It was 5 years before my next deer hunt and moving to Georgia in late 1974, with the move, my new job and getting settled in, there was little opportunity to hunt much, only a couple of excursions to try and find a few quail, was about all. By the opening of quail season in 1975, I had met new hunting buddies and was immersed in the sport. However, on some of the quail haunts, we would regularly see a lot of doe and even a few, nice bucks.

But by the mid point of deer season in 1977, the pressure was really getting on me to take up deer hunting! Brad, a junior in high school, had just arrowed his first deer, a doe and Randy, 11 years old, and I had applied for, but had not been drawn, for the Georgia Game and Fish, Special Youth Hunt, held on Sapelo, Island.

Hunting season in 1978 rolled around, Randy and I applied for, and were drawn for the Sapelo Island hunt. Brad’s high school football team was rolling toward, what we hoped for was, a State championship. My quail hunting got off to a roaring start, see my October 29, 2009 post, “[A Fight To The Finish]” and I had killed my first buck (in hand to hand combat).

Two weeks after the deer incident, my neighbor and friend, Mark Greenberg and I, both had a day off and we decided that we’d go deer hunting, this would be my fifth deer hunt, but Mark was already very experienced. The week before we had helped Brad set up a tree-stand along a small creek in some real thick cover, outside of Stockbridge, an hours drive south of Atlanta. There was a well used deer trail that ran along beside the small, stream and Brad’s stand was within arrow distance.

Before sun up, Mark and I drove my Dodge Power Wagon, down to the hunting spot and walked in through the woods to Brad’s stand and I volunteered Mark to climb up the stand, while I walked a hundred yards down the creek. He was packing his .243 and I had my 12 Ga. shotgun, loaded with OO bucks. Something told me that this would be a “real” hunt!

By 8:00 AM we hadn’t seen a deer, I was day dreaming a little, and all of a sudden, across the creek, this big doe almost ran over me I thought, not even being able to get my shotgun up, she was heading up the creek at a lope toward Mark and Boom, his rifle exploded! There was all kind of thrashing around, then silence and Mark yelled out, “Got her!”

Taking his exclamation as the “all clear”, I ran down to him and the doe lay between us, shot through the heart. Holding the deer down while he field dressed it, he remarked, “This venison will taste really good!” Both of us got suitably bloodied and not washing the blood off until we dropped the doe off at a processor, got back home before noon.

This turned out to be a “real” deer hunt and I kinda’ liked it!

In the November 24, 2010. Goldthwaite Eagle, Steve Bridges the Editor said, “I have already had quite a few landowners willing to host Wounded Warriors for a doe and spike hunt in January. We are still in the planning phase. But I am proud of all of the Mills County landowners willing to serve our Country!”

This writer was one of the many to sign up and volunteer to provide a hunt. It will be a nice, post Christmas gift to some of our Wounded Warriors. These troopers have made tremendous, sacrifices, many with horrible wounds and amputations, others with wounds that you can’t see, like PTSD, these sacrifices made for everyone in our Country and this is the least that some of us in Mills County, Texas can do to show our appreciation for them.

The Mills County, Wounded Warrior hunt will be held during the State’s Special Late General Session, January 3-16 and antlerless and spike bucks are the only deer that can be taken. The dates for the hunt haven’t been selected, but this hunt will provide benefits to both the hunters and the landowners; excess game can be harvested while, at the same time, providing good, outdoor recreation for our troopers. It’ll be a win-win for everyone!

Leave a comment and let me know what you think about our Wounded Warrior hunting project. Across the country, who else will hold, or is contemplating, holding one of these?

Now, it was only 2 years between deer hunts and as far as I was concerned, the wait wasn’t worth it, but I’d better get with the program. Because, earlier in the deer season, my 8 year, old son, Brad, had shot and helped his Pap-Paw Buck clean his first deer.

Getting a nice promotion with the large computer company meant that I would have a staff that reported to me. At the insistence of one of my staff, who also happened to be a long time friend, Bob Lindsey, I accepted his invitation to drive out to his ranch that was on I-10, between Columbus and Alleyton, Texas and shoot one of the many bucks that, he said, literally infested the place. He also asked Jim Rodgers to come out and get one too. Jim also worked for me so he and I planned to hunt at Bob’s in the morning then drive south on F.M. Road 102 to Eagle Lake and hunt some ducks on another friend, Sonny Simpson’s, place.

Taking the relatively short drive from our homes, in west Houston, out I-10 to Bob’s ranch, we arrived a good hour before sun up. He had a nice breakfast ready for us and after eating we headed out to our stands, or so I thought. My “stand” was seated on the ground against a post oak tree and I thought, Huh, this is no way to treat your boss! Having borrowed my brother’s M-1 carbine, I just knew that I would get a shot at a buck. Bob had cautioned us, since he didn’t have any doe permits left, please don’t shoot a doe.

Bucks only, so I sat myself down and leaned against my tree eagerly waiting for my buck. A lot of doe, a dozen or more, walked by, some as close as 20 yards, but no bucks.
Because I could sit still no longer, finally, an hour and a half later, I gave up,. Getting up, unloading my carbine, I looked up and there stood, I thought I could reach out and touch him, a spike! I’m sure he was wondering what that funny looking lump of something was beside the tree, but finally, after admiring each other we finally turned and walked off.

No deer this time so Jim and I loaded up and drove down Farm/Market Road 102 towards Eagle Lake. The road ran right by Sonny’s property, so we stopped, opened the gate, drove in, shut the gate and took the long way around so we could check the stock tank for ducks, or the lack thereof. There was a copious amount of ducks on the tank so we got out and slipped on our waders. The waders were needed to retrieve the ducks we hoped we’d shoot.

Walking up behind the tank dam, we crept up, peeped over the edge and saw a lot of ducks, mallards, gadwall and widgeons and I whispered over to Jim, “Pick out the big ones.” We jumped up, the ducks exploded off the water and we let loose, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom and the ducks started falling to the water. We counted 4 mallards, 2 gadwall and 1 widgeon, lying still or flopping around. Dispatching the floppers, Jim looked over to me and said, “Boss, I’ll go in and get the ducks, you stay here.” I quickly agreed with him!

Jim collected the first 5 ducks, but the last 2 caused him problems because, walking toward the 2, he was up to the top of his waders. Calling out to Jim I told him I could “chunk” the ducks toward him, but he just walked on out, the water sloshing over the top and down inside. We’d already had two cold fronts so the water was cold, he yelled suddenly when the water hit him, but walked on out, picked up the 2 mallards and walked back, sloshing, up on the bank.

This is one of the times that it really paid off being the “boss”!

Grunting is a funny name for a story, but this past Sunday morning, for Tim Albee, it was the secret for bagging a nice buck! Tim came over from Copperas Cove to have a go at a deer. He’s a black powder shooter and has been over 3 times, with no success, choosing not to take some long shots.

A little more about Tim; he’s in the 1st Cavalry Division at Ft. Hood; served with my son, Brad, in Iraq in the 1/7 Cavalry, Custer’s old unit; was a Bradley Fighting Vehicle Platoon Sergeant; is a Senior NCO still on active duty and has survived over 40 IED blasts!

Before sun up, for today’s hunt Tim was hunting in Brad’s old, Porta Potty blind, pictured below.

Sunday morning at 7:15 I was eating breakfast, Layla came in, poured her a cup of coffee, with our dog, Spike and cat, Bo, she opened the door to go outside to enjoy the morning and we both heard a, Boom! She said, “Sounds like Tim got a shot.”

Later when I came home from Sunday School there was Tim with rubber gloves on, sleeves rolled up, with a big smile from ear to ear! Asking how he did, he replied, “I got a nice buck!” And walking behind the old, rock house, the buck, an 8 pointer, was hanging up and Tim relayed to me the story of how this nice buck ended up as cutlets.

He said, “Sitting in the blind, I hadn’t seen anything and all of a sudden in your neighbor’s field, about 200 plus, yards away, there was a buck walking along. Grunnttt, grunnttt, twice I grunted, the buck stopped in his tracks, ran over and jumped the fence into your property and to get the wind, began circling the grunting. Stopping over a hundred yards directly downwind from me, he never caught my scent. He was behind some cedar trees and I didn’t have a clear shot, so grunnttt, grunnttt, two more times and he came running in, stopped and gave me a flank shot and I let loose, knocking the buck down. As the smoke cleared, he got back up ran 15 yards and fell in the road that goes down to the tree stand.”

Currently, at Ft. Hood, Tim is a financial analyst with the Family Advocacy Program and has on occasion worked with soldiers in The Wounded Warrior Program. This fits in nicely with the Goldthwaite Eagle’s proposal being offered to our Wounded Warriors of a deer hunt during the January, 2011 special Doe and Spike season. This will be a nice, post Christmas gift to some of our Wounded Warriors and the least some of us in the County can do to show our appreciation for the sacrifices they have made!

Leave a comment and let me know what you think about our Wounded Warrior hunting project. Across the country, who else is starting, or contemplating, holding one of these?

Between high school, college, the U.S. Army, marriage and children, my business career, duck and goose hunting, fishing and church, little time was left for deer hunting and I certainly didn’t miss it! However, with the elimination of screw worms and the devastation they wrought on the cattle industry and the deer population, deer herds in our fine, State flourished, soon almost everyone had became a deer hunter. Twenty-eight years after my Dad took me to El Campo for my second try at deer hunting, my third chance came up unexpectedly and it turned out to be a doozy!

One of my computer customers, Larry Earle, controller of a large manufacturer in Houston, asked me and several other of his suppliers to accompany him to his company’s hunting lease near Sanderson, Texas. Sanderson is way out in west Texas, 80 miles west of Langtry, the home of the infamous Judge Roy Bean, see my June 13, 2007 post “The Law West Of The Pecos”. The lease offered a copious amount deer, turkey and scaled, or blue, quail, aka scalies.

To crowd in a Friday afternoon hunt, we left Houston before sun up and girded ourselves for the 9-hour, drive out to Sanderson. Late that same afternoon, with a borrowed 30.06 rifle, here I was, for the first time in my life, in a raised deer blind, overlooking a dry wash, with a corn feeder perched on a rise, two hundred yards to my front. I had been assured the rifle “shot where I held it”, later, this claim turned out to be false!

Sitting for almost an hour, a hundred yards out, on their way to the feeder, walked 7 or 8 turkeys, two being gobblers and I was in awe of the copper/bronze sheen of the sun’s reflection on their backs, these being the first wild turkeys I’d ever seen. One stopped and looked my way, centering the scope where its neck attached to the body, bam, I let fly, and I saw the bullet strike between the birds feet, human error, I thought. Cranking in another shell, bam, another shot, same low results, now the turkeys were in full speed escape mode. No more shots for me as I sat back and watched the desert for the hour of sunlight left. It turned out the riflescope had been banged on something and, as it was, was shooting 18 inches low at 100 yards!

Saturday was quail hunting day, or more like quail running day! We chased the scalies in a Jeep and on foot, from just after breakfast until sundown and four of us bagged over 30 of the runners. Two years later I would move to Arizona and find out what “runnin’ quail” really meant! We had a great hunt saw and ran over a lot of rugged, west Texas, country side with only one downside. We ran up a skunk and as the Jeep was pulling away, I ran to it, jumped up on the bumper, went to climb into the back, my foot slipped and coming down, I cracked two ribs on the sharp, little, tail gate. Ouch, this slowed me down for the rest of the hunt!

With my ribs hurting, the foreman put me in a “can’t miss” blind for a deer on Sunday mornings hunt, an elevated stand, 40 yards away from a deer feeder. A front had come in overnight, a big wind was blowing from the north and it was cold, so much for a comfortable deer hunt. My blind was a metal stand, attached to 12-foot poles and painfully climbing in, at least there was a wind break as I awaited shooting time.

Nothing happened as the sun came up, then at 8:15 AM, the feeder went off and as if on queue, here came the doe, no problem except that our fine State had a permit system for harvesting doe and I, being a greenhorn deer hunter, hadn’t asked the foreman for a permit. The rancher had to apply, a game count was taken, permits were issued, at least that was the way it was supposed to happen, but “the good ole’ boy system prevailed in south Texas! Stopping counting at 20, with my rib hurting at each breath, I decided not even to try to shoot one, worrying would he give me a permit, was the rifle’s scope aligned OK, how could I exert the force to clean one, how even, could I get up and over the blind to climb down? Now years, and many deer later, these worries were nothing. So, all I could do then was to sit and wait for the foreman to come and pick me up.

One last chance at hunting was a sweep to be made down a brushy draw, said to be a morning feeding spot for turkeys. Volunteering for this one, it dawned on me that I only had #8 shot, no 4’s or 5’s, which are best for turkey. Pampering my rib, the other hunters said they would walk slowly and we creeped down the wash. Not a hundred yards into our slow walk, in front of me, glimpsing its beard as it took off, up jumped a gobbler, I aimed for the head like leading a mourning dove and let fly, boom, the big bird wavered in flight, crumpled up and fell to the ground, a lucky shot!

Having enough of this fun for the morning, I picked up the turkey and headed back to the Jeep to wait for the hunters to finish their sweep of the wash. Thinking all the way back, something always gets in the way of deer hunting, maybe I’ll stick to birds, ducks and geese?

My Dad really tried to determine if I would like to take up deer hunting; first try was on the Goree State Prison Farm, see my November 5, 2010 post, “[My First Deer Hunt]”. My second hunt was easy to remember because I got so, so cold! Three weeks after my first hunt, in the rain, on a Friday afternoon my Dad and I drove down outside of El Campo, Texas to visit with one of his friends and then hunt with him on Saturday morning.

We visited Friday evening and were up way before sunrise on Saturday and his friend prepared us a hearty breakfast. During the meal my Dad’s friend told us to go ahead and shoot a buck or doe, hmmm I thought, I knew doe were protected and no bag limits existed. “Doe are OK”, I asked? My Dad’s friend only reply was, “Camp meat”! Being 12 years old I didn’t continue this line of questioning and went back to my pancakes.

The rain had stopped during the night, but it was cold and drippy wet as we went out the back door, unusually cool weather this close to the Texas coast, but all 3 of us slogged the one, mile plus to our spots beside a wooded, flooded, boggy creek. We were all armed with 20 gauge shotguns loaded with #1 buckshot. My Dad got the first spot, a makeshift tree stand, six-feet off the ground and I was placed on a stump 75 yards up the creek. My Dad’s friend went on farther up the creek and not hearing him sloshing around, I figured he had found a good place.

Light was breaking and I noticed my feet were getting cold, everything else was OK; full sun up, my feet were now real cold even though I had on wool socks and rubber hip boots, back then I had no idea that the rubber boots were champions at conducting the cold right to my feet. My hands were getting cold too, my wool lined, leather gloves not doing the job.

Two hours in, my hands and feet were too cold to worry about deer hunting when, plop, plop, a pair of beautiful, wood ducks dropped into the creek not 20 yards to my right. They swam in tight circles, the male with his colorful plumage, the female almost drab next to him. Since they were to my right, to try for a shot, even with bucks, I had to swivel 90 degrees and as I swiveled, with a splash, off they took!

Murmuring to myself as I walked back toward my Dad, “Enough of this fun” and passing him, I called out, “I’m going back to the house and get warm!” Soon my Dad and his friend came in, neither having seen a deer and after a couple of sandwiches, we headed back to our house in West University.

Having sufficiently warmed up, as we drove back toward Houston, I said to my Dad, “Daddy, this deer hunting isn’t too much fun. I believe I’ll stick to quail and doves” and I did for the next 28 years!

Finally, after somewhat overcoming my bad case of cedar fever, on the 11th, I gutted up and hunted both in the morning and afternoon. There’s a cool snap coming this weekend and the high winds, 20-25, are playing hob with the deer movement. The only “shot” I got was of a real, dark deer walking under my tree stand, maybe my melanistic?

Thursday morning there was a lot of doe movement and I only saw one spike that I’m trying to save for the grandsons. Thursday afternoon I moved to another spot and one six pointer walked right under my tripod. This is next year’s deer and not wanting to spook it, I refrained from taking a “shot”.

More on cedar fever, a seasonal allergy that occurs usually in late October and early November and effects most folks in central Texas! It is caused by our copius amount of cedar trees that bloom or pollinate during this time. It starts with a scratchy throat, soon followed by a post-nasal drip, then eyes, ears and nose start running. If home remedies such as Echinacea, honey and cinnamon, saline spray and saline gargle don’t work, you’re a candidate for antihistamines. The last resort, that generally cures it, is a steroid shot.

However, ignoring my cedar fever, bright and early Friday morning I was in the tripod stand that Layla and I built, see my October11, 2010 post “[A New Tower Blind]” for more details. The wind was howling, my attempts at quietness being broken by sniffles and hacks, I was sure I wouldn’t see a deer, so I gave myself 10 more minutes, then I’d go on in. Two minutes into my time limit, out walked my melanistic, yearling, only 6 or 7 months old. Picking up the camera to get a “shot” of her, out walked a buck, a nice one and certainly a shooter.

As they “introduced” themselves, not 20 feet from my tripod, it ran through my mind that these would make some great pictures, but this was quickly overridden by my predatory instincts and shouldering my .270, quietly taking it off Safe and centering it just below the shoulder, I let fly, boom!

Down went the deer for keeps, so I gathered up my rifle, camera and binocs, climbed out of the tripod and headed in to get Layla and Spike the wonder daschund. Spike likes to “find” the deer for me and with his great nose there’ll be one time he’ll really be needed. This time it was just for his practice. He was so possessive of this buck that I had to take him back to the jeep and didn’t get any pics of him and the deer.

The opening of our State’s firearms, deer season was Saturday, November 6, 2010 and for us at the Bryan Ranch, there was a lot of huntin’ and not much gettin’.  To start it off, the folks that Mickey Donahoo and I were going to get a deer for were sick and didn’t want to commit to one at this time.

Tim Albee, aka, SFC Tim Albee, had 2 shots at a big doe, at 80 yards, one shot was between her legs and the other was just over her back, both clean misses!  At lunch time we checked his rifle and, lo and behold, the scope was loose!  In the afternoon he used Layla’s .270, but, seeing a lot of deer, didn’t get a clear shot at anything.

Saturday morning, 20 minutes before shooting time, I got out my binocs to see, one, if this early I could see through them and two, if anything was moving.  Right out in the open was a beautiful buck, big rack, stately, just looking around.  If he would only stay there for 20 more minutes, he would be mine.  I looked and looked, but finally he turned and walked back into the thick stuff.  Old bucks become nocturnal I mused as he disappeared into the brush.  Hoping the big one would come back, I passed on a spike and so many does, I lost track of counting them.  At least I had an excuse.

My afternoon was different.  Climbing up into the new, tripod stand around 4:15, nothing showed except this mockingbird.  The mockingbird is our State bird and I snapped this “shot” of it.

Later, two does came by and then a nice, 8 pointer.  This buck was a year away from shooting, so watching it and trying to get a clean, “shot”, while barely clearing the stand railing, the only pics taken were of the brush.

Then, a little later, noticing movement on one of the game trails, here came two, gray foxes.  Gray foxes are “cute”, but, around here, they are the leading carriers of rabies, so crosshairing one, I let fly, bam, jacked in a new shell, acquired the other, bam. Thinking to myself, Now I’m down to one shell, so I sat in the stand for 15 more minutes, climbed down, took this “shot” of one of the foxes, and came in early.

My alterior motive was to watch the Texas A&M, Oklahoma, football game, that surprisingly, the Ags won!

Everyone around here has eagerly been awaiting the opening of the firearms, deer season, me included! Today there are 2 other hunters here with me, Mickey Donahoo, who’ll be taking 1 or 2 does for local charity and Tim Albee, who’ll be getting some meat for his family.

Tim served in Iraq with Brad and Mickey and I play Senior Softball together and both have hunted here before. Early, the weather will be in the high 30’s then warming up to the 70’s by afternoon, with light winds. The moon is dark, the rut is getting started, we’ve seen some nice bucks around here, so all’s that left is to get after ‘em!

My first deer hunt was in late November 1947 with my Dad and cousin who was one year older than me, Bubba Turner. Our hunt was along a tree line bordering a grain field on the Goree State Prison Farm, several miles south of Huntsville, Texas. My Uncle, A.C. Turner was the Warden of the “Walls Unit” in Huntsville and had arranged the hunt, with one of his buddies who was Goree’s Warden.

My family and I were visiting in Huntsville with the Turners that weekend and getting up early my excitement was building as we ate, dressed and drove out to the Prison Farm. My Dad and I were using 16 gauge shotguns loaded with #1 buckshot and Bubba had his new 30/30. The rifle was a gift from his parents in recognition of his shooting his first deer, a real nice buck on the just passed, opening day!

Using our flashlights we walked out to our blinds. My Dad had the first spot, a nice ground blind. My blind, if it could be called that, was me squatting behind several stalks of goat weed and Roy, flashlight bobbing, walked on for several hundred yards, as he sat down, off went his light. It was dark, dark, my watch didn’t have a radium dial, since back then most watches had radium dials and I sat for it seemed like hours, but really only 30 minutes.

With dawn breaking, I just knew that I would see a deer. Up came the sun, no deer, an hour later, no deer and still squatting down, my rear was getting tired! Finally, in the distance, here came Bubba. He had a big imagination and told me that just at daybreak, he’d seen a big buck, but couldn’t get a shot. I’d seen nothing, my Dad, likewise and Dad added, “Goose hunting is a lot more fun!”

For me, sitting on my butt for two hours wasn’t fun and thinking to myself, The juries still out on this deer hunting, maybe I’ll try it again?