Beth and Her 8 Pointer

By Denny L. Vasquez

 

It had been a restless night for both of us, the kind of nervous night that comes when you know that something big is going to happen but you aren’t quite sure when or how. On the bunk next to me the young hunter had tossed and turned all night, unable to get the visions of monster whitetail bucks out of her adolescent mind. It was probably because even though she had been hunting many times before, this would be her first whitetail hunting trip where she would be the hunter and not just an observer, watching her older brother or father harvesting their chosen animal. It had been a restless night for me because, well, I was her father and I wanted everything to go just right for her first time.

We had stayed up late the night before, watching every whitetail hunting tape that I owned and even more that she had borrowed from my friends. We had discussed hunting tactics, shot placement, breath control, animal identification, hunting ethics and firearm safety. Then we had gone through the process of packing our hunting gear. When she paused to admire the new John Spencer custom hunting knife I had surprised her with, I knew it would be a good day whether she took her buck or not.

Sunrise the next morning found us already on our way to the hunting lodge of my friend Ryan’s ranch in Brownwood, Texas. Earlier in the year I had discussed Beth’s first whitetail hunt with Ryan and detailed the kind of hunting experience I wanted for her. Even if she didn’t harvest a good buck her first time out like her older brother had, I still wanted her to come away with a positive feeling about hunting.

As with many ranches in this part of the Lone Star state, this one has lots of specimens of the various exotic species that have come to call Texas home. I had previously hunted red stag, feral boar, axis deer and several other species on this ranch. As an additional twist to her hunting experience, I felt that having Rhonda, Ryan’s wife, help Beth on her first hunt might be better than dear old dad whose enthusiastic coaching might interfere with her chance to comfortably harvest her first buck. After all, many times we parents don’t realize the pressure we put on our offspring to succeed.

For the last five years Beth has hunted with my .223 varmint rifle and she has become quite proficient with it. Every time I would go to the range to work on a load and rifle combination she would tag along and practice with “her” rifle. (As most parents know, once we let our kids began using something, be it a rifle, fishing rod, etc., the ownership magically transfers to the youngster. Its funny how that works isn’t it?)) Consequently, over the years Beth has shot a Catalina goat, several does and feral hogs with this rifle. So I was surprised when after watching her shoot with this rifle, Ryan suggested that Beth try Rhonda’s .7mm-08 instead. When he explained that he was concerned about the little .223 not having enough power for hill country whitetails, I understood.

After handling the rifle for a few minutes and looking through the scope Beth proceeded to put two rounds in the bull’s eye at 100 yards, even better, they almost touched each other. Now that we were convinced that Beth could shoot this strange rifle it was time to go hunting.

For those of you who have hunted the hill country region of Texas, you know that it is quite common to see 20 to 40 deer a day. What is uncommon is seeing a good trophy buck. Now don’t get me wrong I didn’t want her first buck to meet B & C minimums, but like all fathers, I hoped that she would connect on a respectful representation of the species. After all if she took a B & C buck the first time out, wouldn’t the rest of her hunting career be anticlimactic? Just look at what happened to her older brother’s first deer hunt, but that is another story for another time.

We dropped our hunters off at their chosen stand about 4:30 p.m., on a windy, overcast hill country afternoon. The clouds, which moved in about mid-afternoon, had brought with them a chilly northern wind that caused us to roll the collars on our hunting coats up to protect the exposed skin on our necks. I think Ryan and I had the worst of it as we proceeded to another part of the property in an open top jeep to film some of the exotics that wander through the ranch. The freezing sleet, which began an hour later, confirmed my suspicion.

Beth later described how she and Rhonda had watched whitetail after whitetail use the trail that they were watching. Dad, it was almost like watching some kind of deer highway! I couldn’t understand why we were seeing so many deer until Miss Rhonda told me that deer traveled from their bedding areas in the hills to the creek down yonder to drink. She had quit counting deer after hitting 35. Along with the whitetails she had seen several blackbuck antelope, axis and sika deer. But what got my attention was when she described seeing her buck for the first time.

Dad, you should have seen him. I looked up to see him coming down the trail the other deer had followed. He would walk a little ways and them stop and sniff the air, almost as if he was looking for something. Then he would walk a little farther and do it again. I watched him through my binoculars, just like you taught me. I could tell he was an older deer by the way his jaws sagged and his back swayed. I even imagined that I could see gray hair around his head. Once when he stopped to smell the air he looked right at me and I thought I could see a tired, worn out look in his eyes. It was kind of sad.

When I put my binoculars down and picked up my rifle, Miss Rhonda said for me to wait because we would see better bucks come by. But I knew that this was my buck. After all didn’t you teach me about helping the herd by taking the older bucks while letting the younger ones grow up? Anyway, I just shook my head and told her that this was my buck because something was telling me that this was the buck I was supposed to take.

We continued to watch him as he came closer to our stand and just when I was ready to shoot a herd of red deer hinds came down the trail and got in between us. I lowered my rifle because I didn’t want to shoot a hind by mistake. Boy was I disappointed, here was my buck but I couldn’t risk a shot.

The old buck moved off into some trees to let the hinds move past. This took about twenty minutes because they would stop and eat a little here and a little there. Finally, I lost sight of my buck. I searched and searched but couldn’t find him, man was I disappointed. When the hinds moved on down toward the creek, the area where my buck had been was empty. Dad, I was so disappointed! I just couldn’t believe it, here I finally had a chance at the buck I wanted and he had slipped away.

A little while later as I was watching the trail I saw a buck coming out of the trees, not too far from where my buck had gone into the woods when the red deer came by. I quickly picked up my rifle and looked at the buck through my scope. Yes! It was my buck! He had come back. Dad I was so excited that I started to shake.

I whispered to Miss Rhonda that I was going to shoot if I got the chance. She was watching through her binoculars and I through my scope when he turned broadside to us in the open. I don’t even remember pulling the trigger when the gun went off and he went down.

As I walked up to him I kept thinking about what you had taught me about taking a life and what hunting is all about. When I finally got to him, I knelt down and said a little prayer of thanks then I pulled a sprig of grass and put it in his mouth. When Miss Rhonda asked me why I had done that I explained that it was an old Native American custom you had told me about. Many of the Indian tribes had done this to give the animal their last meal as a way of telling the animal thanks for giving its life to feed my family. Aren’t you proud of me?

After hearing her tell me this, all I could do was stand there and smile. I was probably the proudest dad on earth at that moment. All of my hard work at the shooting range and our numerous discussions about hunting and the responsibilities that come with the sport had paid off many times over. And now I know that I can look forward to many years of hunting with Beth and her brother as my companions.

After examining her buck we determined that he was somewhere between seven or eight years old. This along with the 165 yard shot needed to harvest this deer has made him a true trophy.

As a side note, Beth’s eight pointer went on to win the Big-8 competition in the youth division of the 2000-2001 Trophy Game Records of the World whitetail big buck contest. This annual competition is sponsored by the Trophy Game Records of the World big game record keeping system which is owned by the Exotic Wildlife Association in Ingram, Texas.