Putting this hunt in perspective, winter started 5 days ago and this fall, we’ve only enjoyed two cold snaps with freezing temps. Being a 5th generation Texan, I call myself a ‘flatlander’, have thin blood, am adverse to cold and cold to me is 45. But like most men, a little self-punishment is good for the body.

Monday morning in Mills County, Texas was foggy, the temp was 27 and it was way too cold to go sit in a blind, but Monday afternoon was different. It was cloudy, 34 degrees with a southeast wind of 10-15 MPH, and a wind chill of around 23. Rather than stay in by the nice warm fire, I decided to go hunting and try to shoot a big doe and I picked a tree stand overlooking a small food plot. Since the deer have over grazed the plot and we’ve had very little rain in the past 2 months, I use the term, food plot, as a description only!

With my .270 unloaded, climbing up into the stand, I was about 15/16th in and just sliding into the seat when I saw movement on the edge of the plot and I froze. About 80 yards away, a yearling doe picked that time to came out and browse a little. Not being able to move, I felt kinda’ silly “half in and half out’, but all I could do was just remain in that cramped position.

Then out comes a big doe, a shooter, obviously the yearling’s mom, and she starts grazing. No scent problem since the cold wind is off of the deer, blowing into my face and both of them have their rear ends toward me and as I ‘scrooch’ down into the seat, up go their tails and they bolt off! The sound of cloth on cloth must have spooked them.

Finally loading my rifle and tying my camera to a convenient limb, I settle in and wait for another doe or a good picture. Being ‘bucked out’ since the 8th day of the season all I can shoot are does and we have plenty of them!

The longer I sit, the colder I get. The wind ‘finds’ every crack and space in my garb, even the eyes of my shoelaces. Of course, being cold and thinking about it only makes me ‘more’ colder. My thoughts race – “Maybe another doe won’t come by?” “Maybe not even a picture opportunity?” “Maybe it’s too cold to even clean one?”

Just then a spike comes out of a trail not 20 yards to my front and turns and stares at me. He must be thinking, “What in the world are you doing out in this weather?”

As he ambles on down the trail, I answer that question for him, climb out of the stand and head back to my Jeep. No deer today, and as my Dad said many years ago, “Boy, don’t worry about today’s bad hunt. Just remember if it was easy each time out, it would be called shooting instead of hunting!”

Fred Walters had just signed on to a 600 acre quail/dove lease outside of Lockhart, Texas, and in early December, had asked me to join him on a quail hunt, and he reminded me to bring along some heavy shot for, maybe, a passing duck. Following his orders, along with 20, 7-1/2’s for quail, I slipped 5, number 6 shot into my hunting coat pocket.

Having no dog, we had busted into 2 average sized coveys and had reduced their numbers by 4 birds. Luckily we found all 4, and as we looked for the last one, in the brush, some 300 yards ahead, we spotted the damn of a stock tank. Fred said, “While I look for this bird, why don’t you walk on up and see if there are any ducks on the tank? If there are, go ahead and shoot ‘em.”

Changing out the 7-1/2’s in my pump for 6’s and clipping the other 2 between the fingers of my left hand, I quickly, but quietly, walked up behind the damn and eased my eyes over the edge for a look, and to my surprise there was 75 to 100 different varieties of ducks swimming and feeding in the small tank. Quickly ducking back down, my mind racing, I tried to wave for Fred to come up, but he couldn’t see me through the thick stuff, so I decided to tie into them by myself.

Taking a deep breath, I eased over the top of the damn and the surface of the water exploded with ducks taking flight. Not shooting into the bunch, but picking out one and bam, down it went along with several others; switching my aim to another, bam, down it and several other went; my mind still racing, I decided to take only a clean shot at ONE duck and bam, it plopped to the ground. As the ducks caught the wind they swung back over the tank and I quickly stuffed my 2 finger held shells into my pump and bam, bam, and down went 2 more.

At the time, daily bag limit was 5 and possession limit was 10. Counting Fred’s limits we could have 20 ducks, but 20 was a dicey number with no more than 2 Pintail drakes and no more than 2 Mallard hens. As I started to retreived the ducks, I had 11 on the ground and 8 in the pond, Fred walked up and we both began picking up ducks and ‘chunkin’ them out of the water.

As best I remember, we were lucky, the bag included one Mallard hen, 2 Pintail drakes and a mixture of 16, Teal, Widgeon and Gadwalls. We picked, singed and cleaned the ducks, filled our cooler and headed home.

Without “pot shooting” them on the water, 5 shots and 19 ducks was still OK!

Pictured is a west Texas desert mule deer taken with “The Legend”, Warren Blesh’s 22.250. The mulie scored 165 B&C and was taken on the Caddo Gage Ranch. Warren mentioned to me after he shot his Colorado mulie with a 25.06, see “{The ‘Bull’ Goes To Colorado}”, that he would like to get one with “The Legend”, a 22.250.

In Warren’s words, ““The Legend” met it’s toughest match this past week. We faced vast rough country and very elusive desert mulies. Mondays weather was 70 degrees and winds out of the south at 30mph. Tuesday morning, in our assigned ‘pasture’ of 14,000 acres, we saw lots of young bucks.”

“Around noon the weather changed to a hard norther with winds 30 mph from the north and rain turning to snow. I was intimidated by the hard hunting, hard weather and this was far more hunt than I had planned for “The Legend”.”
“My guide and I spotted this big mulie chasing a few does. The wind was howling and I had to take my first shot from the pick up. The pick up shook, the Legend fired and I must have missed. Oh my!”
“The next shot rang out as my guide said keep firing. The next shot a solid mid section shot. Then, I remembered that my buddy in Colorado had told me that a high shoulder shot would take any mulie down. So, my next shot was high shoulder. The buck took a fall and both me and “The Legend” passed out from exhaustion!”

On his family’s low fence, ranch in Lamar County, in far, northeast Texas, this 14 year old, hunter, who has been hunting since he was 8, bagged this nice buck. Before field dressing, the buck weighed 180 pounds and scored a whopping 168-7/8 B&C points.
My Daughter, Suzanne, who teaches in the North Lamar School District, where this young man attends school, sent me this picture and short story about this great deer that was shot in Lamar County. In most cases, you’d think that this deer would have been shot in the western part of our Texas hill country, or south Texas.

We always write about the successful hunts and show pictures of the ‘mighty’ hunters with their felled game, but we all know that sometimes, it doesn’t turn out that way. This past weekend’s hunt into the far-away, Texas panhandle proved this point!

My Dad hit the nail on the head, when he told me once after a real slow hunt, “Boy, don’t worry about today’s bad hunt. Just remember, if it was easy each time out, it would be called shooting instead of hunting.” Having repeated this phrase many times to my friends and family, Brad and I encountered it, in spades, this past weekend.

Driving up to Canyon, Texas Friday and then on to Friona for the pheasant hunt on Saturday, opening day, we were both pumped at the thought some great shooting and hunting. Meeting up with the other hunters in our party, 17 in all, with no wind and the thermometer hovering around 25, we headed out to our first CRP field, expecting great things.

These fields were one section each and the prairie grass had these annoying humps in them that made walking almost difficult. With 4 blockers and 13 walkers we covered the first field with no results. After the walk, as we were ‘blowing’, someone said, “I heard because of the drought, there was a bad hatch of chicks this past spring.” This would be the story of this day’s hunt!

Hunting hard until lunch and shedding clothes after each walk, with only one bird to show for our efforts, we retired to the local Mexican restaurant for burros fixed enchilada style and copious amounts of iced tea! We mingled with hunters from other groups all with the same, sad story – not many birds.

By days end, having walked miles, with the temperature hovering in the 60’s, we were down to tee shirts. Last year on opening day, these same fields had provided ‘limit’ shooting by lunch, but our bird total for the day was 6. Managing to drop one, I felt lucky, but one of our hunters picked up the bird and I never bothered to claim it. Brad had taken 3 ultra long shots, our game bags were empty, but it had been a wonderful day!

Up at 3:30 AM, Sunday morning for a 2, hour, drive to near Memphis, Texas and a go at either white tail or mule deer. We were excited, but the ¾ moon was so bright we could have read the newspaper by it. The deer weren’t moving, we saw a lot of sign, but no deer of either variety. Driving back into town, we did see 2 nice mulie, bucks in the back of a pick up.

Brad and I had a great time, the fellowship was great, the food was great, the hunting left something to be desired and this trip just reinforced the statement, “Just remember, if it was easy each time out, it would be called shooting instead of hunting!”

One picture remains of Brinson Bryan, taken around 1846, after the Mexican War.  Thanks to several house fires, no picture remains of Levi Sanders.

Both men fought side by side from December 17 to the 27th, 1864, and it is not known if they ever met, but the rear guard that included these 2 of my Great Grandfather’s, performed its duty flawlessly and saved what was left of the Confederate Army of Tennessee.

The rear guard was in constant contact with Union troops the entire retreat, winning each battle and skirmish.  Federal General Thomas said, “Hood’s Army on the retreat from Tennessee was a bunch of disorganized rabble.  But the rear guard, however, was undaunted and firm, and did its work bravely to the last.”

After the war ended both men were active in the same veteran reunion groups and I’m sure their paths crossed.

My family strives to keep this heritage intact and something to treasure.  These men fought for four years for something they believed in – states rights.  They lost the war, but we’ll always remember their sacrifice!