Redemption: 2020 Deer Season Conclusion

I quickly lifted my rifle and pointed it out the small window, Court coaching me on my breathing. I aimed the crosshairs right at the shoulder and let the calm take over. My legs stopped shaking, my breath evened to a long, calm exhale. This was the moment. My finger began to squeeze the trigger…

1:30pm, Saturday Afternoon

Court and I excitedly loaded up my rifle and ourselves into the truck for one last hunt of the 2020 season. Clearly, this was an unexpected surprise, and we were grateful for the opportunity. 

Over the past couple of years, some very generous friends of ours have invited us out to the beautiful and sprawling VWR Ranch just outside of Edroy, Texas. This 1200 acre ranch backs up to the Nueces River and is home to an untold number of deer, turkeys, and hogs. Perhaps what makes this ranch so unique is the sheer number of animals. Every single time that Court and I have been invited, we’ve been shocked at the number of deer crowding into the senderos feeding on corn. Completely unaware or uncaring, we still aren’t sure.

And scattered among the does are the bucks. But these aren’t just ordinary bucks, they’re wild and exaggerated in their features! You’ll see bucks with thick, massive antlers seeming to stretch straight into the sky. Others will gracefully bow out several inches past the ears with gracefully curving tines. The small bucks here are the same size or larger than the bucks we are used to seeing other places, so it’s always a treat to hunt there. Half the fun is just gawking at monster bucks as they mozie past the deer stands.

We arrived, filled with excitement at what unknown wonders would walk out of the trees and the opportunity to finally bring home a doe for the freezer. As we got our gear ready to go, we talked to the ranch managers about the game plan. When we offered to take a doe, he shook his head, and showed us pictures of an 8-point on their hitlist.

With pictures in hand of said deer, we went out to a blind called the Hillbilly blind and settled in. It wasn’t five minutes before does started wandering into the sendero with their yearlings. They mozied along the corn, soaking up the afternoon sun in the chilly weather. 

Suddenly, two 8-points walked out down at the end of the sendero. One was clearly very young with his light fur and skinny body, while the other was a dark brown-grey with a thick body. His antlers were wide and thick like our target deer, but something just didn’t seem the same. We took turns trying to take pictures of him through the binoculars and the scope to send for verification. Ultimately, it was decided that, again, this was not the deer we were looking for.

5:30pm, Saturday Evening

We watched a ridiculous number of does and those two big 8-points for hours. Some of them, especially the yearlings, came so close to the blind that we could almost reach out and touch them. And we had a blast watching them! This is probably the only place I’ve ever hunted where the deer are so fearless that they’ll walk by a blind without batting an eye. It’s always a cool experience when we get to hunt at the VWR Ranch.

I was admiring a little button buck frolicking by the stand when Court, who was glassing the end of the sendero, gasped and grabbed my shoulder. I glanced at the back of the sendero just as a massive buck lifted his head. Holy G-2’s, this guy was so big that we couldn’t make out all the points, but we could see his tall tines reaching straight to the sky.

We could hardly breathe as he walked closer, we were dying to see him close enough to count the points. This guy was clearly off limits, but you just don’t see deer like this one every day. He finally came close enough that we could see his antlers clearly in the binoculars. Thirteen points. And by the looks of his body, he was still young, like maybe 2 1/2 years-old. He was only going to get bigger.

We watched Gigantor for almost 30 minutes, drifting in and out of the brush to snack on corn and then get spooked by does. He was the biggest deer I had ever seen in person, a true Boone and Crockett buck in the making (if he wasn’t already big enough!). Eventually, even he’d had enough of the fun, and he disappeared in the brush without reemerging.

• 

• 

The sun was starting to hang low, and the theme of the season had managed to come true, even on this ranch; the deer we were waiting for failed to show up. We had discussed picking out a doe to take instead when Court got a text from our buddy that invited us, asking if we wanted to come back tomorrow for a buck at his stand.

We agreed to come back, and I couldn’t help feeling a little bit guilty. This whole season had gone exactly this way; go hunt for the buck, fail to see the buck, go hunt for a doe, fail to see any does and then go home empty-handed. Dread crept into me as we went back to the camp.

It might seem a little silly to say, but this deer season had played some games with my emotions. When you’re able and open to anything that walks out in front of you, there’s no pressure. But with each unsuccessful hunting trip, I had felt the pressure building on me, wondering what people were saying about me as a hunter.

She’s only after the antlers.

Why won’t she just harvest a doe already?

She’s only been hunting a few years and thinks she’s too good for a doe or a spike.

Geez, empty-handed again? Why is she always holding out for a buck?

Why doesn’t she just shoot a doe already?

Every hunt compounded the pressure to come home with something, and I couldn’t imagine a hunt here ending that way, but the pressure was creeping up on me again. Our buddy assured us that this buck was a regular at this stand, and if even he failed to show up, we would go back to the Hillbilly blind and get a doe.

We drove back home that night, and I knew that we would manage to come home with something the next day. Even so, that little voice of doubt whispered sinisterly in my ear until the next morning.

5:30AM, Sunday Morning

Rain misted on us as we climbed into the stand, right at the cross of a “T” with corn thrown in all directions. The muddy ground was cold and soaked through from a steady drizzle. A stiff wind cut through our thick camo clothes with ease in the nearly freezing weather. Other parts of Texas were getting the first snow of the season; we were just far enough south that it wasn’t quite cold enough for this to become snow.

My stomach was in knots, hopeful that the nasty weather wouldn’t discourage our quarry. Court got out our little Leupold thermal monocular, and we were surprised the see ten deer in every direction in the pitch black. It would be another hour until first light, so we settled in for a chilly wait.

Every once in awhile, we pulled out the monocular again to see what was moving, and the deer remained active in the sendero, despite the weather. Unfortunately, antlers don’t give off heat, so it would be impossible to know just what was out there until the sun rose.

Eventually, we could make out shapes with our naked eye, and there was a large buck at the back of the sendero directly in front of us. We watched and waited as the sun began to climb over the horizon, waiting for a better look at the antlers. He was thick in the body with 8 obvious points, but something just didn’t seem quite right about him compared to our reference picture.

Suddenly, out of the trees, a thicker-bodied buck emerged, lazily sauntering in behind the first one. His thick face and drooping pot belly gave him away immediately; this was our guy. We watched him follow the first buck down the sendero, coming closer into range, but still hiding behind the other deer.

7:15AM, Sunday Morning

Although I had gotten my rifle secured and comfortable, we had still spent much of the last 20 minutes simply watching him follow almost step-by-step behind the smaller 8-point. More deer had spilled out of the woods, making a clean shot nearly impossible as they swerved around each other. What a problem to have.

He and a couple of other deer congregated at a feeder to the side of the sendero while the others drifted in the other direction. One by one, the deer around him began to meander away…

I settled into position, watching him through the scope, safety off, and hand bolstered against the stock. I willed my legs to stop shaking, my breath to even. A moment later and he was alone in front of the feeder, facing straight towards us. As he started to turn, I shifted my hand to the trigger, keeping my finger poised above it. He turned a little more, was almost broadside…

And a doe walked behind him. The shakes came back with a vengeance and my breath rattled in my lungs. Just as the doe started to walk away, he turned towards us again. I settled back into position, Court assuring me to wait until I was ready.

One step, quartering towards me. Another step, quartering less. One more step, he was nearly broadside… I placed the crosshairs at his shoulder, ready.

Last step… Broadside.

I froze. My gut said NOW! My mind said, am I really ready? I inwardly shook myself, of course I am, but I need to do it NOW!

I started to squeeze the trigger, but quickly threw my finger off the trigger as he turned again. He mozied from deer to deer before drifting smoothly into the brush like a wraith.

I blew it.

We waited a few minutes for him to reemerge, as deer often do. Minutes stretched on to ten minutes, ten to fifteen, and my heart sank as the rain started pouring harder than ever. It was over.

This whole deer season had culminated in this one moment, and I had missed my chance. Not because I didn’t pull the trigger, but because I let my self doubt halt me in my tracks. Court said we would wait until nine, weather permitting, and we might be able to come back the next weekend for him. I just shrugged, my disappointment in myself sitting like a stone in my gut.

The wind howled around us and cut through the air inside the stand like a frozen knife. I let my rifle settle back against the wall, resigned to my defeat. With the weather turning quickly for the worse, a doe hunt was still up in the air.

8:15AM, Sunday Morning

After almost an hour of hard rain and wind, the weather let up for a few minutes of quiet stillness in the senderos. Court and I both glanced up from our solitaire games and surveyed the senderos when Court grabbed my shoulder and whispered, “he’s back, there he is,” pointing to his left.

Sure enough, that buck had walked into the trees and come out in a completely different direction when the weather had let up. I grabbed the rifle without hesitation and settled it across Court, already lining up the shot. My stomach was a mix of relief, anxiety, gratitude, and fear, my breath rattling in my chest.

He stood there staring at me through my scope, completely unmoving. The doe behind him moved slowly, so slowly out of the way until he was completely broadside and frozen, as if daring me to take the shot.

This time, my gut and my mind both said, now.

I squeezed the trigger and the bang of my .270 rang in the deer stand, the scope smacking me right between the eyes as it recoiled. I felt around my forehead with my shaking hand as my heart thundered in my chest, and sure enough, a little knot was forming. “It felt like a good shot, where is he?”

“Right there in the middle of the sendero,” Court said with a smile. I glanced past him and saw the buck right where he had been standing.

As the reality of what had happened hit me, my body started shaking in excitement and relief. I smiled and felt the sting of tears in my eyes as the cold air threatened to freeze them to my face. Nearly three months of hunting had finally yielded a fruitful hunt.

As we climbed out of the stand, I couldn’t help but think back on this difficult deer season. I had always figured hunting one specific deer wouldn’t be easy; nothing is guaranteed in nature, so you just never know what is going to walk out in front of you. I didn’t expect it to be so mentally and emotionally exhausting.

With every hunt coming back empty-handed, it’s easy to feel like you’ve failed. It doesn’t get easier as the threat of the season ending draws nearer, and you’re still coming up deer-less. But if you let the disappointment dominate the hunt, then you’ll miss out on some great parts of hunting.

Like spending extra time in the stand with someone you love. I say this a lot, but there’s something about being out in nature that inspires great conversation and mutual reverent silence.

Like breathing in the fresh air and watching nature just be. The plants swaying in a gentle coastal breeze, birds dancing through the air in a flash of colorful feathers, armadillos scurrying through the tall grass, clouds swirling on the horizon, turkeys bobbing in and out of the trees, deer mozying along in the heavy, humid air without a care in the world.

Like the stories of misadventures that will be told long after this season ends. Stories about a matrix turkey that literally dodged bullets. About a mysterious buck that stood at the feeder with his nose to the air for hours before chasing off the does into the sunset. About hiking around the ranch to avoid deer, only to end up with malfunctioning camera cards and a wild hunch to start a hunt. About watching yearlings practically within an arm’s reach of the blind, completely unfazed. About sitting in the freezing cold downpour of rain in the dark on a January morning.

This was a difficult deer season, but I am a wiser hunter for it. Holding those cold, rain-soaked antlers in my hand and admiring Redemption, as I decided to name him, I made a promise to myself and to him that I would never let the hunt for one deer define how I felt about a season. That I would cherish all the moments of the hunt equally, whether or not I came home with a deer. The meat will be eaten and the antlers will eventually disappear, but the memories will live forever.