The Shadow Buck

By Denny L. Vasquez

 

It was dry, dusty and warm for December in this part of the country. And the so-called weather experts were calling for a continuation of last summer’s dry spell and unseasonably, warm weather. Some even predicted that we might be in the clutches of the worst drought that the Lone Star state had seen in 20 years. So as we sat there watching the little dust devils dancing up and down the ranch road upon which our deer stand sat, my son and I began to wonder if we would see any of the monster deer that the south Texas brush country has become famous for. It was the day after Christmas 1999, which usually means cold, windy conditions and there should have been a lot more moisture in the air at this time of year.

For his fourteenth birthday, I wanted to take James on a hunt for his first whitetail buck. Now, don’t get me wrong, James has been hunting ever since he was 31 days old. (You can bet his mom hasn’t let me forget how I took him deer hunting instead of staying home and babysitting him like any “sane” man would have done. My argument that my box blind was a safe and secure place for a newborn hit bottom quicker than the Titanic!) Over the years he has taken his share of game animals, ranging from blackbuck antelope, axis does, sika does, rabbits, squirrels, exotic rams, doves, ducks, etc. But he had never had a chance to hunt a good whitetail buck. And like a true whitetail hunter it was beginning to rub him the wrong way.

During my previous visits to the south Texas area while feral hog hunting, I had been impressed with both the quantity and quality of the whitetails that we had seen. So I gave a friend in the area a call and explained that I was looking for a place to take James for his first whitetail hunt. The buck didn’t have to be a monster because I was more interested in James enjoying his trip so a good representative buck would meet our needs.

We made arrangements to hunt an area between Tilden and Cathulia, which offered not only free ranging whitetail, but also feral hogs and javelina. As part of the 20,000-acre ranch’s management plan, only 20 mature whitetail bucks are harvested each year, with a 150-class animal being on the low end of the scale. The results of this intensive management plan have produced an average mature buck harvest in the 170+ class.

The afternoon of Sunday, December 26th, found James and I on stand, as I mentioned above. Not only were we excited about being on the ranch, but our 4 mile drive in to the stand had been quite eventful as we spotted several herds of both feral hogs and javelina as well as numerous whitetail does and immature bucks. We had also had to stop several times as coveys of quail crossed the road in front of our truck. This ride also gave us an opportunity to become better acquainted with the operation of the ranch as Casey, the ranch foreman, also had the opportunity to explain that he wanted James to harvest an older buck that was on the decline, but still had a nice rack, or a younger 8-pointer. I agreed that this would be a good-sized buck with which to start James off on.

During the first evening of our three-day hunt we were not disappointed. Not only did we see 63 bucks come into the two feeder stations that Casey had set up for our stand, but we also saw more of the numerous feral hogs and javelinas. Just at dusk we saw a female coyote that James wanted to shoot. The only reason that he didn’t is that I convinced him to wait until we had our buck on the ground. We still had twenty minutes of shooting light left and I was hoping the right buck might make an appearance.

Sunrise the next morning found us back in the same stand as we vigilantly scanned each buck that made an appearance in the early morning fog, trying unsuccessfully to turn him into the kind of buck that we were after. Unfortunately, Mr. Right didn’t make an entrance. Instead we were treated to the forty-five bucks, fifty-eight does and numerous feral hogs that wove their way in and out of the ground hugging fog. One of the bucks was a bon-a-fide Boone And Crocket candidate. An experienced whitetail biologist who I showed his picture to later estimated that the sixteen point buck had a rack that was 24 inches wide with 6 ½ inch bases and was probably around 6 or 7 years old.

James had never seen such a big buck on the hoof and was begging me to let him shoot it. I tried to quietly explain why we couldn’t shoot the old sixteen pointer, but James was just too excited to listen to logic, “But dad, its just money after all. Mom will understand!” About this time a small herd of feral hogs made their entrance onto the ranch road and chased the big boy away. Man was I glad for their timing because I was starting to cave in and might have let him pull the trigger on that big old buck. One of the few times that I have been glad to see hogs at my deer feeder.

Later in the morning James was able to watch his first down in the dirt fight between two love-crazed whitetail bucks. A nice twelve pointer and a slightly smaller ten pointer were both vying for the attentions of a receptive doe. As we watched the two combatants battle it out a smaller forked horn buck slipped in and bred the doe. By the time the two fighters had concluded their jousting the doe had slipped off into the brush country and they were left standing with dumbfounded looks on their faces as they looked to and fro for the object of their attentions.

After a pleasant lunch, Casey told us that we were going to try something new. There was a section of the ranch that no one had hunted this year and he asked if we wanted to give it a try. Because there were no stands or feeders setup on this portion of the ranch we would tow a corn hopper behind his truck. This way we could corn a section of the road and then drive off about a hundred yards in order to maintain a vigil over the area as we watched for the wildlife that decided to make an appearance.

We spent the rest of the afternoon easing our way around this new section of the ranch. About every half-mile or so Casey would disperse corn on the road for about seventy-five yards. Then we would drive about a hundred yards further down the road before pulling off to the side, where we waited.

If I didn’t think that this ranch was under hunted before beginning our little ride, it didn’t take long to convince me. At each of our stops we silently watched as numerous deer, feral hogs, javelina, doves and other members of the brush country society made their appearances to partake of the feast provided. At one point so many deer were trying to make their way into the road that they were passing by our truck at less than ten feet. James and I were thrilled, we were used to hunting east Texas where the deer turn and run at the first hint that a human is in the forest.

At our last stop we corned the grassy meadow that bordered a small lake on the far western end of the ranch. It was at this beautifully scenic spot that we watched geese and ducks coming in to feed as the sand hill cranes played along the lakeshore in the background. Several does brought their fawns and yearling’s in for a last drink as a lone feral boar made his way to his favorite mud wallow at the far end of the lake.

As the sun started to set on the dusty horizon, Casey said that we would try again in the morning but that it was time to start making our way back as it was six and a half miles to the gate. In the end, it was Casey’s decision to leave before dark and to ease along scanning the areas that we had corned on the way in for any latecomers that saved the day.

We had traveled a little over a mile from the lake when, as we approached one of the corned areas, we noticed something unusual in the middle of the road. We were in position to just be able to peep over the top of a small rise in the road and it looked as though a bush had sprouted where none had been growing when we had passed this way earlier. James whispered, “horns!” as I threw up my binoculars for a closer look. Casey whispered, “James, that’s your buck on the right, can you take him from here?” And just as I had taught him, he responded, “No sir, all I can see is his head and I don’t want to chance a shot like that in this light.” “Okay, we are going to try and ease up a bit in order to get you a shot. Get ready,” Casey whispered.

Unfortunately, as Casey eased the truck up the little hill, the buck turned and disappeared into the thick brush beside the road. James and I just looked at each other and shook our heads in frustration. “We will start back out here in the morning” Casey said as the truck topped the small rise.

“Stop” I yelled. “James do you see him standing out there by the cactus?” There stood our buck broadside, at about eighty yards, in front of a huge cactus. I guess he thought that the brush in front of him hid him from our view. James replied, “Yes, dad I see him.” “Do you have a shot?” I asked as I continued to peer through my binoculars at the buck.

James’ Savage FP10 tactical rifle in .308 topped with a Burris Black Diamond scope answered for him. I was glad that I had not taken my eyes away from my binoculars because as the buck turned to run I saw him stumble in mid stride as he struggled to fight a battle that he had already lost.

My handloaded round of a 150-grain Ballistic Tip bullet, powered by Hodgdon’s Varget powder, had done the trick. James had placed his shot right behind the front shoulder and right through the buck’s heart. He barely took ten steps before loosing his steam.

In the failing light I stood on top of the cab of Casey’s truck as I guided James and him to the buck through the cactus and mesquite brush via flashlight beacon. When they got to the buck all I could hear was James yelling and then he disappeared from view. “Casey! What’s wrong!” I yelled, thinking that James must have hurt himself in the darkness.

Casey’s slow reply surprised me, “Denny, I screwed up. This buck is a lot bigger than what I thought. But that is my fault and I can’t charge you any extra for your guide’s screw up.” “What do you mean you screwed up?” I asked. “Just wait, you’ll see”, was Casey’s only answer.

James’ management buck, though not one of the monsters that the Cameron ranch is known for, was respectable nonetheless. The eleven pointer had enough head gear to net a Boone and Crockett score of 143 ½ inches of antler, a very good deer for a youngster to begin his hunting career with. In fact, he might be too good because it will be hard to beat his score in most of whitetail country today.