to, I believe, the Department of the Interior on his behalf, and there was a lot of bigger guns who also stepped up.

“I was on the Safari Club International (SCI) Board Of Directors for several years, and they helped get my polar bear back into this country,” J.Y. said. “If it hadn’t been for them and a couple of representatives, it would still be in Canada, 600 miles north of the Arctic Circle!”

Speaking of circles, there is a very small one in my life that consists of men—hunters all—who I have profound respect for; in truth, the very highest regard. They should be remembered. You’ve likely read in these pages of one of them, Charles Newton Elliott, otherwise known as Charlie, and several other things best not related here. (He was my friend, and our banter became the stuff of legend.) 

Another was one you’ve not read of, simply because he had to leave us far too early, many years ago. His name was Dickie Green, and I mention him because of a series of hunts we did with Dr. Jones. Both these men can be found within that circle with Charlie.  

Charlie Elliott did more for the hunters of this state than any of them will ever know and also hunted widely all over North America. Dickie was a very quiet man from Montrose, Ga., which doesn’t even have a stop sign on Highway 80, just west of Dublin. He was secure in his faith, happy at home and in the woods with his sons. He helped drag one of my biggest whitetails ever; if you deer hunt, you understand. 

Many years ago, well before the turn of this century, J.Y. was putting together a three-day weekend hunt and asked the two of us to act as guides along with several others. It was called Christ In The Camp. We each drew a name and shepherded a young man—who needed all the help and direction he could get.

There was a youth-pastor speaker as we cooked and ate around the campfire at night. Over the course of a couple of mornings, we took them to stands and introduced them to hunting, while helping them harvest a deer, mostly does, and made sure each had a box of superb venison to take home at hunt’s end.

If it sounds simple, it wasn’t. But it shows the heart of the man to sort through myriad details and lend a hand to those in need. Lots of kids shot their first deer there. To this day, those hunts, and others involving handicapped individuals, remain highlights in my life. Here’s a memory for you: ever helped a blind man kill a deer?

For Jones, travel came early and often.

“Dad was in the Army and constantly being transferred, including overseas,” he recalls. “I went to 12 different schools before graduating high school. I then went on to North Georgia College and put in for medical school after three years because I had really good grades. Very few get in after three years of college, but I got accepted, which was totally unexpected.

“The thing was, all doctors went into the Army into those days. You either joined or eventually got drafted. I got my degree, did my internship, delivering about 150 babies and performing all kinds of operations—under supervision, of course—and was ready to practice. You could get deferments and then go in, but I had made arrangements to go directly. I figured the sooner I got in, the sooner I would get out! I didn’t intend to stay six years, but things happened.”

At 80 years old, J.Y. still has his Army medical uniform.

One of the first things to happen was in a place called Vietnam.

“I went to Vietnam in October of 1970 and came back in October of ‘71, 366 days,” J.Y. says.

I’ve talked with dozens of Vietnam vets over the years; nearly every one can tell you exactly how many years and days they spent there. But they don’t tell you much else.

It was another trip courtesy of the Army that proved a game-changer for the young MD.

“I did a flight surgeon school at Fort Rucker (now Fort Novosel, in Alabama) that taught us a lot about the eye and the tremendous sight qualifications required for pilots. It was fascinating and turned me toward ophthalmology. I got accepted into the school of eye surgery at Walter Reed (National Military Medical Center, Bethesda, Maryland) and finished up there.”

He went into the Army as a captain and came out a major. After all is said and done, the best part to me is that he ended up here; Dublin has long been a better place with J.Y and Linda Jones in it.

Getting the answer to where he’s hunted will take an awful lot longer than where he hasn’t. He sums it up best: “I haven’t hunted Antarctica or South America but just about everywhere else. There’s been 40-plus countries.”

And some of them I never knew existed. My computer’s spellcheck is smoking just trying to keep up.

Some you know: Russia, Spain, Austria, Mongolia, Switzerland, Turkey, Australia, New Zealand, Pakistan, Iran, Slovakia, Armenia, Scotland, Hungary, England, Sweden, Texas… (That is a country, right? The reason it’s on the list is because the particular species he was after is hunted fair chase there. Many foreign countries, harsh as they can be, have their own rules and regulations when it comes to hunting big game, some of them not up to this physician’s standards.)

There are a few more that just seem to have popped up out of nowhere: Kyrgyzstan, Azerbajian, Tajikistan, Kazakhstan…

As you can see by the photos on pages 30-31, there’s quite a few different species of sheep and goats involved in these trips. That means a lot of climbing. Which is why I remember years of J.Y. running everywhere, including the inside stairs at our local hospital while everyone else was using the elevators. Tweezers couldn’t find fat on the man for decades. Even now, at 80 years of age, he’s as slim and straight as an arrow.

“I really liked high-mountain hunting,” he stated, “In Nepal, we went up to 17,000 feet hunting blue sheep. And back here in North America, I have two Grand Slams of the four major species: dall, stone, Rocky Mountain and desert bighorn.”

Imagine what it takes to not only make it up to the 17,000-foot level, but then to make the shot, dress the trophy for a full mount, then pack it all back down! After the .30-06 was featured so prominently in his earlier book, Remington sent him another rifle, this one a 7mm ultra mag. While not nearly as shoulder-friendly as the ‘06, that rifle knocked the blue sheep off its feet at an astounding—not to mention mountainous—618 yards!

“I normally wouldn’t make an attempt at a shot that long, but after the climb and conditions, I knew it was probably the only one I would get.”

That trip was one of a trio he mentioned when I asked about his favorites. Another was the desert mule deer—number one in the SCI record book for years, number three now. And then there’s the Alaskan brown bear—taken on the 14th day of a 14-day hunt!

These days? His hunting is done. And there is a characteristically unselfish reason why: the love of his life.

“I met Linda in high school, and we got married during our sophomore year in college. She was at Tifton and I was at North Georgia, which meant that we didn’t see a lot of each other for about three years,” J.Y laughed. “She was a housewife, although she did teach some for three years, but never a hunter. She always recognized that hunting was a big part of me and supported me fully over the years.    

 “She went with me on probably a quarter of my hunts, any time it was relatively civilized. We did a round-robin type series of five or so countries in Europe. She never hunted but was very good at preparing wild food. We had the best meat in the world for years. But I quit hunting mainly because Linda got this disease where her kidneys couldn’t process the various things that meat produced when broken down. It wasn’t fair for me to eat meat in front of her, so when she became a vegetarian, I altered my eating habits, too. She’s not a strict vegetarian and can eat some fish and seafood. And when we go out, I can have pretty much what I want.”

Know what those attitudes produce in a couple? James Young and Linda Grace Jones will celebrate their 61st wedding anniversary the 18th of this month!

And while he may not be hunting anymore, J.Y. still spends a lot of time in the woods, on his own acreage in Laurens County.

“I’m constantly looking after my place now. I’ve leased the land out, but I do all the work myself, planting and doing everything it takes to maintain a hunting property year-round. The guys haven’t killed any really big deer on it, but we know they’re around. They don’t shoot young bucks, and they’re really good at knowing what not to shoot, making sure it’s mature. We have a meeting every year just before the season and go over what an old buck looks like, what a shooter should be. It is, after all, hunting.”

Take my words for it guys: he should know!