They say in hunting that a trophy is what you make it. A trophy to you could be a 180 inch monster; to someone else, it could be a little 80 incher. I don’t have many antlers on the wall just yet, but there is one rack that I’m particularly proud of.
He’s a freakish little 8-pointer, one side exactly what you would expect from a South Texas buck and the other… well, a little bit different. And that’s probably why he was the perfect fit for me in the end.
But I’ll get to that in a minute.
My husband’s grandfather has a beautiful hunting ranch in Goliad, TX where the family has been hunting and enjoying the quiet countryside for nearly 15 years. My husband and his cousins practically grew up helping his grandfather build the cabin, deer stands, sheds, gardens, and pergola. Every slat of wood in those structures holds memories of hunts, ranch work, and evenings spent under the stars.
As you walk into the yellow cabin with antlers gracing the doorway, you immediately enter a cozy common room. To the left is a table and chairs where every hearty ranch breakfast and gourmet dinner is served. Beyond that is a small kitchenette where countless venison steak dinners have been prepared and countless drams of whiskey have been poured. Overhead, an antler chandelier lights up the cozy room.
And on the walls, each hunter has their first Goliad buck skull mounted and displayed. Each plaque dates the year and location of the harvest. Three generations of Hill hunters are represented on those walls. It’s a veritable rite of passage for any family member that hunts those manicured Senderos.
After two unsuccessful years, it was my first opportunity to harvest a buck in Goliad in 2019, and I was beyond excited. When I was able to harvest a buck, I would not only get to join the ranks of a family tradition, but I would also be the first woman in the family with a deer on the wall.
After assessing the camera cards to decide where to hunt, we chose the Green Stand. We watched the sun rise over the Sendero, our breath clouding in the chill air. My .270 was ready, and I constantly scanned the dark trees for any movement.
As if he were an extension of the shadows himself, a buck silently snuck out of the trees. He warily investigated the corn at the feeder, ears twitching in all directions. Being in an antler restricted county, we had to be very careful before taking any shots. Court studied the deer through his binoculars while I attempted to steady my frantic breath and heartbeat.
Suddenly, the buck lifted his head and turned to face us, giving us a perfect view of his antlers. His left side had four lovely, symmetrical points reaching straight up to the sky. On his right side, though, an enormous crab claw opened as if to pinch the chilly morning air. It was the most unusual 6-pointer I had ever seen.
But more importantly, the inside spread between his antlers just reached outside the ears.
I put a hand to my chest, focusing on steadying my breath. Court’s eyes met mine, and he nodded. This deer was legal.
I inhaled deeply through my nose as I raised the rifle to rest on the windowsill. Exhaled long and slow as I settled the rifle against my right cheek, the stock chilling my skin in the cool air. I honed in on the small spot behind his shoulder as he stood broadside and tried not to think about his antlers.
He paused, his regal head lazily gazing around as he chewed corn. I let the breath slowly escape my lungs until there was nothing left. In one slow movement, I pulled the trigger.
My ears rang from the sound of the rifle going off, and it took me a moment to realize I was staring through my scope at empty grass. The familiar rush of adrenaline coursed through me again, and there was no controlling my excited breath and shaking hands.
I looked at Court with a wide-eyed smile; his face mirrored mine, triumphant and proud. There were no words, so we just gave each other a gloved high five.
After a few minutes, we quietly climbed out of the deer stand and walked to where the buck had stood. The blood trail was fresh and strong. We followed it through thick brush, ducking under low mesquite branches and dodging thorn bushes. I didn’t feel anything but my heartbeat as we tracked a little further into the woods.
And suddenly, there he was, my Goliad buck. I walked up to his graceful body, complete with unusual antlers. On the end of his non-typical side, he had a tiny crab-claw, and where his G-2 should’ve been was a tiny kicker pointing behind his head. My 6-pointer was actually a freakish little 8-pointer.
I had waited for him for three years. He’s not the largest buck I had ever harvested, and he’s certainly not the largest deer on the walls in the cabin at Goliad. But he’s mine, and I’m so proud of everything he stands for.
Anyone who walks in will see that unusual right antler and immediately step closer to examine my Kicker. And when they do, they’ll see that it was my contribution to the Hill family tradition, and hopefully the first of many women in the family to add a rack to the wall.
Jess and the Outdoors 