Gnarles Barkley and the Hot Shot

After a fitful night’s sleep, my husband, Court, and I were back at the ranch early in the morning on New Year’s Day. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but as Justin, Court’s friend, drove the mule through the darkness, a feeling of certainty grew within me.

New Year’s Day: First Sit

This morning, we took an entirely new approach and were stationed in a new blind; the Purple Blind. We were targeting a wide 8-point with short tines that was probably 6.5 years old that would be a great management buck. We climbed into the stand and settled into the warm darkness.

To my left, a long open sendero stretched into the treeline; in front of us, a huge field opened up with a small feeder surrounded by a low fence. Behind us, there were smaller trails where deer could sneak up. The morning was cool and breezy.

With our thermal monocular, we watched as four deer immediately wandered into the senderos to snack on the corn. As the sun rose, more dark shapes entered the clearing in front of us, and it seemed as though we would have our choice in deer.

A thick-bodied deer glided into the sendero, the hint of antlers wide outside the ears barely visible in the darkness. As the morning light deepened around us, we were finally able to count the dark chocolate tines; a 10-point. Darn.

We didn’t mind getting to watch him meander among the does, gobbling up the corn.

Another buck trotted into the sendero, and this one was clearly more interested in the does. With his thin neck, long face, and skinny body, we knew right away this one was still too young. He danced around the does like a human male might swagger around a bar in the hopes of picking up a lady-friend; unfortunately for him, these girls were not interested.

Watching deer just doing their own thing is such a treat. You can start to see personalities and it captivates my imagination, wondering what their life must have been like up to this point. At some point, a busted up 6 or 8-point wandered out, saw the big 10-point and puffed up like he was looking for a fight. With his brow tines broken off and the way he threw his ears back, I wondered just how many fights he had been in during his life.

Court’s phone buzzed; again, Justin had a shooter buck at his blind. This one was a gnarly and curly-racked 8 point, extremely symmetrical and tall. Something tugged at my heart, and I joked with Court that maybe we should try to sneak over and stalk it.

Eventually, the deer started to wander back into the shade as the temperature rose again. It had been another bust, but I still had a good feeling about today. I wouldn’t mind a nap and some air conditioning before the next hunt, though.

New Year’s Day: Second Sit

As we rolled up to the stand mid-afternoon, a strong feeling of optimism washed over me. The last time I had hunted this stand was the morning I saw the B.F.E. – and then brought him home.

We climbed up into the stand, the heat heavy in the air around us.

A few does immediately wandered out, but the rest of the sendero stayed quiet.

The longer we sat with minimal activity, a familiar tension wound its way through my body. That feeling uncertainty darkened my mood; what if we didn’t see anything again?

I kept thinking about that buck that Justin had seen from this stand earlier that day, with his curled antlers. If only he would walk out.

I shook off the feeling. No matter what we do, we cannot control what the animals do; they have feet, they’ll wander. This wouldn’t be our last opportunity to hunt if we went another evening without seeing anything, and I had to trust that everything would work out.

My mind and breathing settled into yogi zen-like state as I watched the does lazily meander along the line of corn in the afternoon heat. I released a deep exhale and felt something release within me.

“You know, I’ve come to terms with it; if I don’t get anything, I don’t get anything. It’ll all be okay,” I whispered.

That was when he came.

I hadn’t even registered that a mature buck had walked into the sendero when Court grabbed my shoulder; “I think that’s him!” he whispered, both of us reaching for our binoculars as quietly as we could.

One glance at his body and I knew he was a mature, shooter buck. As I studied him through the binoculars, my breath caught in my throat. It was the gnarly shooter from this morning!

Justin had warned us about this deer. That morning, he had only stuck around for a short time before disappearing into the brush. I was not about to waste an opportunity at this buck.

Court watched him as I quickly and carefully lifted my rifle to the window and settled in for the shot. The buck was wary of the does, barely dropping his head long enough to take a bite of corn before turning away from us to watch them.

Drop, lift and turn. Drop, lift and turn.

This feeling was all too familiar; the B.F.E. and Red Dead Redemption the last two years had tested my confidence as they meandered in and out of moments for an ethical shot.

In my mind, I swatted the doubt away; if this buck was going to be quick to move, then I would have to be ready.

The seconds stretched like hours as he slowly started to turn broadside…

I settled the crosshairs in the center of his shoulder.

He bent to tentatively take a bite of corn.

Let it kick, I thought as I exhaled quickly.

In the stillness between breaths, I squeezed the trigger.

Does scattered into the trees, and the buck crashed straight into the ground where he had stood.

With a quick intake of breath, I finally sat back away from the scope. My eyes slowly adjusted as the pent-up adrenaline started racing through my arms and legs.

Somewhere behind me, Court’s phone buzzed. I lifted up a shaky fist quick fist bump before looking back out the window.

There he was, right where he had been standing. My shaking intensified, I couldn’t believe it. Everything had happened so fast, so much faster than any other time I had taken a shot on a deer.

I checked my watch; it had maybe been 3 minutes from start to finish.

“Justin texted me, that big wide 8-point is at the same stand we hunted this morning!”

Still shaking, I shook my head in disbelief. “Well good thing this guy came out here!” Every time Justin had purposefully put us in a stand for a shot, he had ended up seeing one at whatever random stand he chose to wait in.

Luckily, this guy had decided to walk out twice today.

“Should we go look at him?” I nodded and smiled like a little kid, still shaking.

It was one thing to see him through the binoculars, and then my scope, but seeing him up close was unbelievable. I ran my hand down his gray-tinged neck, chorded muscles lean after the rut. His gnarly curled antlers proved to be beautifully symmetrical and thick as they curled out and around his head.

One thing was uncharacteristically missing, though; blood.

Typically, when a bullet goes through both shoulders, it’ll also pierce both lungs. This is a quickly fatal and ethical shot to take, and usually results in a good trail of blood to follow if the deer doesn’t immediately drop.

We flipped him over to see the exit wound and found else; a knot towards the top of his shoulder blade. Court moved it around with his fingers. “It’s the bullet! It didn’t pass all the way through!” Taking out his pocket knife, he carefully punctured the hide and sure enough, it was the fully intact bullet.

Somehow, the bullet had managed to pierce both shoulder blades, but slowed down enough that it wasn’t able to go all the way through the hide. I pocketed the bullet with the brass casing, just one more wild thing to come out of this hunt.

It looked like our ride back to camp wouldn’t be there for about an hour, so we waited while the sun set.

At one point, Court turned to me. “So, what are you gonna name this one?”

I took the antlers in my hands again, marveling at the creature in front of me. Most of my deer had a few hunts, sightings, or something story behind their harvest. With this deer, everything had happened so fast from him walking out to me making the shot. My furthest shot to date, and with a wild surprise at the end!

“Gnarles Barkley,” I proclaimed, halfway joking. “Gnarles Barkley, the Hot Shot.”

Bless him, my husband cut up laughing. Now I appreciate some humor, but I didn’t want his name to be too goofy. The longer I thought about it, the less I liked any other names.

As I sat on the ground with Gnarles Barkley, I thought back through the past 36 hours.

Of the oppressive heat baking us in the deer blinds.

Of each time a shooter buck walked out in front of Justin, despite his best efforts to get one in front of us.

Of realizing that my .270 was not, in fact, off. It had been me all along.

Of coming to terms with the fact that sometimes, you don’t connect, but there are more opportunities.

Of the moment I had to have faith in myself and make the longest shot of my career.

And of that incredible moment of gratitude when you see that animal up close, knowing you’ve got meat for the freezer and memories forever.