We settled into the stand on a hot Sunday morning, the last hunt of the weekend. It was our last chance to get a shot at Big Boy, a mysterious monster nine point. The humid, hazy mornings had been quiet save for the chirp of Mexican Green Jays. Nevertheless, we were ready to give it one more go before returning home for the weekend.
The feeder loudly clanged in the stillness before settling back into a heavy silence. Just when the silence had seemed to settle, rain drops plunked on the tin roof the deer stand. My face must have betrayed my uncertainty, for my husband shook his head. “This probably won’t last very long, don’t worry.”
Suddenly, the gentle drizzle crescendoed on the roof until it rang out like machine-gun shots, the rain drops pelting the gently swaying grass in the field before us. We watched the streaks of rain dance in the air as the swirling wind carried it every which direction. The deer stand creaked loudly in the wind. Ten minutes of storming turned into thirty, and honestly, it was all I could do not to laugh.
All weekend, I had put this pressure on myself to harvest this one deer. When you’re part of a family of wildly successful hunters, it’s easy to feel pressured to harvest a monster buck every single year. But when you let it consume every moment of the hunt, it turns a morning or afternoon basking in the stillness of nature to a frustrating and unproductive endeavor.
So finally, as our luck hit rock bottom for the weekend, I had to laugh. And so did my husband. A disastrous morning quickly turned into quality time with my husband in the deer stand. If you haven’t yet, I highly recommend sitting in a deer stand on a crappy hunting day with someone you love, because you will enjoy every moment of reminiscing, telling stories, diving into the deep conversations, and even appreciating the quiet stillness of being in nature.
Eventually, the unexpected downpour fizzled out and the sun finally reappeared from behind the clouds. We quietly began gathering our things so we could sneak out of the stand.
Suddenly, down a Sendero, two shadows bobbed out of the trees. And in the silence, the unmistakable gobble of turkeys. I gasped and pointed, and Court grabbed for his rifle. We watched them mosey along the path, through the tall grass until they reached the untouched feeder, heads bobbing all the way.
With Thanksgiving around the corner, we had agreed before the hunt that any turkeys that came out were going to be harvested. My family has never really had wild turkey before, and they were hoping for a wild Thanksgiving treat.
As he lined up the shot, I felt the ever constant adrenaline that occurs when you see an animal at the feeder, and waited.
Boom! One turkey on the ground. The other launched itself into the air before carefully landing on the other side of the feeder, it’s small head bobbing this way and that in confusion.
Boom! The turkey danced away. Boom! It jumped again, dodging another bullet. Boom! Turkey down.
We celebrated quietly in the stand, but Court shook his head. You may not know this, but my husband is extremely accurate with a shot. I’m talking about a perfect score on his concealed handgun shooting qualification. Heart shots from 200 yards. He takes down doves like it’s his job. There is no way that he missed that Turkey twice.
After reviewing my video footage (because why not!) that Turkey had managed to duck its head beforeevery shot until the last one. That turkey had literally dodged bullets.
As we walked up to collect the birds (the second now dubbed Matrix Turkey), I couldn’t help but feel a little ridiculous and a lot of gratitude.
Nature has this funny way of lulling us into thinking that we have any semblance of control over our surroundings. We set up feeders, create easy paths for animals to follow, and even provide shelter sometimes. But at the end of day, you never know what is going to walk out of those trees, if anything! And you can bet that something unexpected, like a spontaneous rain storm, will throw a wrench in your plans.
So if you go deer hunting and are lucky enough to happen upon two mature toms instead, consider it an unexpected blessing! And Big Boy, I’m coming back for you in December!
Jess and the Outdoors 