After an incredible 2019 deer hunting season, I excitedly prepared for an even better one in 2020. Preparation and determination is great, but there’s one thing we cannot forget; Mother Nature is always in control.
If you haven’t yet, you can check out our first hunt of the season and the unexpected results from that hunt here.
Like I said, that hunt was only the beginning of a season that would teach a pretty tough lesson.
Hunt #2
It was most likely my last chance at Big Boy for 2020. If he didn’t make an entrance early on Saturday, I would probably be looking for a doe for the freezer. Because at the end of the day, we really needed the meat for the freezer.
My heart leapt every time we saw him grace the feeder with his enormous antlers. What a beauty. He was chasing does in almost every picture, and his favorite time to come out was around 4:00pm.
Though the reasonable part of me wanted to acknowledge the fact that seeing this deer was extremely unlikely, that wild, romantic part of me dared to hope.
We went out the next morning and sat in our chosen stand. We watched the lazy fog crawl over the grass as the sun rose. A couple of small groups of does and two little bucks startled us from our sleepy watch as they appeared from the thick fog like ghosts, only to vanish within again.
One mature doe and her yearling passed within 20 yards of our stand. She heard me move in the stand and locked eyes with me, standing off for several seconds before deciding I was safe. Even after a few years of hunting, close encounters of the venison kind are still exciting!
Though we walked back to the cabin in the chilly air empty-handed, I felt hopeful. Some part of me even felt optimistic about Big Boy finally appearing in person, but only time would tell.
We climbed back into the stand later that afternoon, hoping to catch him looking for an afternoon snack.
We watched Cardinals and Mexican Green Jays flit through the overcast light, chasing each other across the Sendero.
The feeder was set to go off later, around 5:30, and we knew it was getting close when two toms and a jake stuck their little heads out of the brush. They bobbed like little velociraptors down to the feeder.
There wasn’t much shooting light left, so I knew that if he came out, it would be fast and I would have to be ready.
The feeder went off, a glaringly loud sound in the dusky quiet. As silence settled over the clearing, a buck stepped out into the sendero. He was too far away to see too clearly, but we knew he was a big one.
We watched with bated breath as he mozied closer. He stood tall and strong while delicately sniffing the air. But there was only one buck on the hit list tonight, so we would need to be careful.
He stepped back into the brush and we checked the clock. Fifteen minutes left.
Suddenly, three does popped out of the trees within range. I lifted my rifle to get situated. Ten minutes.
It hadn’t been a minute and that buck strode out, now within range. Court and I rushed to get a better look at his antlers.
The buck dove for the does, scattering them into the trees until he was the only deer left. He swiveled his head straight towards us, and it was immediately obvious.
It wasn’t Big Boy.
My heart sank. It had been the work of a season leading up to this moment. I felt defeated. Though this was a great deer, he was young and needed time to grow, so we watched and waited instead.
Darkness settled in thick over the Sendero. We packed up to leave for the night.
Court could tell I was disappointed, but he assured me it had been the right decision. It was a mature decision. It hadn’t been easy, though.
I don’t care what anyone tells you, getting to hunt a big buck is exciting. There’s nothing like when you see that rack in your scope and your heart skips a beat. The thrill of adrenaline as you try to control your breathing. Harvesting a big buck is a rush.
In my mind, I know I should’ve been more realistic about hunting this year. My deer season was pretty unreal last year; I was able to harvest my first buck off the family ranch AND harvest a different buck that was big enough to be my first shoulder mounted deer on the wall. It’s easy to walk into the next hunting season with warped expectations.
I think my husband said it best as we walked back to the cabin. “You know, a couple of years ago, you would’ve been thrilled to get a doe.”
It’s a hard lesson, but it puts things in perspective. We didn’t venture into the woods thousands of years ago to find the biggest antlers on the wall. We did it for survival, for family. And now, we still do it for the survival of nature and for the time spent with family.
As we packed up to go home, I would’ve done anything to go back to Saturday morning and harvest a doe. But the lesson has been learned, and I will not underestimate the value of a doe in the freezer vs. a monster buck in the brush.
Hunt #3
After returning empty handed, we decided to go for it one last time on New Year’s Day. We would drive to Goliad together and I would hunt that afternoon before going home for the weekend, while Court would stay behind for the rest of the weekend.
This time, I had my priorities straight. The first doe or spike that walked in range would be my target.
We set out on foot to retrieve the camera cards and I toted my rifle along just in case we found a deer enjoying a midday snack. We hiked through brush and along trails, seeing parts of the ranch I didn’t even know existed.
We came to the second camera, and Court was perplexed. The camera had somehow been turned off, so there was no telling what pictures might be there. We hurried to the last one and found it had also been turned off.
What do now…
We had originally planned on getting in the stand around 4:00pm, and it was already 3:30pm by that point. Might as well pick one and go there.
We set up at the same stand as our first hunt, where many does and previously been seen and waited.
The sun danced across the sky until there was only fifteen minutes before the feeder would go off. Like a shadow, a doe moved across the Sendero almost 150 yards away, eyeing the feeder. Before I could get my rifle up, she trotted away into the bushes.
“She’s waiting on the feeder, she’ll be back,” Court assured me.
Right on schedule, the feeder went off in the silent field. We glanced around, waiting for the deer to show up.
Court scanned to the left and grabbed my leg, wide-eyed shock on his face. My breath hitched, my body shook because I knew he had to be looking at a large buck, but I didn’t dare move until he confirmed.
He watched through binos for what felt like forever before lowering them. “There’s a huge buck to your left… but it’s not Big Boy.”
I let my breath out and carefully peeked out the side window of the stand. A big 8-point was standing at the Sendero, maybe 50 yards from us. He looked just like the one we had seen on our previous hunt, which I had dubbed Junior, but it was impossible to tell for sure.
Either way, he was another young one, and since I couldn’t tell if it was the same deer, I decided to let him go.
We both watched, hardly able to breathe as he lazily mozied down the Sendero, straight towards us. When he was 15 yards away from us, he suddenly stopped and looked us both right in the eye. There was a solid stare down for a few moments before he slowly turned and walked the way he had come. As if he knew he wasn’t the target today and that he would be safe.
By the time he mozied away, silence had settled over the field save for an armadillo scurrying through the grass. As the sun hung low in the sky, we decided it was time to go.
It’s funny how when you start hunting for does, they immediately disappear into the woods, never to be seen again until the end of the season.
Luckily, Court was able to harvest a nice buck on the last morning of the buck season. Despite not seeing any does, this guy walked out to the stand and provided one last chance at venison for the freezer. I couldn’t have been happier for Court!
The thing that I forgot this year is that Mother Nature is ultimately in control, and we should be grateful for anything she gives us. You can’t harvest your personal best buck every year, and you shouldn’t expect to. At the end of the day, a doe in the freezer is worth ten trophy bucks in the brush, and I won’t forget it.
It wasn’t in the cards for me this year, but I’m grateful for the reminder that hunting isn’t just about harvesting deer. It’s about those long hunts, shivering from the cold in the deer stand and enjoying the company of someone you love, and then laughing about the ludicrous pouring rain or the camera card malfunctions in the years to come.
Big Boy survived this season, but you can bet that I’ll be ready for him next year.
Jess and the Outdoors 