It’s no secret in our family that Court is an amazing cook, especially when it comes to wild game! His skill is so renowned that he was gifted with spices, pellets for his grill, cook books, and all manner of grilling fun for Christmas.
What do you do when you have 5 different types of wild game seasonings made especially for venison? You have an Ultimate Venison Seasoning Challenge, of course!
Over the course of a few weeks, Court and I have tested these seasonings on venison steak carefully and expertly grilled on the Traeger grill, and here are our thoughts:
Challenger #1: Fiesta Brand Wild Game Rub
We’ve been cooking with Fiesta Brand seasonings and rubs pretty much the entire time that we’ve lived in Texas. Before expanding our horizons, we frequently gravitated towards their Uncle Chris’s Gourmet Steak Seasoning on just about everything! They have a wide variety from rubs designed for specific meats to all-around favorites meant to be enjoyed on anything.
The main ingredients include salt, garlic, jalapeno pepper, onion, spices, and just a little bit of tenderizer. You can view the complete list of ingredients here.
Preparation: Court used a bit of tenderizer on the meat beforehand and then used a moderate amount of the rub on each side. The steak was cooked on the Traeger using Signature Blend pellets until it was rare. We served it with wild rice and corn dusted with the Fiesta Brand Fajita Seasoning.
First impressions: It had a more peppery flavor than expected, but it wasn’t spicy to me at all. It tasted more like salt and pepper to me than anything else, but I thought it complimented the flavor of the venison well.
Court agreed that it tasted more like salt and pepper to him, but that he also liked it better than our usual go-to seasoning.
Conclusions: The pepper flavor can come on a bit strong, so you wouldn’t need a lot of this rub for good flavor on the meat. It’s very simple, but sublime! This would probably compliment a lot of different types of meats, too.
Challenger #2: Meateater/Spiceology Hatchet Jack
We’ve been watching Meateater on Netflix for a couple of years now, and when the team released an entire line of different wild game seasonings and rubs, we had to get in on it! They have eight in their line so far, each geared towards different wild game.
The flavor profile was described as containing a shallot and vinegar blend, similar to a gastrique, as well as a shot of sweetness from mountain berries. You can learn more about this here.
Preparation: Court used a bit of tenderizer on the meat beforehand and then used a hefty sprinkling of the rub on each side (the texture was a little bit “chunky”). The steak was cooked on the Traeger using Signature Blend pellets until it was rare. We served it with wild rice and corn dusted with the Fiesta Brand Fajita Seasoning.
First impressions: The overall flavor is very earthy, herby, and just a little bit sweet. In fact, the flavor was strong enough that we could taste the transition from the earthy herbs to the sweet berry to a little bit of heat at the end. The flavor was much more subtle once the meat was cooked and very complimentary of the venison.
Court liked it, it was just a very unique flavor profile from what we’re used to. I enjoyed it, too, and I think it would’ve gone nicely with a sweeter red wine and maybe even a salad as a side. I liked the surprise of sweetness at the end.
Conclusions: This rub has a lot of complex flavors that leave a fresh, earthy kind of impression. We liked it and would definitely use it again; it was a nice change from our usual seasoning/rub.
Challenger #3: Meateater/Spiceology Gnome on the Range
This particular spice had a LOT of action on Steve Rinella and his associates’ instagram posts, so I was pretty excited to try it. And after the unique flavors in Hatchet Jack, we were ready for another Meateater blend!
The flavor profile is described as an umami blend with Porcini and Shiitake mushrooms as well as sweet and sour soy, tomato powders, and aleppo chile flakes. Learn more about it here.
Preparation: Court used a bit of tenderizer on the meat beforehand and then used a hefty sprinkling of the rub on each side (the texture is super fine!). The steak was cooked on the Traeger using Signature Blend pellets until it was rare. We served it with wild rice and corn on the cob.
First impressions: The flavor is, again, very earthy with a garlicky/oniony finish. Right when you think it’s going to be a mellow flavor, there’s a little zing at the end! Again, the flavor was more subtle once the meat was cooked, but I got more of the mushroom flavor than trying to seasoning alone. It doesn’t take much for good flavor.
Court was really impressed with this one and thought this one might be his favorite overall. I really enjoyed it because it was similar to flavors we already use a lot, but still just a little different.
Conclusions: These are some classic, earthy flavors that would taste good on just about any kind of meat, in my opinion. They would also be a great crowd pleaser if you have a group of people and want something that they would probably all enjoy. I’m looking forward to using this one more often!
So… What’s the verdict?
This post has been months in the making (on accident and on purpose!), and the results have been pretty interesting.
Initially after trying the three seasonings, we officially ranked them!
Meateater Gnome on the Range
Fiesta Brand Wild Game Rub
Meateater Hatchet Jack
A few months later, the one that we’ve been using the most might surprise you; Fiesta Brand Wild Game! There’s something to be said for something simple and comfortable, and this one in particular delivers. We like to break it up with the Meateater rubs now and then, but Fiesta Brand reigns supreme.
Do you have a particular rub or combination of spices that’s your go-to for wild game? Let me know, and we’ll try it next!
Henry David Thoreau once said that “it’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.” As someone who spent a lot of time in nature, I imagine he saw a lot of meaning in the natural world around him.
As I’m writing this, just over 12 hours since my grandpa passed away, I can’t help but reflect on the meanings I’ve found in nature since spending more time with her these past few years.
About 2 and half years ago, I got the call from my parents that my grandma had passed away. It was kind of sudden, though her health had been declining, and she was the first grandparent that had passed away in my life, so I was understandably upset. My husband and in-laws planned a day on the water the next day to help me get my mind off of things.
It started as soon as the sun started coming up, with the flash of a fin over the surface of the water or a playful pfffft of a dolphin’s blowhole. We saw a couple of them on the way to our first fishing spot, and it cautiously lifted my spirits.
All I had wanted since we moved here was to see dolphins in the wild, and everyone in the family had assured me they were pretty common out in the Laguna. We had certainly seen a handful in the two years we had lived in Corpus, but they were uncommon inshore.
Despite the salty air running through my hair and the sun gently warming my skin, I couldn’t help the sadness that seemed to creep in the moment I let my guard down. Suddenly, three or four dolphins started moving towards us, the sun glittering on their smooth backs as they surfaced. As cool as it is to be around them, they’re not great for fishing, so we packed up for the next stop.
Every time we moved, we saw entire pods of them playing and leaping inshore. They were on both sides of the Intercoastal Waterway chasing fish and sparkling in the sun. As it dawned on us just how many dolphins we were seeing, we finally found a spot clear of them to try to catch some fish.
Immediately, a bunch of seagulls swarmed our boat. If you haven’t fished with seagulls, all you need to know is that the only thing worse than them picking your bait right out of the water is actually hooking into one (done it before, not a good time!).
Just when we were ready to pack it up again, an enormous bird swept through the seagulls and started chasing them off. Its graceful wide wingspan dwarfed them in the air and it deftly sailed between them until finally, the sky was empty except for this one bird.
Female Frigatebird: image found at https://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Magnificent_Frigatebird/id
The bird lazily circled over us for about 30 minutes as we continued to fish and tried to determine what it could be. None of us had ever seen one in the Laguna before, this large, graceful black bird with a flash of white feathers on its head.
After some research, we determined it was a female frigatebird, a bird that’s typically found further south and on the high seas. They’re known to almost exclusively stay airborne and sail high above the water, gliding on the winds. For all the time that our family has spent in the Laguna, they had never seen one inshore, before.
Long after the bird had vanished back over the horizon, I felt a sense of peace, as though it were a sign telling me that everything was okay.
Fast forward to yesterday, as we spent our first day on the water since fall of last year. My grandpa had been in and out of the hospital, having good days and bad days, and we were just making the best of the situation. Just a couple of days ago, we had talked to my parents to find out that he had started eating and drinking water again, and he was even awake for some brief periods of time. That was around the time my mom and sister were able to go see him and spend time with him.
I was deeply focused on what I thought was a black drum toying with the shrimp under my popping cork around 9:45 in the morning, and my watch kept going off for text messages. As I started reeling in a strong swimmer, I forgot the notification entirely.
Once I got the fish in the boat, a nice 16-incher that would be perfect for dinner, the sun finally poked through the clouds. It had been a foggy, hazy morning long after sunrise, and we were grateful for some sunshine.
Pfffffft
I had bent over the side of the boat to rinse the slime off my hands and glanced around for the dolphin, but didn’t see anything. Thinking I was hearing things, I grabbed a shrimp and got back to work.
After about an hour, we determined that it was time to find a new spot and started idling away from the rock pile we had been fishing.
Suddenly there were dolphins everywhere, and entire pod of them! Splashing and leaping in the water, occasionally zipping through the waves after whatever fish hadn’t been hungry enough to bite our shrimp.
I hadn’t seen this many dolphins at once since my grandma had passed away. Court and I shared a look for a moment, and I kind of figured he was thinking it, too. That was when I reached for my phone, remembering a few messages that had come through, and my parents had texted to let me know that my grandpa was back in hospice, not eating or drinking, and deep asleep.
Despite the grave news, something in my heart still felt light, knowing that seeing the dolphins wasn’t a dark omen. It was as if they were there to tell me that everything would be okay.
Court and I talked about it once we got home, the significance of seeing the dolphins. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t bracing myself for a call that evening, but it never came.
I got the call the next morning, almost 24 hours later, that he had gone in his sleep, perfectly peaceful. Though I’m sad to have lost him, I feel like I just know that he’s finally well now, that he’s with my grandma and that they’re all okay.
To some people, they’re just dolphins. It’s just a frigatebird. The timing is a little bit extraordinary, but simply creatures doing their thing. That’s what they see.
I see the signs, though. Being closer to nature has brought me closer to my faith, and I know in my heart that it was a sign of comfort. We can all look at something and have a different interpretation of what it means. Seeing an unusual pod of dolphins in the middle of the Laguna will always bring me comfort, knowing that someone wants me to know that everything will be okay.
Pan-seared venison tenderloin (half) with scrambled eggs topped with salsa
I’ll never forget it; the day after harvesting my first deer, Court made me this meal with breakfast and it completely sealed the deal for me as a hunter. With our freezer restocked, we’ve really enjoyed this hearty, high-protein breakfast or brunch. Doesn’t hurt that it’s also super easy to make!
Check out the full recipe below! (Skip to the bottom for the recipe card)
Ingredients (1 serving):
Venison tenderloin (you can split one between 2 people or do 1 each!)
Seasoning/rub of choice (we love using Fiesta Brand Wild Game Rub, which you can get here)
2 eggs (we typically do 2 each) with seasoning of choice (we also love using Fiesta Brand Uncle Chris’ Gourmet Steak Seasoning, which you can get here)
Salsa (optional, but highly recommended!)
Steps:
Put butter in pan on high heat; generously apply seasoning/rub on the venison tenderloins
Sear the venison tenderloins until to the desired temperature (we always recommend rare to medium rare for venison!)
While those are cooking, prepare the scrambled eggs however you prefer; we like to whisk them up with seasoning and just a splash of milk before pouring into the pan to cook
Cook scrambled eggs on a separate pan until they are the desired consistency
Plate, top eggs with salsa (optional) and enjoy!
*Recommended extra sides: hashbrowns, fried potatoes, Spanish rice, or fajita vegetables.
And there you have it; a rustic breakfast meal simple enough for the ranch or the home!
Deer season delayed this post, but these are my ultimate hunting and fishing goals for this year! Now that I’ve been hunting and fishing for a few years, it’s time to really get serious. And there are a few things that I’ve been wanting to do that I am finally going to make happen.
#1: Harvest a turkey
After seeing turkeys on almost every hunt this year, I’m feeling inspired. It doesn’t hurt that Court makes a pretty amazing smoked turkey breast, too! Almost everything I’ve hunted has been a deer, so I’m ready to try something a little different. Plus, the upcoming spring turkey season in Texas means we won’t have to wait until fall to get back to hunting.
Left: the matrix turkeys from last fall! Fall: the delicious wild turkey breast we smoked for Thanksgiving!
#2: Harvest a deer with a bow
I thought archery was cool before Katniss Everdeen made it cool. Just to clarify. After this deer season, Court and I agreed it was time to get a crossbow. Some people look down on a crossbow, but it’s just like when people look down on using live bait for fishing. It’s a choice, and if it significantly (and legally) increases your chances at success, then why wouldn’t you give it a go?
Also, I said deer, but I meant doe. The first deer that I ever harvested was a doe, and I am so thankful I had the opportunity to worry more about shot placement than antlers for that first time. Archery is hard enough, and I would be thrilled to take a doe with a crossbow for the first time.
I will say that while I’ve had a compound bow for a few years now, I just haven’t made the time to get my draw weight and shooting distance where it needs to be. Which brings me to my next goal…
#3: Increase my Compound Bow Draw Weight to 45 pounds
I’m ready to actually make this happen. Archery takes a lot more practice to grow and maintain your skills, and I just haven’t made the time. I’m pretty deadly at 10 yards with about a 30-pound draw weight, but there’s still a lot of work to be done before I’ll be ready to safely take a shot at an animal. That being said, I’m going to make a conscious effort to be ready for 2022!
That little guy? …Don’t worry about that little guy…
#4: Land a Bull Redfish (Red Drum to non-Texas folks)
It’s the one that’s gotten away from me several times over the past few years. Every year, I manage to hook into a monster bull redfish. And every year, I get a little closer to landing one! Last year, he was just inches from getting dragged into the net, but he snagged on the prop and ended up breaking off. Not this year, though; I’m another year wiser on the water, and I’m determined to make it happen.
Court is the Bull Red King. We don’t keep them, but they’re a blast to fight! This is one of several he’s caught in the last few years.
#5: Learn how to use a bait caster
Speaking of fishing… My favorite live bait to fish with is croaker, and a bait caster makes for the best croaker soaker. Don’t get me wrong, I love my spinning reels (especially on windy days in the Laguna!), but the bait caster just allows for so much more finesse when finagling fish.
Unfortunately, it’s also super tough to cast. There’s a reason most anglers opt for a spinning reel. But as a more serious fisherwoman, I’m determined to master it. Living in South Texas gifts us with a long, warm season of fishing, and I’m always ready to get as much out of it as possible.
Now, YOU are going to hold me accountable!
Or, rather, this post will. But having great goals isn’t any fun without any accountability, right? Maybe? Either way, I’m excited to share my progress along the way! I’ve always been incredibly determined and goal-oriented at anything I do; hunting and fishing are no exception.
Even if I manage to fail at every single one of these goals, I’m grateful for the ability to try and all the extra time outdoors that will undoubtedly result from my efforts.
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.
He was a beauty, but not the one we were looking for. We enjoyed watching him for awhile.
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.
Gigantor gave us a lot of photo-ops while he hung around!
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.
Our target buck for Sunday morning, another 8-point beauty
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.
It’s difficult to see in this picture, but we were able to discern shapes really well. 10/10 would recommend!
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.
You can tell immediately by the thick body and dark coloring that our guys is the middle buck.
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.
This moment felt a little surreal after the challenges of the season, and I’m so thankful for it.
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!
It was so foggy that we could barely see this doe!
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.
They’re a little hard to see, but there are three jakes down by 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.
The pictures are blurry because we took them through the binos, trying to identify him. He sure wasn’t shy!
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!
Court and his deer! If you look closely at the brow tines, he’s different than the one above.
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.
The year 2020 certainly started off with a surprise in our household; Ginger! While we hadn’t planned on immediately adding another fur baby to our family, she has been the most perfect fit in every way.
It all started on Friday, January 3rd. I just gotten settled at my desk for work that day. Suddenly, my phone started going off like crazy with text messages. Different family emergency scenarios ran through my mind until I realized it was a deep discussion about three little puppies.
These three little puppies had been dropped off at a kill shelter in Robstown, and their euthanization date was this Friday in the late afternoon. My heart instantly broke, and I commented how cute they were, before trying to keep them out of my mind.
There she was with her sisters!
The trouble with loving and wanting to save all the dogs in the world is the horrible truth that we just can’t save them all on our own.
The text messages continued, so I checked again.
“We want to get two of them. But we can’t leave the third, so we won’t. If someone doesn’t take the third, then they’ll all die.”
UGH. Court texted me. “What do you think?”
I texted back; “I think I need to call you.” Court and I had agreed that Penny needed a sibling, and that maybe this summer would be a good time to find one and get them acclimated to a new home. I was teaching dance in the evenings at the time, and Court had several business trips coming up in the first half of the year, so it was not a good time to be adding a puppy to our family.
After some discussion, he said, “it’s up to you. I am okay with it if you want to get this dog.” (This is why she is my dog now whenever she misbehaves!)
A jolt of excitement beamed through my heart. This was really happening. I texted back in the group text, we would take the third one. There was a flurry of coordination and text messages as calls were made to save the dogs and my in-laws immediately set out to pick up the dogs.
I couldn’t contain my excitement through the rest of the day; I got permission to leave early from my boss and Court and I both met at home to go pick her up from the vet with her sisters. I had practically memorized all three of their little faces; their tawny fur, small white patches, little ears laid back. Three little triplets, all getting rescued at the same time.
They were only four months old, and I was excited at the prospect of having a small puppy for the first time in a long time. To this day, I wish we could’ve had Penny as a baby, so I was thrilled to raise this baby from a little tiny thing.
We arrived at the vet, told them we were here with our family, and they took us to the room. Court and I shared an excited look before opening the door. We both froze. These girls were almost as big as Penny, the smallest weighing in at 35 pounds and the largest weighing in at 37! And they were rib-showing skinny, with giant paws clumsily racing around the room like little hooligans.
After spending some time with the three of them, my in-laws had decided to keep the shyest and the wildest one together, so we would be taking the middle puppy. They handed us our puppy’s leash, and a little food for me to feed her from my hand. The sweet little girl immediately came up to me and smiled up at me with a wildly wagging tail. Even then, she was such a happy girl.
The vet tech handed us some paperwork and frowned. “Oops, looks like we need a name for her. What’s her name?”
Court and I stared at each other. We had managed to adopt a dog and hadn’t thought anything about a name. I pondered a name while petting her soft, gingery hair. My head snapped up; “how about Ginger?”
Court shrugged, “Sounds good to me!” Ginger. Our not-so-little baby had a name.
We brought Ginger home and prepared to introduce her to Penny. Penny had always been really good with other dogs, but you just never know what will happen. I had read countless articles about introducing dogs for the first time, and we were doing everything wrong. But it was almost 10:00pm, so we didn’t have time to be walking them in the pitch black and finding a neutral spot to introduce them.
The moment we set Ginger down, Penny immediately greeted her with a wagging tail and wiggly body. Ginger ran away, overwhelmed with being apart from her sisters for the first time in her life, being in a new place, and meeting a new dog for the first time.
Taking pictures was tough!
We gave them space, and they started to acclimate. Until Penny tried to play with her, and Ginger snapped back in fear. What have we done? I thought as I held Ginger while Court pulled Penny away. We had always decided that we would only get a new dog if it was right for Penny, because she was our first dog and this was her home. There was nothing to be done that night, so we put Ginger in her kennel and everyone slept on it.
With baited breath, we let Ginger out of her kennel that morning, Penny warily keeping her distance. The moment that door opened, Ginger went right up to Penny with a wagging tail and “good morning” kisses. We exchanged glances; maybe this was going to work after all! Throughout the day, the change in Ginger was clear. Penny showed her all around the house and the backyard, introduced her to all of their toys, and even taught her how to jump on the bed. After hours of playing and running around the house, they fell into a snuggly heap together on the couch.
They became the best of friends very quickly!
I’ve always felt that dogs know when they’ve been rescued, and though she was still a baby, Ginger definitely seemed to know that she was now in a loving home with parents and an adopted fur sister that would take care of her.
To this day, she remains one of the happiest dogs that I’ve ever met. Her eyes are bright, her tail constantly thumping on something, her mouth open in a smile. She was the last thing we wanted three days into the new year after the holidays, and yet she was everything our little family needed.
Let me start by saying that this hunting trip was far more successful than our first of the year! Spoiler alert; we didn’t bring home any ducks, but we brought home some new strategies for our next outing.
Backstory
Before last year, we had a friend that took us duck hunting all the time. He had a blind that he could easily access and was able to get in, get setup, and then leave easily. With him, we had managed to limit out almost every outing on redheads. Admittedly, we were pretty spoiled!
Well, our friend slowly stopped duck hunting, and the water was just shallow enough to keep the blind out of reach of our boat. We were back to square one.
My husband got to work using his knowledge of the Laguna Madre to narrow down some spots for scouting and eventually hunting. Without a permanent blind in all of these locations, he put his engineering skills to work designing and building a temporary portable blind.
Armed with a new strategy, a new blind, several dozen decoys, and a heron confidence booster, we prepared for the new duck hunting season.
Official Duck Hunting Take 2
We set out on a beautiful Saturday afternoon with all of our gear loaded into the boat. The ride down to our first spot was completely uneventful, and the sun shining on the glassy water seemed to be an omen of a great hunt.
The winter tide had dramatically pulled the water away from the shore for the lowest tide I’ve seen in our four years of living here. No problem, though, we were prepared to walk.
We pulled up to the island and got the boat settled before preparing to disembark. Somehow, I had managed to forget socks for my huge wading boots. No problem, I thought, my feet are pretty tough. Thank you, ballet! I grabbed our chairs and our shotguns before starting the trek through the water to the island.
At first, the muddy bottom wasn’t an issue as I carefully carried the gear through thigh-deep water. The closer I got to shore, the more the mud pulled at my boots, as if trying to drag me under.
We hit the shore and glanced back. The boat seemed so far away, and the thought of lugging the gear back made both of us groan. No problem, though; Court went back to move the boat closer and I started making trips across the island with our gear.
It was around this time that I remembered I had forgotten my socks as the giant boots started rubbing my heels raw. I grit my teeth through the pain and kept on dragging the gear to our chosen spot.
Two thousand steps later (not that I was counting), all that remained were the decoys. With a deep breath, I clipped them to my waders and started wading back out into the water. The decoys dug into the muddy water and resisted being moved; I dug my feet into the mud and pressed on with all my might.
At this point, Court had gotten the temporary blind installed and was walking towards me. I was just resuming my haul after a short break when the mud sucked my boots down deep and I toppled over with a splash!
There I was, covered in mud, attached to two dozen muddy plastic redhead decoys, and I just busted out laughing. Court had caught up to me and laughed after removing the decoys from my belt and started dragging them himself. By the time I got up and trudged across the island, carefully avoiding any contact between my boots and blisters, Court was tossing out decoys.
Our portable duck blind on the edge of the water
Suddenly, the air grew frenzied with activity as a large group of redheads swirled low over the water. It was at that point that we realized our shotguns were still unloaded in their bags a few yards away from the blind. We quickly finished getting set up and hid.
Boats passed through the water and disturbed large rafts of readheads. Shots rang out all across the pass as they continued their path, but none of them dropped to the water. We peeked over our sagging blind for more ducks while taking notes for our next hunt.
A quiet calm settled over the pass around 5:00pm. The skies and the water were empty. We kept our eyes to the skies when a strange sound rumbled over the pass, similar to the sound of a jet engine roaring overhead. Suddenly, right across from us, a swirling cloud of redheads lifted off the water, the beats of thousands of wings filling the air. We watched in awe as the cloud shifted and circled in the air above the water before groups started dispersing.
Shotguns fired in every direction from every direction as the giant raft slowly fanned out over the Laguna. It was all we could do to pick one or two that might be close enough as they flew towards us.
When the last duck had vanished over the horizon, we turned to each other in wide-eyed amazement. We may not have brought down any birds, but that experience made the rest of the hunt worth it.
The sun hung low in the sky, so we packed things up for the day. Though we returned empty handed, we brought back lessons to help us on the next hunt:
Some modifications to our blind will make it work much better!
There’s not much you can do about a low tide, so you’ve got to adapt quickly.
A little extra time to set up and guns ready near the blind will help us get started hunting faster.
The boat can definitely get closer to shore than we thought.
We should’ve brought the Yeti buckets instead of the folding chairs.
Socks with wading boots are non-negotiable. (Photo evidence of blisters below. Not fun.)
Duck hunting on public land is tough. There are a lot of different factors that can quickly disturb your hunt. At the end of the day, though, it’s all about the experience; the experience of seeing ten thousand ducks take flight at once. Of laughing off a rocky start in the duck blind with a loved one. Of the rainbow sunset reflected on the water as you pack up for the day.
Every hunt, we learn a little bit more, and we are thrilled to go out again, soon.
There are few things that make me jump out of bed before the sun rises; duck hunting is one of those things. My duck hunting experience is still a little bit limited, but it’s always an adventure when we get to go.
Court spent hours over the span of a few weeks planning out places to go in our temporary blind and scouting out abandoned blinds in the Laguna. All of that hard work had lead up to this weekend. Specifically, this morning.
We loaded up the decoys, waders, chairs, blind, and shotguns that morning and rushed out to the island to pick up the boat. The clear, crisp air promised an exciting morning on the water.
Redhead decoys ready to go!
As headed to the marina, a thick blanket of fog started sneaking up from the South, exactly where we had chosen to hunt. Not to worry, though, we had safely navigated fog during previous fishing trips, and the sunrise was usually enough to clear the air.
The fog bank arrived just as we had backed the boat into the water, quickly surrounding the marina. Seven guide boats that would normally be tearing out of the marina sat in the slips, the guides sitting with creased brows and crossed arms as the weather moved in. We lit up the boat with large lights and idled out of the docks.
Up on plane, the fog pressed in even closer. The cold air bit at my skin and ripped through my thick hunting clothes. Water droplets coated us and the boat in a chilly, moist sheen as the fog thickened around us.
Visibility declined dramatically to less than 100 feet, and we finally pulled off to the side of the Intercoastal Waterway. While we waited, boats full of duck hunters and anglers flew past us at full speed despite the dangerous lack of visibility.
The fog got worse as the sun started to come up; it wasn’t looking good.
We were nearly halfway to the blind, and conditions were dramatically deteriorating. It was at this point that we needed to make a decision.
We could press on to the blind, hugging the shoreline to stay out of the way of other boats. Luckily, we had been fishing near this spot many times, so we had a lot of tracks on the GPS to guide us there. Once we got there, we could wait out the fog, hunt, and then come home.
BUT.
We were only halfway there, and the conditions only seemed to deteriorate as we went further South. IF we made it there safely, there was no telling how long it would take for the fog to move out, and there wouldn’t be any ducks flying until it cleared up anyway. And if it didn’t clear up, we would have to navigate it all the way back to the marina in the same or worse conditions.
This moment is when we need to remember that nature can be as dangerous as it is beautiful, and it’s important to always put safety first. No wild game is worth not coming home.
There was only one logical choice. Feeling disappointed, we slowly idled back to the marina and loaded up to go home. As if to validate our decision, we returned to see that the same seven guides still hadn’t left for their guided trips.
We could barely see the restaurant from the water that’s normally visible long before we come up to the docks.
Being on the water offers a multitude of sights and generous bounty for those that are brave enough to ride her waves. But we cannot forget to respect her power, too; a little bit of wind or a dense fog can turn a duck hunting dream into a tragic nightmare. We were disappointed to miss a day on the water, but we made the right choice and will be ready to hunt another day.
Let me tell you about dolphinfish. Well, you may know them better as that sweet, mild-flavored and flaky Mahi-mahi served all kinds of ways at your favorite seafood restaurant.
They run around the surface of the deep ocean in large, brightly colored schools. You’ll often see them breeching out of the water chasing flying fish. That is, if you can make it out 40 miles from shore to actually see them.
Ever since we moved to the Coastal Bend and started saltwater fishing, the dolphinfish has been my dream fish. All I’ve wanted was those bright yellow, lime green, and royal blue scales on my wall. And that mahi-mahi on my plate!
On August 17th of 2020, I FINALLY caught it. We braved the waves 40 miles out and caught a 34-inch dolphinfish on the first cast. I’ll never forget what it felt like to see that color-changing beauty on the boat.
There it is, my dream fish!
Now, dolphinfish are known to grow about 25 inches to 60 inches long, so mine was admittedly on the smaller end. Nevertheless, when my husband asked me if I wanted a replica made for the wall, I was all over it!
A few weeks later, the replica arrived and was lovingly hung with our other trophies on the wall.
I excitedly showed some of my fishing friends, and they wrinkled their nose at it.
“That’s kind of small, isn’t it?”
“You should’ve mounted a bigger one…”
“Oh, you can catch bigger ones than that!”
I’ll admit it; I was a little bit crushed to hear that response. I had waited four years for an opportunity to catch a dolphinfish! For just a moment, my prized mahi-mahi felt a little bit inadequate.
But my husband, a long time fisherman and outdoorsman, reminded me that the trophy is all about what it means to you. The trophy isn’t about the size, score, weight, etc. of an animal; it’s about the experience, and getting to remember that moment of triumph every time you look at it.
The same goes for any moment of success in life. What you feel is a major accomplishment could seem marginal to someone else, and vice versa. At the end of the day, all that matters is your sense of accomplishment, and no one should be able to take that away from you.
So slap that 34-inch dolphinfish up on your wall and be PROUD! And someday, when you have a 50-incher to go with it, you’ll get to be proud of both!
Jess and the Outdoors 