An ode to Texans

Have I ever told you how I feel about traipsing?

No?

 I do not like it.

I do not enjoy traipsing around in the forest.

Miguel does.

 I believe he loves to blaze his own trail and just bulldoze his way through the thick brush that makes up our forests.

Michael knows that traipsing and I are not friends. I believe the following story is a prime example of him getting even for the tickle grasses and stump tricks I spoke of in my previous post.

The other day we were out hunting. We had been doing the usual; drive to a spot, get out, hike to another spot, glass for deer, go back to the truck, and repeat. We were in the repeat stage of this cycle when Miguel decided to throw a little craziness in the mix. He says to me, "Let's park the truck here, hike up this hillside, climb up to the top and stop to glass and see if we can find any deer." Okee dokee. Not so different from the usual other than the fact that we would be traipsing. Through blackberry bushes. And downed timber. Oh yeah, and we would be doing so at a near 90 degree angle to the ground.

Side note:

Have you ever hiked where blackberry vines grow? They are mean. Not only do they scratch and grab and stick you with their thorns, they also trip you as you walk. Only where you don't want the invasive plants to be are they considered a nuisance. And here, they grow everywhere.

So up we went. Through the blackberry vines, the downed timber, and other plant life. We arrived at a place near the top and looked around. We saw some does and a few fawns, but no bucks. After about 45 minutes of looking, Miguel decided it would be a good idea if he went back down to the truck and left me there on the top of the mountain to climb even higher to see if I could get up on top and look down to find deer. What he didn't know at the time but knows, like, reeeeeally knows now, is that I'm not very good with directions. To shorten this story a bit, I could not find even a deer trail to follow, and therefore had to blaze my own way through the brush. At the speed of dripping molasses in winter.

Eventually I made my way to where Miguel was and off we went again. But I will not be traipsing around again in there any time soon, and I made sure he knows that.

 He won't be forgetting that.

 From what I hear through the grape vine 'round these parts, not many people have been seeing deer this year. Maybe it's because of the late spring, and the weather/growing seasons have been all wonky, but Michael and I weren't the only ones not seeing bucks.

We had been going out as often as we could manage; mornings, evenings. Weekdays and weekends.

 Nada.

We tried (in my book, at least) pretty hard to find a buck but we were having no such luck.

Now. Hunting black tail deer is different than hunting mule deer in that the black tails have so much more the advantage of hiding in the old growth timber that if a deer was bedded 20 feet from you while you were traipsing around in the forest, you would never know he was there if he didn't move or make a noise. That's how thick this stuff is.

Can you imagine my pain all the more clearly now?

This past weekend was our last chance at a black tail for me and wouldn't you know that all the right things came into play. The rut is coming on and the male deer are getting a little more careless about being out in the open. It also (finally) started to rain. I guess the deer like the rain and that's what brings them out of hiding.

So with all this on our side, we made one last jaunt to our stomping grounds. We did the usual, made the rounds, and were on our way to where we knew a little fork-ed horn liked to hang out, because by this point, we just wanted the meat and were going to forgo the hunt for size, when off the side of the road through the trees, I saw a deer.

A buck.

 I yelled, "Buck! Buck! BUCK!" Michael slammed on the brakes, I jumped out of the truck, scrambled up the bank and got the big boy in the cross hairs. Amazingly he stopped to look back at me and that's when I took the shot. Not the most amazing angle but it did the job. 

(Can you say Texas heart shot? You should google it if you don't know what I mean. Poor Texans. They sure get the 'bum' end of this saying. Get it? "Bum end"? OK, lame, I know, humor me. I had to tie in the title to the post somehow.)

 We walked up on him, took the pics, got him ready to pack out, dragged him down to the road, backed the truck up to the bank and loaded him up all in an hour's time. That's the kind of hunt I want always.

It was such an emotional thing for me. I couldn't explain why I started to cry or why I couldn't control the tears that kept flowing. I just knew that I felt very much alive, very primal. I felt so much gratitude towards this animal and his maker for the life that he led and had ultimately surrendered to me. I think that's why the above photo is one of my favs because my emotions seem very apparent. I remember feeling that to waste any part of this animal would be a sin of great proportions because he deserved to be honored.

It makes my heart happy to know that his hide and legs and head will be donated to a friend who is a member of a local Indian tribe and who will use them as ceremonial pieces.  I also know that my amazing husband does the best job he can to salvage every edible part of this animal so that it can feed our family for many many months to come.  

This buck truly will be honored.

 

I love the dark patterns in his antlers. Up close it looks a little like marble; like it's ingrained in the bone. Michael said that there is a wives tale that says that a deer who has eaten poison oak leaves often in his lifetime has that look to his antlers. Whether or not that's true, who knows. But it sounds cool.

Thank you so much, my sweet husband, for taking me and putting up with me and being patient with me. This is an experience I will remember for always.