Face to face...the winner was Chase!

Hog Showdown
by Chase Lambin

Here in Texas, hogs have completely exploded to the point that they are a costly nuisance to land owners. They multiply like rats and root up the land like a tiller, causing millions of dollars in damages. Extreme tactics have been employed to control the hog epidemic. Trapping, snaring, shooting, darting, and even killing them by the dozens out of helicopters! (Which I have done, and let me tell you, it is the more fun then you could ever imagine. But that’s a different story.)

The good news is, this environment leads to a great opportunity for hunters to have a year round target that is both ample and exciting to hunt. However, with the slightest amount of pressure, hogs tend to become nocturnal, making it extremely difficult to harvest these animals in the daylight hours. Unless you have a helicopter, the best way to get at these pigs is with dogs.

I’ve had the opportunity to do this type of hunting with one of my closest friends, Steven Wilson. I call him “Sty-ven”, because that’s how he pronounces his name. He is stone cold country. He was raised with a gun in one hand and a

can of Skoal in the other. Styven is simple as simple can be. He runs cattle and breaks horses for a living and believes happiness is:

1. having enough money to fill his gas tank
2. a full belly
3. hunting as much as possible.

He is tough as nails and stronger then a truck load of onions. My buddy is a real life cowboy who loves nothing more than to kill hogs. He has killed hundreds of pigs throughout his life and has been kind enough to take me on a couple of these hunts. This hunt though, was one to remember.

Usually, two types of dogs are used to hunt pigs. The “bay” dogs (usually hounds, Curs, and other strong nosed dogs) are released to run randomly thru the brush sifting thru dozens of scents to find the one hot trail leading to nearby pigs. A good dog is able to smell the strong scent of the pigs, tracking them into the brush and rustling them up out of there daytime bedding areas. The bay dogs are trained not to chase anything but pigs, and they are not to bark unless they are on a hot trail or have a hog “bayed” or stopped. The “catch” dogs (the muscle of the operation usually consist of pit bulls with cinder blocks for heads) stay on the truck and wait for the other dogs to bay a pig. The dogs will bark at the bayed pig, signaling the hunters to release the catch dogs to rush into the brush, holding the pig until the hunters can come in to dispose of the animal. This is when all hell breaks loose as the dogs lunge at the pig while it violently thrashes his head back and forth, using razor sharp tusks to gore whatever comes into his personal space. (A boars’ tusks can grow up to six inches long!) It’s not normal for a dog to put himself into danger, but these catch dogs are bred to have heart and they don’t back down! They tear into the pig with reckless abandon, clamping onto its ears and neck with their powerful locking jaws. While the hog is distracted by the dogs, the bravest hunter barges in and grabs one of the hind legs of the pig, rendering him immobile. Once the back legs have been secured, the second bravest hunter charges in with the pig poker, (whatever sharp object the hunter chooses) jabbing it into the hog’s heart right behind his front shoulder. The third bravest hunter (me) stands a safe distance away and films.

My original plan to hunt with Styven included using five to seven bay dogs and one or two catch dogs (this is how we have done it in years past), but his dogs had been torn up the weekend before by a large boar, leaving them too injured for our hunt. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit disappointed, but Styven, in his most comforting southern drawl says,

“We’ll be alriiight, I have one good dog that has sum hunt in ‘em, don’t you worry, we’ll git’er dun.” We weren’t going to be using the full operation like we had in the past, but I was still extremely psyched.

The next day we head out with his trusty Blue Lacy walking a creek bottom that he knows to have a lot of pigs. I am packing an open sight Winchester lever action 30-30 and he is packing an H&K .40 handgun. Wind at our face we walk slowly thru the bottom, listening and looking for pigs. About 15 minutes in I am starting to lose faith, wishing we had the more experienced dogs from years past. Just about that time I hear branches breaking and a pack of hogs bust out of the thick brush.

“Throw lead!!” Styven yells, as I snap off a shot and take off running following the dog and pigs. The pigs jump the creek and are running across the side of the ridge about 50 yards away. I snap off another shot, realizing I need to get much closer.

Holding the gun like a baton, my head tucked down, I start running full speed guided by the dogs bellow. I picture myself looking like the guy from Last of the Mohicans (I play professional baseball for a living, so I consider myself a pretty good athlete). I am floating over rocks and shrubs without even realizing how I am doing it. Unconsciously I hop the creek, and hurdle multiple shrubs. My athleticism mixed with a Texas sized rush of adrenaline allowed for some serious ground coverage.

Thinking aside, I don’t recall if I was looking at my feet, or straight ahead, but I do remember wondering why I was alone. Where the heck is Styven? I continue trucking as the sounds of the barks get closer. I see the dog stopped, which means the pig must be bayed. Most hogs run for the hills, but usually the biggest, meanest and most dominant boar will turn around and fight, protecting his pack to the death. Since we didn’t have a full bevy of hunters and dogs, it made this hunt much more dangerous. The pig usually has six or seven dogs to distract him, but this time, it was just me, the dog, and the boar. Yikes.

I fly around the corner of some sage brush and posted up with his fur on end, is a 200 pound boar staring straight at me. The beast is slamming his tusks together, warning me and the Blue Lacy to back off. If you have never heard a boar gnash his teeth, it sounds like two knives being slammed together. It will definitely make the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

I freeze and we have a two or three second stare-down. The pig and I are in an old fashion showdown, I could almost hear the theme song from The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly (I think I saw a tumble weed roll by to my left). Giving my best Clint Eastwood squint, I make the first move, cocking the hammer on my 30-30. Just as I do the pig lowers his head, lunges forward, and makes a last ditch effort to win this battle. I stand my ground, shoulder my Winchester, and aim right between his black beady eyes. I don’t recall the gun even going off, all I remember is the pig coming to a skidding halt ten yards in front of me.

The next few seconds are a blur of squeals, barks, and Styven yelling from the bottom of the ravine. Styven stumbles up to me, trying to catch his breath, obviously winded.

“Gaw-dang, yer TIN times tha athlete I am. Y’went down that ridge like a dang billy goat.”

He had tripped over a stump and rolled down half the hill, only to regroup and trip again. His hands and knees were covered in blood! I say between panting breaths,

“Good thing— I didn’t –need –backup.”

With a laugh Styven says,

“Heck, you din need me, you got’er dun.”

Yes we did. One pig down, 2,000,000 to go.

This article was submitted to us by AAE member Chase Lambin of the Minnesota Twins.  Thank you, Chase and well done! If you need help the other 2 million, just let us know!

Jackson's 22-pt Fallow Buck

When we arrived at Porter’s Exotics on Dec 17th, we were met by CP Wade and Mr & Mrs Porter. CP showed us where we’d be staying and we unloaded our things.  He took me & my mom for a quick tour of the ranch.  We kinda got to know each other as we stopped by the bait tank to pickup a little bait, then off to do some cat fishing.  I caught a nice big catfish.  After fishing, we went back to the bunkhouse and waited for Rusty & “Robdawg”. Once they got there we all talked and got ready for dinner.

Mr. & Mrs. Porter took us all out for an amazing steak dinner.  I got to ride with all the guys and my mom drove Mrs. Porter there and back.  Once our dinner settled we went varmint hunting.  That was so much fun.  I shot a raccoon and a skunk.  When we got back, my mom let me hang out with all the guys while she read a book.  I had so much fun as we told jokes and talked about hunting.

We got up early Saturday morning and drove into town and had breakfast at the store.  Rusty really had us laughing there.  Afterwards, we went back to the ranch.  We were going to hunt the afternoon, but the plan changed and we went ahead and hunted right then…

They dropped us off and went and fed. We talked about gun safety and what was expected of me before heading into the blind.  At first I was super nervous that I wouldn’t be able to do what Rusty expected of me, but once I got up there and Rusty  talked to me, I was fine.  We weren’t in the blind long when the fallow started coming in.   Soon I saw him walk out.  He was so beautiful. Rusty said for me to get my gun up.  I could hear every beat my heart was taking.  I got my gun up and out the window and the crosshairs were on him. I took it off safety and I shot, hitting him right behind the shoulder, but he didn’t go down right away.  I had to shot a 2nd time.  This time he was down for sure.  I could hardly stand on my own two feet when Rusty was congratulating me.  My heart was pounding and I could feel the pride in my chest about to explode!  I couldn’t wait to see the smile on my mom’s face!  I can’t explain the feeling I had when I put my hands on the horns.  I was just amazed that I had just shot a 22 pt white fallow deer!

Thank you Mr. & Mrs. Porter for everything, CP for being like a big brother (you’re awesome), and Rusty Baker for being my guide in helping me bag such a beautiful animal.  Thank you everyone for an experience of a lifetime that will never be forgotten, but most of all thank you mom, you really are the best!

Jackson Hewitt
11 yrs old

An addax was near the top of W.S. Allen's "buck-et list"

If asked, I’d tell everyone to make a list to hunt with. I do.  The list insures I don’t  forget anything.  The list makes  everything easier when finding what you need and a host of other reasons, all  true.  However, the real reason is  so that I can day dream about the things on the  list. Every hunter has a “list,” either in his head, written down on a  scrap piece of paper, as wall paper on his computer, or in any one of a hundred other places of animals they would like to harvest and mount.  The “list” that we day dream about every  time we see it.  The animals on the  “list” we cherish and covet above all others.

The “list” includes any animal that produces that primal need deep within our souls and is usually prefaced by Pope and Young or Muy Grande.  Whatever the animal might be, we need to  see it, hunt it, harvest it, admire it, smile at it, and hang it in a place of  honor.

Another wonderful thing about the “list” is that we get to cross  off animals as we place them, with admiration and satisfaction, on the walls of  our dens, living rooms, and offices.

I’d ventured to south Texas to scratch the Addax, an antelope from Saharan Africa, off my “list.”  I was  hunting on Mike Kissle’s, a good friend’s 3,000 acre ranch.  The majestic Addax is very close to the  top of my “list”.  In its native  land, there are only about 500 Addax in the wild.  The
Addax is just another example, among  many, of a species that wouldn’t have
survived without the  hunter/conservationist.  Addax  antelope, axis deer,
blackbuck antelope, nilgai antelope to name just a few  that would have gone
extinct, had it not been for hunters and ranchers.

We’ve done the same thing with many American species; the American  bison,
whopping crane, whitetail deer, and the turkey.

All of the hunters I know are conservationist.  When we age a deer and only
take old  deer we ensure the population is strong and it has the best
genetics.  Only taking ethical shots and using a  tag to cull inferior animals.
I do  realize that I’m preaching to the choir.

Mike was serving as guide and outfitter on this hunt so I knew we  would
have a good time.  Mike’s the  kind of guy that if you don’t watch him every
minute you’ll find a mountain lion  in your nap sack or any number of other
just as unpleasant things where you  least expect or need them.  I can
testify first hand that it’s very difficult to watch the trail and keep an eye
on him at the same time.

Mike and I left the ranch house at about 6:45 that morning.  We drove his
mule to a high point on the  ranch, as he stopped he motioned for me to be
quiet.

The sun was inching up over the lime stone knolls to the  east.  It seemed
to take a great  effort for the sun to pop over the small hills.  The red of
the orb changed and deepened  when it finally got over the morning’s first
obstacle. The deep green prairie  grass along with a bevy of wild flowers in
blues, yellows, and reds waited  patiently for the sun’s entrance to bring
with it the warmth that brought  everything to life. The small oaks and
mesquite trees weren’t as patient, they  began to move as if trying to decide
which way to bend and stretch.

As if on cue the cool breeze, not to be out done by the sun’s  appearance,
moved silently down the ravines and alongside every mound, hill, and  tree
to meet the sun at the top of the knoll.

The sun’s rays slowly enlightened our eyes to the wonders of the  small
valley in front of us as the breeze softly stroked every part of our skin  not
covered.

At first we didn’t notice the small group of Addax, black buck,  and white
tail deer milling around a feeder as if the maitre d’ was late for  work.
As would a group of synchronized swimmers, Mike’s hand and mine  located
our binoculars at the same time.  We slowly brought them up to our eyes  that
patiently waited for a close up look at these magnificent animals.  Mike
closely scrutinized the feeder for  an Addax buck he had seen just a day
before.

When satisfied the buck wasn’t there he turned to me and said,
“He’s not there, why don’t you sit here and I’ll do some scouting  on
foot?  I’ll move to the knoll  over to the right, if I see him I’ll wave and
you can come  over.”

“OK”, I said.

My attention was torn between Mike moving to a small hill to my  right and
the festivities at the feeder some 400 yards in front of me.

It took Mike fifteen minutes to go the 600 or so yards to the  hill.  Every
so often he would turn  and look back at me and then move another few
yards.

I would watch the feeder for a minute or so then I would look over  at
Mike.  I still had my binoculars  to my eyes watching the feeder and day
dreaming about a world class Addax when I  turned my attention back to Mike for a
second.

The look on his face told me something was up.  I was about to go find out
what was  going on when I heard a rock rolling down hill to my left.
Instinctively, I froze.  Then at the speed of an asthmatic snail  I turned to my
left.

I was about to have an up close and personal encounter with a big  Addax
buck but I didn’t have any horns.  The buck was within fifty yards of me.  He
apparently didn’t see me as any kind  of threat and kept moving slowly
toward the feeder.  The wind was in my favor so he didn’t  smell human or this
buck would still be running.  He kept moving and finally he was far  enough in
front of me so I could take my first breath in what felt like 30  minutes.

Mike waited until the buck was well down the hill and cut the time  by a
third getting back to the mule and me.   When he got back, he got in and  asked,
“Did you see him?”

My mother used to punish me for giving the kind of answer I gave  Mike.
“See what?”

Mike followed in my mother’s footsteps.
“That’s the buck,”  Mike told me.

I was hoping he was the one.  He had all I wanted good mass and long
horns.  Guessing he had 35-38 inch  horns.   “Let him get to the feeder and
we’ll slip down behind that little  hill to the left and get a little closer,”
Mike stated.

“Can you shoot two hundred yards?  We’ll be about that far away if we use
the hill for cover.”

I assured him I could shoot the yardage.  I told myself if I can get a good
rest  that is.

We got out of the mule and made our way to the small hill to the  left that
would block the view to the feeder.  We moved slowly but steadily, Mike
leading me through every cactus, thorn bush and sticker that made its home
around the bottom of the hill until we came out on the other side about 180
yards from my Addax.

Mike learned over and whispered,  “Take him.  He’s about  180 yards with the
cross wind.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice.  I placed my rifle on the shooting sticks
I’d managed to bring along.  I took  a deep breath and then another as the
cross hairs of my scope became  stationary.  I squeezed the tiger  until the
rifle bolted in my hands.  The movement of the rifle and its report
startled me as it always  does.  Almost before I was able to return the rifle
to its original  position, Mike was slapping me on the back and  saying,
“Great shot, nice goat.”

Why do we call antelopes, goats?  I never understood that but when in
Rome…

I’ve learned over the years, that a great shot precludes you from  seeing
your quarry fall to the ground.  You may not see the initial result of a
great ethical shot but your heart  feels it.

We sat there for a few minutes while Mike talked and I shook.  When he was
out of words and I was out  of shock we all but ran to see my “list”
dweller.  He is a wonderful representative of the  species.   He now hangs in
a place of reverence in my office, a place of  honor that delights my heart and
soul every time I look up.   My list is now shorter but my heart is so much richer.

Thank you to W.S. for sharing this great experience and story with AAE.  If you have
an exotic article or hunting story that you would like to share, please feel free to send
it to our staff at AllAboutExotics@gmail.com.

“Hindsite is More Than 20/20“

Terry Richey and brother Travis w/ Terry's mgmt red stag from Hindsite Hunting Preserve

by Terry Richey

It was before sun up on Sunday morning, while almost everyone else was snuggled up in their nice warm beds dreaming of monster bucks.  My brother Travis and I were finishing loading up the truck to head up North to Newport, Maine for a 3 day hunt at Hindsite Hunting Preserve with outfitter Mark Rocky Luce. We learned a few important lessons on this trip. First off, when a moose and a police cruiser meet on Route 95 there is no winner.  The cow moose had expired on the side of the road and the cruiser…well, lets just say it was NOT gonna be chasing anymore early morning speeders on that day. The officer walked away without so much as a coffee stain on his uniform, so that was a good thing.   We also learned that it’s an hour longer drive to get to a destination located right off Route 95 by, in fact, taking Route 95 the whole way, than if you actually get off on a myriad of other connector roads, bypasses and toll roads, to get where you are going.  Who knew?? Garmin, in fact knew, but I didn’t believe it and stayed on Route 95 the whole way.

The drive, however, was a beautiful one through New England this time of year.  The trees were starting to show some of their fall glory, splashes of brilliant red, purple and gold everywhere.   The coastal waterways with boats of every size and shape framed against the rising sun starting to awaken along the way, makes you appreciate the spectacular hand of God!

Arriving at exit 62 we were met by a tall thin gentleman with a quick wit and a firm handshake, whom I recognized right away (thanks to Facebook) as Mark Luce.  After a few introductions and welcomes we headed over to his preserve to begin the process of sighting in our weapons of choice. I had chosen to bring along a Marlin 336, 30/30 lever-action rifle that had belonged to my father.  I saw it as my way of bringing Dad along on the trip with us.  Well, dad must have missed the smell of gun powder because after firing the first two rounds and not hitting paper we finally had to move up to 25 yards and start at the beginning.  A couple of shots later and we were back out to 50 yards and back on paper. A few shots later and questions began to appear, literally.  After a total of about 9 shots I had an almost perfect question mark (?) on the target, every shot touching the last moving downward and over towards the 10 ring. Next up, Travis fired a few rounds from his TC Omega and his bow and we headed for our accommodations.

Christie’s Campgrounds, on Sebasticook Lake in Newport, is not 5 minutes from Mark’s place.  The cabin was meticulously clean, well equipped, and very cozy.  All of the amenities of home without the TV (lol), but with a spectacular lake view.  Bruce (owner/operator of Christie’s) is a great guy and a gracious host.  It’s a great place to go just to unwind, even if you’re not hunting. The best dining in the area is definitely at the Angler’s Inn, right across the road from Christie’s.  Great food at reasonable prices.  I mean look at my pic…one thing I know is food!!

The next morning broke clear and cold with a slight breeze outta the northwest.  After watching the sunrise from the front window of the cabin while sipping coffee, we began to hear waterfowl being called into the bog across the lake, followed by the familiar sound of shotguns. Someone was having a good morning besides us.

We met up with Mark and his guide, Ton Holt,  at the preserve.  After a few introductions and a short talk about what to expect and where we would be set up it was time to go. The morning set was fantastic.  A little chilly, even for an old meat man, but all the animals we saw and beautiful surroundings made it all worth the chill.  By the way, if you wear a turtleneck undershirt like I do,  it makes a great impromptu balaclava.  My ears were cold!  We sat on stand, Travis in a 15 ft “buddy stand” and me,  about 20 yards away filming him from a tripod stand.  For about 4 hours we saw a lot of game, but not the kind that Travis was looking to harvest for his freezer, so we decided to do a little spot and stalk. We spotted a few hinds working their way down a cut road and set up in the woods about 25 yds off the road and waited. Finally, a hind worked her way broadside and Travis drilled her. At first he thought the shot might have been a little low, but after recovering the hind (thanks Mark and Tom), we discovered it was a good lung shot after all. Don’t tell Travis I finally admitted that. I rode him hard the whole trip about his bad shooting…after all, isn’t that what big brothers are for!?

Mark came in with a four wheeler and a sled and drug the hind up to his game pole to start skinning and gutting so she would cool down enough for us to work with the next morning. We decided to take a short lunch and head back to the cabin to recharge the camcorder batteries and grab our jackets.  Then it was right back after it!

The afternoon hunt was a box blind set in a small clear cut area, fully equipped with swivel seats and a heater. Where the heck was that his morning when we didn’t have jackets?! I was now looking for a management stag, more freezer meat, and a European head mount all rolled into one. I didn’t have to wait long.  Half an hour into our hunt, we looked out to the east and saw a big trophy stag step out of the cover and start  browsing. To his left was another stag who had a huge body, from what we could see. We assumed that it was another trophy stag being a little more wary than his friend in the clear cut. Fifteen minutes later, he finally stepped out. After counting and recounting…and then counting some more, we determined he was my shooter. At the same time we decided to take him he decided to feed directly at us, showing nothing but head and horns. Since I wanted to euro-mount him, a big ol’ hole in the skull was not really an option. Finally, he must have caught a little movement in the stand, he bolted a little, turned broadside to run, then hesitated. As the old saying goes “he who hesitates is dead”. I fired with Dad’s 30/30. The stag ran 20 yards and piled up. What a magnificent animal he turned out to be. Only 9 points, he had broken off part of his crown, but will still make a great mount and provide plenty of table fair. To say that I was happy would be the understatement of the year! Again, we called Mark and he brought in the four wheeler and started back to do the real work while we stayed to play a little longer.

Travis had originally wanted a management stag and a hind, but after seeing some incredible animals,  it was back to the box blind to find a fallow buck. This time he decided that the TC OMEGA would be  doing the honors. We sat for a few hours watching some great fallow come and go, a few tinkling tines in preparation for the rut. One buck was busy marking his territory, making a scrape and sparring with a birch sapling. Travis finally saw the fallow he had hoped for. A great 19 point buck.  He didn’t sport the biggest paddles in the world, but he had unusual cuts in both that made him unique, with plenty of character. We watched this buck for a good half hour,  feeding and pushing some of the lesser bucks around, we then decided it was time to take him. Travis leveled the TC and let it bark, only to have the buck walk a few yards and look back at us like he was thumbing his nose. Quickly, he reloaded and let him have it again..and again the buck reared up a little, wandered a few steps and looked at us like he was confused about the noise. Not wanting the animal to suffer we fired a shot from dads 30/30 and that put him down hard. After skinning him we found that both shots from the TC were double lung. The buck just didn’t know enough to lay down. He was quite literally dead on his feet.

The next day we spent at Mark’s ranch cutting and packaging the animals for the freezer (yes we brought a freezer in the back of the truck…we are true rednecks) and talking hunting, fishing and general BS with Mark. I can honestly say we all had a great time, and I can’t wait to save the money to go back and get one of the trophy fallows of my own!

By the way after tasting both the fallow and the stag, both are “fan-freaking-tastic”, tender and flavorful. I now have a freezer full…as does my brother!!!

Good Hunting Yall !!!!

T

For more information on hunting red stag and fallow deer with Mark Luce at The Hindsite Hunt Preserve, visit their AAE Outfitter page.

One Wounded Warrior’s Hunt Of a Lifetime
by SFC Ronnie Gullion

Wounded Warriors Project w/ the vets from the 101st Airborne, Fort Campbell, KY

I met Jimmy “the Mullet” and his business partner Mikey during a Wounded Warrior hunt at Smart Ranch Exotics in Texas.  They asked me to choose one of the well-deserving heroes hunting with me for a bonus Asiatic water buffalo hunt.

You see, Mullet man and Mikey are representatives of Darkwoods Blinds and were at the Smart Ranch to shoot some promotional videos for their exceptional handicapped-accessible ground blinds.  I did not want the pressure of choosing just one soldier to take part in this remarkable opportunity. I simply did not want to be the one to decide who’d get to experience the hunt of their lifetime and who would be disappointed.

I suggested that we leave it to luck or fate. I told all of the more-than-willing hunters to put their military identification cards into a hat and let Jimmy pull out the lucky one.  Although I’m a Wounded Warrior as well, I was somewhat reluctant to place my ID into the hat because my hunting companions were also my heroes, and I wanted one of them to win the hunt.  With some poking, prodding and an order from my former Command Sergeant Major David Allard, I placed my ID into the hat as well.  Out of all of the IDs in the hat, of course, mine was drawn. Although I desperately wanted to participate in the hunt, I really wanted one of my guys to have the experience. I thought about giving the hunt to someone else, but that would have put me back into my original position of having to choose one person.

Jimmy and the others could see the guilt on my face and reassured me that they were glad that my name was chosen.  Jimmy then suggested we go out and do a little bit of scouting to get a glance at the animals I’d be hunting.  We all jumped into some trucks and headed out in search of buffalo.

Excitement and Apprehension

I could not have been more intimidated or excited when I finally laid my eyes on the biggest, most intimidating animal I have ever hunted.  I am just a mere country boy from Indiana who avidly hunts deer, turkey and an occasional enemy to our great country.  The size of that animal intimidated me more than looking into the eyes of our enemy.  I knew at first glance how fortunate I was to be able to hunt this great being, and I no longer felt guilty or willing to give up this opportunity.

Once we arrived back to the camp, I was bombarded with well wishes and of course ribbing from my friends.  When I was offered the choice to hunt with a bow or a muzzleloader, it was a no-brainer for me to choose the bow. I wanted to take it to the highest level of difficulty so that I could experience the most intense rush.

I was offered an Alpine bow, and in my excitement, I forgot to mention that I shot left-handed. I attempted to shoot the right-handed bow, but I did not feel comfortable despite hitting a decent group at 20 yards.  I knew I was about to go after one of the most aggressive animals on this planet, and I wanted to get it right.

I tried to shoot the bow left-handed, and thanks to the Alpine’s anti-torque guard and the Hindsight peep-less sight system, I felt comfortable and fired an arrow downrange.  Bulls-eye!  I shot my second arrow right into my first arrow. I was stoked. I moved out to 35 yards and practiced some more while growing accustomed to my new top-of-the-line shooting instrument.

The next morning we headed to the Darkwoods Blind that was strategically placed next to the watering hole.  But, much to our dismay, a heavy rain the previous night created numerous mud holes throughout the Smart Ranch, which prevented the buffalo from returning to the main watering hole.

We waited and then watched as they arrived in the general area in an intimidating fashion, but they didn’t move close enough to present me with a clean shot before I had to return to camp.  I tried again that evening, but it just wasn’t in the cards.  The buffalo remained out of range even though the blind was well hidden from their sight.

Change of Plans

I had one day left to pull off the hunt, so we went on another scouting adventure with the hopes that the buffalo would head to the watering hole where the blind was located.  While scouting, we devised a simpler plan, or so we thought.

We hoped that we’d be able to ambush the giant animals along their travel route. After locating the buffalo, we discussed moving the light and versatile Darkwoods Blind to another area. but it just didn’t seem possible due to the time constraints and the unpredictability of these creatures of random travel.  We decided to try a spot-and-stalk hunt instead.

I felt nervous, excited, scared and about 30 other emotions rolled into one, and I began to doubt that my abilities and health were up to the task.  I put all of my apprehension aside and started my pursuit.  After hours of low crawling, climbing trees out of fear, spooking the buffalo, and near misses, I finally got within 20 yards of these creatures of mass destruction.  All of my doubts and fears disappeared as I pulled the bowstring back and placed the pin on the ticker of one magnificent animal.

Sweet Success

I released the Tru-Fire release and placed that victory arrow right in the kill zone of the biggest buffalo in the bunch.  I feared that I didn’t get a good hit on the prey, but as it ran away, I could see the blood spewing from its side. The buffalo ran so far I didn’t think it was going to go down, but then it stopped, staggered like a drunk on New Year’s Eve and fell on its side.  All the fear, excitement, pressure and pride finally escaped me in the form of a bellowing YAHOOOOOOO!

Jimmy, and David Leuba, the owner of Smart Ranch Exotics, were right there to witness the most intense moment of my hunting endeavors and were as blown away as me.  I felt so much pride and joy that all I could do was giggle, giggle and giggle some more.  Words could not explain the emotion that I felt that day, but tears of joy and overwhelming pride accompanying my giggles sure got the point across.

After examining the downed trophy we realized that this animal was extraordinarily big and quite possible the World Record Asiatic water buffalo taken by a bow.  At this point in time we are waiting for the official scoring by SCI to confirm our suspicions.  Bottom line, I don’t care if it even scores, but if it does, I am proud that I did it with an Alpine Bow, Victory Arrow, Muzzy Broadhead, Hindsight system at the Smart Ranch in the presence of my heroes David Allard, Marc Roen, Adam Peacock, Todd Shaw, David Jacks and Nathan Halsey.

I would be remised if I did not recognize the gentlemen who made this possible, David Leuba of the Smart Ranch and Mikey and Jimmy from Darkwoods Blinds

If you would like to take a wounded American hero on an expedition, please contact: Friends of American Heroes, Hunting with Heroes, Paralyzed Veterans of America or go to HOWW4OF7 at CAMOSPACE .com.

This is a rewarding experience for all involved and a great way to show your appreciation for the sacrifices of the brave soldiers, sailors, airmen and marines who have volunteered to protect the freedoms that most take for granted.  Getting outdoors is a valuable part of our healing process, not only for those who have hunted and feel they cannot do so anymore, but for a first-time participant in an outdoor event.  It has been with great honor that I have served my country and it has been an unequalled honor to aid these great men and women in their healing process in the great outdoors.  The army uses a word most don’t understand and that word is “HOOAH”!  It means many different things at many different times, but to the Wounded Warriors of Fort Campbell, KY, it is an acronym that means Healing Outside Of A Hospital.

www.darkwoodsblind.com

The author w/ his first hog by bow

There will be lots of  landowners and lease holders out there cussin’ out loud right now at the slightest peep or thought of a “nasty ol’ hog” story. If that’s you, simply turn away.  For the rest of you, here is a “pig-tale” of  an east Texas archery hog hunt.

Whether it’s the introduced Russian boar or the common “yard pig” turned wild hog, hunting for these barrel-shaped balls of destruction has become as much necessity as sport in Texas.  Their ability to proliferate induces thoughts of a famous ESPN quote that goes something like “…you can’t stop ‘em…you can just hope to contain ‘em!”

A good friend of mine, Chris Farris, hunts a piece of property just outside of Bryan/College Station in Brazos County.  Wanting to improve their resident deer herd and with a wild hog population on the brink of taking over, I was invited to try and assist in harvest efforts.  Being the noble sportsman that I am, I would never scoff at the chance to help a fellow hunter with some population control – especially when the reward for doing so includes bacon and thick pork chops!

The land they hunt is primarily open savannah woven with thick mottes of post oak trees.  Fifteen feet up in one of these oaks, overlooking a few cut lanes, would be my vantage point for all four attempts to get my first “porker” with my Mathews bow.  This was my first experience bow hunting from a tree stand and growing up in west Texas, where any tree over 8 feet tall stands out like skyscraper, I have to admit this was a bit of a thrill for me.

On the inaugural drive to the property I knew I was in trouble when Chris uttered the statement “you should see something…I’ve seen hogs everytime I’ve sat in this stand.”  My fear of the “jinx” was on and quickly realized on my first sit.  Though I heard hogs rustling in the super thick brush that nestled up to the backside of my tree, no hogs materialized.  Having hogs that close did, however, get my blood pumping and left a taste in my mouth that I had to get rid of.

The next two sits, spaced a few days to a week apart, would play out much like the first.  I was getting frustrated.  I had heard pigs within what seemed like 20 yards, but something inevitably kept them from venturing out of the thick cover and into my shooting lanes.  It wasn’t the wind (it blew in a different direction each day).  It shouldn’t be my scent (I was doused from head to toe in scent killer) and it wasn’t noise or movement (I’ve never sat so still…).  These critters were getting the best of me and I needed to flip the odds back in my favor.  Time to bring out the “big guns”!  I had a single bag of deer corn that was left in the bed of our hunting truck since the end of deer season (yikes).  If you’ve ever smelled soured corn, you know it’s about the foulest stench south of…well, maybe south of nothing.  The good news, hogs can’t get enough of the stuff.

With stinkin’ corn scattered around me, I really felt the temptation would prove too much for a hungry hog to resist.  My gut was right and on my fourth hunt from the same stand, about half an hour before dark, I heard the familiar sound of hooves traipsing straight toward me.

Finally, after squinting so many times into the dense vegetation behind, I made out the forms of 2 black piglets leading a pack of hogs to the base of my tree.  As they hesitated just on the edge of the clearing, a larger hog filtered past them from a conjoining trail and walked straight away from me to a small corn pile.  I knew he wasn’t the biggest hog in the oncoming group, but after 3 frustrating sits with no sightings I wasn’t going to squander the opportunity.  At just under 20 yards, I took aim and released the arrow.  My shot hit high, dropping the hog where he stood.  A quick follow-up shot finished the job and I breathed a sigh of relief that my mission was accomplished.

As I climbed down and walked toward the downed hog, he actually seemed to grow at each passing step.  What I originally thought was an “overgrown piglet”, turned out to be a decent-sized boar hog.  Elation set in as I waited for Chris’ son, Jared to pick me up.  I was finally the rightful owner of a cooler full of tasty pork chops.

A special thanks goes out to Chris and Jared Farris for helping me get my first hog with stick and string.

When most of my friends are headed to the beaches of Mexico or Florida for their school graduation celebrations, I was fortunate enough to get to spend my time hunting the West Texas Hill Country for blackbuck antelope with a good friend of mine, Shane Hill.

Lee Puckitt, a close family friend of mine and a Texas Tech Alum, was gracious enough to allow my friend Shane and I the opportunity to spend a weekend hunting the crafty critters on his Puckitt Ranch about twenty miles north of San Angelo, Texas.  This would be a hunt like none other that I had ever been on.  No guide, no feeders, and no vehicles.  Shane and I didn’t get to sleep in a comfortable cabin and certainly didn’t have a cook fixing up our meals.  We were to camp along the Concho River in a tent and cook our own meals over an open campfire.

We spent that first night talking about all the things that young men talk about, anticipating the sunrise the next morning and getting our first hunt underway.  We awoke the next morning before the sun rose.  It was as if our excitement wouldn’t allow us to… recognize how bad our heads were hurting or how aching our bodies were from sleeping on the hard ground.  We rushed to get all of our materials together for the day.  Full camouflage, head to toe.  Shane had brought camo paint with him so we splattered our faces with it as to really get the full effect that we were hoping for.  We drove to the high fence gate and parked our truck.  This would be as far as we go with the help of a vehicle.  We opened that gate, making sure to close it behind us, and our hunt was off and running.

Neither Shane nor I knew anything at all about these creatures that we were hunting.  It would have been nice to have a resource such as AAE back then to do a little research.  Much like Rambo or any Chuck Norris character, Shane and I spent the first hour of our hunt stepping as quietly as possible through the brush and only talking to each other using hand signals.  Not that either of us ever understood what the other was trying to say, but nonetheless, it was a fun adventure.  It really didn’t take long before we were on top of the animals.  I guess luck would have it that the wind was always in our faces, and sure enough we had a group of blackbuck crossing in front of us at about 200 yards.  I motioned to Shane to stop and get down, in hopes of not being seen.  After seeing my hand motions, he stood straight up and came pacing towards me.  Figured… that was exactly how our conversations all morning had been.  Fortunately, he got to my post and the antelope hadn’t detected him moving.  At that time, I had no idea what qualified as a “large” blackbuck antelope, so I simply picked one out.  I got a rest in the fork of a tree and as my target antelope stepped into a predetermined shooting lane, I fired.  He dropped on the spot.

After field dressing the animal, we hauled him out of the pasture back to the truck.  It was summer time so we had to get him in the cold as soon as possible.  We decided our best bet was to drive the 15-20 minutes to a taxidermist and get him in a cooler.  We did so and my trophy is hanging on my wall in my office right now.

After dropping my trophy off, we rushed back to the ranch to work on getting a shot for Shane.  We made a poor assumption that getting Shane an animal would be as painless as getting mine.  Our assumptions were very wrong.  Looking back, I was a bit spoiled tagging out on a good blackbuck so early on the hunt. We spent the next six to seven hours spot and stalking throughout this ranch.  We were always in position to see the blackbuck, but could not get into a position for a shot.  As the evening of our first full day of hunting began to wind down, we headed back towards our makeshift camp. Once there, we were able to relax a bit and relive the actions of the day.  We felt confident that Day 2 would bring good fortune to Shane and he too would be able to harvest one of these animals.

We awoke the next morning amidst the realization that we had committed a critical mistake.  We had accidentally left our footwear outside our tent all night.  As a result, the high humidity had blessed us with a thick layer of dew on two sets of hunting boots.  There was no time for remorse, however, as we quickly gathered the rest of our gear got to our pasture to begin the day’s hunt. Stealth on this day was a bit harder to come by with the constant ‘squish, squish’ at every carefully placed step.  But, just as the previous day, we were able to get on animals almost immediately.

We caught up to a group of ten blackbuck and four or five axis deer browsing together.  At this point, we were every bit of 300 yards away and Shane needed another 75 to 100 yards to make a shot he felt comfortable with.  That shot wasn’t to be, as the animals spooked and the chase ensued once again.  That scenario played out several times throughout the course of the day.

It was a little after lunch on our last day of hunting when Shane said he would have to give up the chase and head out soon.  One of his kids, Hannah, had a soccer game that evening that he had promised to attend.  We talked about it for a bit, standing in the hot summer sun.  I apologized that we hadn’t been able to get him an animals as he offered back the line uttered by so many hunters in their hunting careers, “we’ll get ‘em next time!”  I believed him and knew that we, indeed, would.  Calling it a day, we started the trek back to the truck.

Walking casually and without any sense of stealth at all, our rifles held low by our hips, we neared the truck.  We weren’t 50 yards away when brush, only 20 yards to our right, erupted with action. Out jumped three blackbuck antelope!  For those who don’t know, these animals are blazing fast and can leap what appears to be a football field at a time.  Shane and I sprung into action seemingly as fast as the antelope did.  We sprinted to get around a large oak tree that blocked our view of the retreating animals.  As we cleared the tree, the blackbuck were whizzing by in front of us.  Shane quickly shouldered his rifle and fired.  This whole sequence occurred in what seemed like a blink of an eye.  Shane immediately announced confidently that he had hit him.  To be honest, I started laughing.  There was no way he could have possibly made that shot.  We proceeded to walk around 100 yards to where Shane last saw his animal and, sure enough, there he laid, head up and seemingly without a worry in the world.  We got within 25 yards and the buck sprang to his feet, ran about 75 yards and gave Shane a broadside shot that he connected on.  The animal expired immediately.

Upon inspection, we found that Shane’s initial shot had, in fact, hit the buck.  That first shot had slowed him down just enough to give us a second opportunity.  Thank goodness.  Horn wise, Shane’s blackbuck didn’t measure up to mine, but what it lacked was made up for in the hard work and adventure that came along with hunting him.  His antelope proved to be a trophy in its own right, and the hunt for him…one not to soon be forgotten.

This hunt was my very first exotic hunt.  I have been on several since, but much like the first whitetail I ever shot, this blackbuck hunt will always remain a personal favorite.  Countless “thank you’s” to the Puckitt Family and to my hunting partner for a wonderful celebration.

In exchange for this hunt, we had to promise Lee that we would return the favor by doing ranch work for Lee as he needed it.  That is a promise that has yet to come to fruition, but rest assured, Shane and I will be working the first time Lee asks for our help.  It would be a very small cost for a weekend filled with a good friend, good hunting, and wonderful memories.

Take your wife and children out hunting with you.  Harvest or not, there’s no better experience in the world than being in the outdoors with friends and loved ones!

- Reed Gardner

Success in Sonora

by Craig Ellwanger, AAE

There are hundreds and hundreds of hunting stories where everything just seems to come together perfectly (just watch the last 10 minutes of most hunting shows).  The perfect stand, the perfect wind, the perfect time of year, and then the perfect deer walks out…BOOM.  Story’s over.   Yet, for most of us, events seldom transpire this way.  Hours, days, and even seasons worth of seemingly “perfect” set-ups may go by without the epic crescendo of a successful harvest.  Our hunt in Sonora, Texas on the Diamond TF Ranch this past weekend was one of the best few days of my short bowhunting career, but it definitely did not start out nor appear as though it was headed that way.  Here’s the unlikely story of how a friendly game of poker taught me to be a better bowhunter.

This story really beings on the night before our hunt.  A friend from worked invited myself and a handful of guys to play some low-stakes poker.  Though we play for fun and with very little at stake, you would be surprised at what losing money can do to some grown men.  My ride to the poker game was my good friend Josh Foley, who over the course of the night had one of the luckiest streaks that I had ever witnessed at a card table.  It seemed no matter the hand or situation Josh came out victorious.  With a combination of random hands he mowed us down one by one all night, winning 3 of the 4 mini-touneys (and placing 2nd in the other).  It got to the point that I had a feeling that had I even been dealt pocket aces (the best staring hand in poker), Josh would rake the pot with a 7-2 off (the worst).  I watched, sometimes first-hand, as his “pitiful” hands dominated much more favorable starting hands time after time.   Little did I know then, that thoughts of Josh’s “lucky streak” would stay with me long into my weekend deer hunt.

November 6th found me skipping town before well before the lunch hour rush. It would be a race against time to make the Friday evening hunt.  The long drive from East to West Texas was spent constantly checking the arrival time on the GPS to see if I was still on pace to arrive in time to scurry into the stand and sit during waning light.  I had already mentally mapped out my strategy for the night.  “Alright, I’m slated to arrive at 4:07, I can be in the stand my 4:15…”.  Hunting time would be at a premium, so I even found ways to shave minutes off by changing clothes in the truck and refusing to stop needlessly.  With only one pit stop and a little help from the increased speed limit on I-10, I patted myself on the back for pulling in to the ranch only 15 minutes behind schedule.  “I made it!”  That’s when my plan began to unravel.

As I pulled in to the Diamond TF Ranch, I spotted a roaring tractor in the field just south of my evening stand’s location.  Mr. Fields was cutting hay some 150 yards from where I planned to sit!  Not ideal, but I was here, so “let’s see what happens”, I thought to myself as I parked the truck. I still remained optimistic. Then, just as I flung open the truck door to head to the field, I felt a harsh wind hit me square in the back.  “Oh no, the wind is completely wrong!”  In the first 5 minutes of my hunt I was facing two major issues that were definitely not part of my precisely outlined plan.

As I hurried to the stand, I stopped to pour a small pile of deer corn 20 yards from my tripod stand.  Getting settled in, I ranged shooting lanes and checked the wind again.  It was still blowing straight from me to the food plot that many of the deer utilize.  I could see and hear the tractor as it continued cutting hay in the distance.  Moments later, the first deer appeared.  It was a whitetail doe with two fawns in tow.  The doe came straight to the pile of corn on my upwind side while her fawns wandered off to feed.  This was a very good sign.

For the next hour, I watched in amazement as deer after deer filed through the gate and past my stand, some stopping to nibble on a few nuggets of sweet corn.  The deer seemed oblivious to the running tractor just across the fence.  After seeing close to 30 deer from my stand (half of those in bow range), I sat satisfied as light began to fade that deer activity was seemingly unaffected by my pre-hunt issues.  Then, just as I was beginning to pack up I saw tall, white horns walking straight through the gate.  It was a group of axis and the buck was a definite shooter!

Turning completely around, with eyes wide and chest thumping, I readied myself for a possible shot.  As long as the group took either of the 2 trails that led past my stand a chip shot was inevitable.  Seconds later, my heart sank as the first axis doe emerged on the trail that led toward a small pond nearby, away from me and out of bow range.  The rest of the axis, including the big buck, followed.  The night came to a close with the sight and sounds of the buck vigorously raking  the low-hanging limbs of a large oak tree 100 yards away.  “Sooo close”, I told myself in bitter frustration.  Of the three trails, they had chosen the one that would not allow a shot.  The odds of getting a shot had been in my favor, for sure, but never materialized.  That, my friends, is hunting.

The morning of day two had me excited to get into a pop-up blind that Tanner Fields and I had set-up on our previous trip.  Trail cam pictures since our last visit had revealed several good whitetail bucks, long beard turkeys, and a few axis.  The blind is nestled in the perfect cocoon of cover with ample shooting lanes and located in an area with tons of deer activity.  It would be the first time anyone had hunted this stand and my anticipation level was sky high.

As I clumsily navigated my way through unfamiliar terrain under moon light, I spooked several deer that loudly, made themselves known.  Bumping deer in the dark happens often, but it never ceases to startle and frustrate almost simultaneously.  When I approached the large cedar that I swore hid the blind, I could not see the dark mass or arching silhouette  of a pop-up.  Mentally retracing my path and peering feverishly, I finally found it…folded in half and laying on the ground!  If you’ve ever tried to setup a pop-up blind in thick cover silently, forget about it.  I felt like I was scratching nails on a chalkboard in an empty auditorium.  Animals seemed to be sensing my presence the entire morning and alerting the rest of the county to my hiding spot.  I even had a couple donkeys wander close to my blind and start their “hee-haw” song.  I gave up on the morning sit having only seen a single 5 point whitetail and a lone doe.

I met Tanner back at the ranch house to formulate a new plan for the rest of the morning.  We decided to try a deer drive on another part of the ranch.  This strategy had worked several times in years past in efforts to get up close and personal with evading whitetails and axis.  As I walked to get into position I thought back to the last few attempts at this same strategy that had resulted in absolutely no deer.  Had we gone to the well one too many times?  Had the deer gotten smart to our plan and relocated their hangout?

Getting settled in, it was only a few moments before I would see the first deer head bobbing through the brush toward me.  It was a group of whitetail does, the biggest of which ran directly at me, coming to a screeching halt upon seeing a strange figure kneeling between the two trees she seemed to be heading straight for.  Moments later I saw the first axis emerge.  It was a young buck in velvet that was leading 7 other axis of various sizes and sexes.  I feverishly tried to scan the group for a shooter as they ran right at me.  I quickly realized that the group held no large bucks just in time to watch them file by me at a mere 5 yards.  What a rush!  As I turned and watched the group jump a cross fence and head up the hill, I was certain this was it for the push.  I would see my partner heading toward me any second signaling the end of the effort.  Just then, I caught movement off to my right.  It was a straggler.  A big axis buck had held back and taken a different route than the rest of his party.  I watched as he trotted down the fenceline, stopping every few yards to look back toward the intruder to his hideout.  I knew I had a shooting lane above me at 27 yards, along the path the buck was heading.   As he neared the opening, he stopped again, his vitals protected by a tree trunk.  “Two more steps”, I begged.  Then, he took off again.  With my Mathews bow already drawn, I let out a quick bleet and got him to pause momentarily to check the source of the odd sound.  Finding his chest in my peep, I touched off the arrow.  Simultaneously, the buck took off and I watched in horror as my arrow hit behind the intended target.  A bright red starburst was evident as the buck angled back down the hill past me and over another cross fence some 50 yards away.  As he disappeared out of sight, I heard him crashing through the dense brush in the large creek bed below.

Tanner appeared from the tree line as I silently motioned that I had released an arrow.  He had seen the buck as well and had even tried to get a shot with his rifle, but his attempt was thwarted by the thick brush.  I told him that I didn’t feel great about the shot, but we were encouraged upon finding really good blood near the spot the buck was standing.  The decision was made to give the buck plenty of time to expire as we snuck back to the truck.  My thought ping-ponged as we went about filling feeders and staying occupied with other ranch work to pass some time.  I must have replayed the events and the shot in my head 50 times over the next two and a half hours.

Finally, we returned to the spot and began to follow the blood trail.  Twenty yards from our starting point, I found my arrow, covered in thick red blood.  The blood trail was like nothing I’d seen before.  “I must have hit a major artery”, I thought.  Hopping the fence where I had last seen the buck and zig-zagging through some thick stuff, my prayers were answered and relief set in as the buck lay just across the dry creek bed.  He hadn’t gone 100 yards and was probably dead before I motioned to  Tanner that I had shot him.  What an absolute thrilling feeling!

After dressing the deer, he got the tour of the ranch, showing him off to the Fields’ family and taking countless pictures.  The buck scored 126 & 6/8, qualifying him for the SCI record books for archery or gun.

As I made the drive home Sunday night, with my deer safely in the hands of Old Friends Taxidermy in San Angelo, I couldn’t help but think back a few days earlier to that night at the poker table.   A friend’s lucky streak had taught me a few valuable lessons and might just help you on your next hunting trip:  1.) you will never kill anything if you “fold your cards” – no matter how bad things appear to look in the beginning, 2.) when nothing is working, you may have to change your strategy to find success, 3.) it’s not about the hand you’re dealt, it’s how you play that hand that counts  and 4.) even a 7-2 beats aces when the cards fall your way!

Thanks again to the Fields family and Diamond TF Ranch for an amazing trophy and an awesome hunt to remember.

Day1
I have to admit to sneaking out of town a bit early from work in hopes of making the Friday evening hunt.  The 300 mile journey across the state from College Station to Sonora flew by despite pouring rains and a lack of satellite radio in “The Beast” (our beloved, but grizzled ’99 Dodge 4×4).  Arriving at just after 4:30, I greeted Mr. Fields, who was headed to call some Friday night football for the Sonora Broncos.  If you ever saw Friday Night Lights and said there’s no way high school football is THAT big in Texas, think again.

I, on the otherhand, was headed to check trail cams and scout/hunt the “big field” next to the highway that seems to hold deer virtually all day, rain or shine.  On my route to gather SD cards I passed 6 axis does and fawns and a blackbuck already feeding in another field nearby.  Enthusiasm rose.  With my trusted Mathews DXT in tow, I was headed to the stand and ready for my season to begin.

P.M. – After much deliberation, I decided to sit in a large, homeade box blind along the fenceline of the big field that also overlooks the large draw that runs the length of the ranch.  Deer movement was surprisingly slow.  I did see the “3-legged doe” milling around near the corner of the field (a deer seen regularly last year that walks very awkwardly but has no issues getting around).  Come to find out, the “doe” is now a 1.5 year old buck, sporting 2 long spikes.  Oops, sorry buddy.  Two whitetail does and 4 fawns kept me entertained, hanging around and feeding in the draw most of evening.  I watched as the oldest doe bedded down 40 yards from me and stay there for almost a half hour.  As the night wound down, she finally stood up and headed toward me and the field.  Knocking an arrow, I anticipated the small possibility of a shot through the blind’s smallest window (about 1 foot x 1 foot).  As luck would have it, she came into the shooting lane perfectly. With my eyes widened and in my haste to pull off the improbable shot, I watched as  my lumenok sailed straight over the doe’s back.  She ran 50 yards and went along with her day, feeding within a stone’s throw of the blind.  Hunting for day 1 was over.  I spent the waning light searching for more deer entering the field, catching a glimpse at last light of a group of axis bucks on the opposite side, some 600 yards away.

Tanner arrived later that night.  We went through trail cam pics and began planning for the next two days.  A few quick pop-up setups and sprinkled corn and we were done for the night with a couple hours to sleep before the first morning hunt.

Day 2
Saturday A.M. – As I got settled in to a pop-up that had only been in place for a few hours, I had no idea what to expect.  The blind was nestled into a small oak motte some 20 yds from a main ranch road and an inoperable open gate that many deer had been spotted using to travel from one field to another.  Corn was sprinkled on the road in hopes of buying a few more seconds should anything pass through the opening.  Fifteen minutes before shooting light I spotted a large body making it’s way from my right toward the road.  Through my binoculars I could make out the long main beam of a large axis buck.  He circled directly in front of my position and in the dim light I could see this was a shooter.  He fed briefly, but as quick as he had come he was gone.  The buck made his way straight away from me down toward the main draw.  Bummer.

As the sun lit up the fields activity was at a standstill.  I had a lone two year old blackbuck come down the fenceline behind me.  He stuck around long enough for me to get some good video before he turned and headed back from whence he came.

Tanner had planned to get out of our blinds at 9 o’clock and head to a facing hillside to attempt a light push.  This tactic had been successful numerous times last year in the same location.  A big axis buck with a broken main beam was calling the area home and walked within 15 yards of my waiting position on more than one occasion in the past.  We hoped his tendencies had remained the same, but when Tanner appeared walking my way, the disappointment was hard to keep off my face.  The drive had resulted in a few whitetails, some turkeys, and only 2 axis does.

Late morning and early afternoon were spent moving stands, trimming shooting lanes and replacing trail cam memory cards.  One spot that got me excited was a tripod we placed near a small field close to the house.  Friday night, in my truck’s headlights, I watched as a group of axis, with 3 really good bucks, jumped across the road and into the field closest to the ranch house.  We just needed to figure out how to catch them on their travel route there before sunset.  This newly placed stand location looked to be that place.

P.M. -  I was late getting into my stand that afternoon (good football games will do that to you).  My tardiness became ever apparent upon walking out the front door of the house to gather my gear.  We spotted deer already munching in the field and around my stand.  Not Good.  I slowly, hurried (anyone who spot & stalk hunts understands) to get in my tripod.  Goal — spook as few deer as possible doing so.  While creeping toward my perch for the night, I spotted a large axis bedded down on the hill across and above the field only a couple hundred yards away.  As I watched from a distance, planning my next move, he stood up.

“Great, he’s headed into the field already and I am definitely not there yet.”

Luck was on my side, however, as he quickly laid back down and began to grooming himself.  I finished my slow stalk and scurried into the stand, only spooking one doe with a couple of tag-along fawns.  Because the tree I was in was thick and only had a few carefully selected shooting lanes, the bedded axis buck was out of my sight no matter how hard I torqued my body and squinted my eyes from the tripod.

Action picked up immediately.  Whitetails and axis were streaming by me seemingly continuously from the word “go”.  I counted 14 whitetails and 8 axis pass within bow range in the first hour of my sit.  I had one 2 year old eight point whitetail buck pass only 5 yards from my stand!  As light began to fade, the large axis bucks had yet to show.

“Maybe I’m not far enough off the field”, I thought to myself.

Just as doubt began to set in, out of nowhere, two big axis stepped out, walking inside the fence to my left.  I was already standing, bow in hand, when the lead buck stopped to peek in a feed barrel.  Having bone-headedly left my rangefinder in the truck, I guessed the distance to be close to 50 yards – too far for a shot.  I watched as they made their way off the field through another open gate that we suspected deer may utilize.  Watching them walk away, I was startled by a third axis buck “groaning” abruptly and directly behind me.  He was a much smaller axis, probably 2 years old, and had me pegged.  I turned my attention to him and we did a little dance – him to try and make out what was in that tree and me to attempt to keep a tree limb between us at all times.  Eventually, he was content and moved right past me and along the path the larger bucks had taken toward the house field.  After dark, I climbed down thinking what might have been if my blind was 40 yards to the East.  Hunting on day 2 was over.

Day 3
Sunday A.M.- I couldn’t help but go back to the same stand from the evening before for the morning hunt. Could you blame me?  Would the morning activity come close to the action 12 hours before?  It didn’t take long to realize that it, in fact, would not.  A few whitetail does and fawns came into the field just after sunrise to feed, but no axis crossed my path.  I heard several axis bucks sparring in the clearing a couple hundred yards behind me, but never caught sight of any of the combatance.  My weekend hunt came to an end without an arrow flung at an axis.  However, we were very encouraged by all of the sightings and close calls.  The axis population seemed to be even bigger and healthier than the previous year.

Plans have already been made to make the trip again in a few weeks.  Another chance to prove that we can outsmart those elusive axis deer.  I don’t know why, but the drive home after a much anticipated hunting trips always seems twice as long as the trip there.  Most of the time was passed thinking of what might have been or how things could have been different.  The ‘what ifs’ will have to be answered in another hunt.

I would like to thank the Fields for allowing us to enjoy time at their beautiful ranch.  I can’t wait to try it once again come November.

]]> http://www.allaboutexotics.com/2009/10/1st-axis-hunt-of-the-year/feed/ 0 http://www.allaboutexotics.com/2009/10/hi-spirit-texas-fallow-deer-by-ted-nugent/ http://www.allaboutexotics.com/2009/10/hi-spirit-texas-fallow-deer-by-ted-nugent/#comments Thu, 15 Oct 2009 16:24:37 +0000 admin http://www.allaboutexotics.com/?p=1968 Hi Spirit: Texas Fallow Deer

Here’s some cool, off-season fun!

By: Ted Nugent

The intense, nonstop grunting of rutting fallow deer can best be described as the continuous, deep guttural growling of a hyperventilating leopard.  Hell, if I had to wait all year to breed, I’d probably make obnoxious noises too!  It’s wildly eerie and foreboding, especially if you may be unfamiliar with these big, handsome European deer.  Their breeding grunts are much louder than that of a whitetail, more intense and seemingly around the clock.

The good news is that some real smart Texan hunters began importing these beautiful, delicious beasts into the wilds of the Lone Star State back in the late 1800s.  Now, for the simple reason that they are valued as game animals, there are far more fallow deer in Texas today than can be found on the entire European continent.  That’s how ya do that if ya truly care about wildlife, one of the many reasons I’m so proud to be a hunter.  No animal rights fleeb has ever done jack squat for any animals or habitat.  The idea of animal rights is one big lie.

But my ears don’t lie, and the surround sound of intense growls stabbin in and out of the thick Texas Hill Country ceaderbreaks had me vibrating with joyful anticipation.  Bookend bull elk screamed their rutting glory from both sides nearby on the north and south ridgelines, lifting the hair on the back of my neck up a notch or two.

I believe the whole damn ponytail was nearly skybound at this point, the audio stimuli neck and neck with the brilliant visual allure of golden sunrays glistening off the white-gray caleechi gravel around the cedars and live oaks.  Even my nostrils were pumping with a delicious cocktail of pine, earth tones and mad bull musk wafting about my face.

Good God, I love this hunting game!  A pair of cottontail rabbits hopped in unison below my NorthStar ladder stand, and I just leaned forward and sighed a huge sigh of happiness.  Say YOWZA and pass the Great Spirit in megawads of hallelujah!

Directly behind me in the glow of the morning sunrise came an abrupt and loud grunt.  I dared not move to take a peek; it was that close.  In my hard left peripheral vision a white form emerged from the dark green cedar clump as an all white fallow doe poked her nose into the grass break.  To my immediate right, ace videographer Ronnie Bradford zoomed the camera onto the pretty white deer and we had live action video liftoff.  More blaring grunts and growls came from every direction and the Spirit of the Wild jam session was kicked up a beat by two ravens raising cacophinic hell right over our heads.  It was wonderful.  I thought I was loud.  Every hunt is very inspirational stuff for this old guitar player.

Without hesitation I slowly lifted my bow into semi-shooting position, expecting a buck to follow the doe into the clearing.  I waited as more wonderful creature sounds bumped and grinded the cold, still, morning air.  My Mossy Oak camo did its job perfectly when the deer appeared to stare a hole clean through me, never identifying me as human.  (Of course some folks have suspected this about me all along.)

The gentle breeze was blowing away from her to us, but now my gaze brought to my attention movement to our right, directly downwind to the trail behind Ronnie.  A light-colored form could be seen amongst the thick buckerbrush and I immediately recognized it as antlers.  Big antlers!  Fallow buck antlers, and they are spinning to and fro, radaring the danger zone before him.  I worried about our scent getting to the buck and blowing our ambush.  But another advantageous product was doing its job too.  Fortunately, we had sprayed ourselves down with Nature’s Essence.

“Essence of Fall” cover scent, and the big, bad hombre stuck his nose out and ambled into view.  Wow! A gorgeous gray-white, spotted fallow buck entering the Nuge Zone!  The wary old monarch kept the overhanging cedar limbs around him, taking one ultra cautious step at a time, his eyes riveted on the pretty little thang feeding to my left.  At one point he was nearly in shooting position when he spang back into the thicket with a leap.  I took advantage of this disrupting move to slowly swing my bow up into shoot-ready position, and as he cautiously stepped forth, I burned my vision into the pocket of his chest directly behind his shoulder.  Now he looked away, and my bowstring came back into the corner of my mouth, the WhackMaster arrow and Nugent Blade back to full draw.  I kissed my dinner arrow goodbye, and in an instant it was gone and vanishing into his foreleg crease with nary a sound, the Sims silencing products eliminating any bow twang whatsoever.

The buck exploded 180 degrees and the doe jerked her head erect.  Ronnie stood up in his stand to film the beast dash away to his last resting place in the beautiful green prickly pear cactus patch only 50 yards away.  He was stone dead in an instant.  My cherry-red arrow lay in the grass where he had stood but a moment ago, and all returned to normal once again in the peaceful Texas Hill Country.  I leaned back against the tree bark and smiled broadly for the camera.  I love to share my happiness with my fellow wildlife enthusiasts.  The Spirit of the Wild was soaring high on the wings of an American eagle again.

I made my statement on camera about the special feelings I was experiencing, trying hard to put into words the awesome dynamics of such powerful sensations.  We tracked the big buck on a very educational bloodtrail, recovered the handsome beast and exposed a roll of film to document the memorable occasion.  With echoes of bugling elk, cawing crows and grunting deer still reverberating throughout the land, we tied a Glenn’s DeerHandle onto the stunning horns and pulled him back to the road.

Back to camp, my buck would hang next to five other magnificent fallow bucks, all much larger than mine.  Steve, Gary, Steven, Tom and Michael had all taken trophy stag in the last few days here.  Outdoor Edge knives made skinning and boning of  the meat an easy and enjoyable task.  Fat, juicy backstraps would be grilled to perfection tonight, and grand celebration would ensue.  As the fiery Texas sun descends on another great day of hunting, the bucks would be still grunting and carrying on, and the tribe of happy hunters at the Young Ranch would sing along in the great Spirit of the Wild fallow deer event.

Source:
– Nugent, Ted.  “Hi Spirit: Texas Fallow Deer.”  Bow & Arrow Hunting Magazine.  February 1975.