Nothing can compare to the solitude of a cool November morning spent in the whitetail woods. While most of my outings are spent with a camera in hand, I always cherish the couple of times a year I can tote my Weatherby.
This year, I had the opportunity to hunt alongside my buddy Brandon Fulcher at the Fulcher Ranch in Jayton, TX. The ranch is located in the southernmost tip of the Texas Panhandle. The Panhandle is known for it's big bodied whitetails, with weights exceeding that of any other region in the state.
While I have always dreamed of harvesting that bruiser buck that you see at the Texas Big Game Awards, this weekend was spent targeting a mature, management buck to fill up the freezer.
I pulled up to the ranch gate at 5:45 a.m. I opened the door to my Silverado and immediately felt the bite of that good ole November wind. With coyotes howling in the distance, I started to imagine what kind of wildlife was lurking behind the shade of night. We would soon find out.
As the silhouette of the Double Mountain appeared in the Southeast, it was finally light enough to see the land. With a level of anticipation only a whitetail hunter can relate to, I glassed the CRP for antlers.
I spotted a doe right off the bat and watched her perform her morning routine. She gracefully made her way through the pasture, stopping only to look around for danger. I was just about to scan the rest of the pasture: When it happened!!!
Like a lion in the tall grass, this mature whitetail buck seemed to almost disappear into the landscape. I shouldered my Weatherby .270 and frantically stared through my Nikon riflescope. I had but a few seconds to decide if this was the buck I was looking to harvest. About the time I made up my mind that he was a shooter, he started to head for the mesquite cover. Knowing I had to overcome my buck fever and try to pull off a far from routine shot, I took a deep breath and laid my crosshairs on him. I only had about 10 yards of shooting lane left, when, like a page out of a hunting novel, he stopped and turned broadside. At that moment, the shaking stopped as I squeezed the trigger and listened for the tell tale "thud." I honestly didn't know if it was a clean shot or if he had came away unscathed.
After an hour of waiting and anticipating, I decided it was time to do some tracking. With thoughts of a downed buck running through my head, I made my way to the point of impact. I found no blood whatsoever. No deer in sight and no blood trail to follow, my heart sunk. I made a desperate trail into the dense, mesquite forest as if trying to find a needle in a haystack. I had all but lost hope when, like a gold medal winner on the podium, one single tine rose above the undergrowth.
As if hit by a cattle prod, I raced in the direction of the buck. I had no intention of hiding my feelings, as my voice echoed clear across the ranch. I kneeled down and thanked the lord for the clean harvest of this magnificent animal. I had once again proven to myself why I love the sport of whitetail hunting and why I always will.
This year, I had the opportunity to hunt alongside my buddy Brandon Fulcher at the Fulcher Ranch in Jayton, TX. The ranch is located in the southernmost tip of the Texas Panhandle. The Panhandle is known for it's big bodied whitetails, with weights exceeding that of any other region in the state.
While I have always dreamed of harvesting that bruiser buck that you see at the Texas Big Game Awards, this weekend was spent targeting a mature, management buck to fill up the freezer.
I pulled up to the ranch gate at 5:45 a.m. I opened the door to my Silverado and immediately felt the bite of that good ole November wind. With coyotes howling in the distance, I started to imagine what kind of wildlife was lurking behind the shade of night. We would soon find out.
As the silhouette of the Double Mountain appeared in the Southeast, it was finally light enough to see the land. With a level of anticipation only a whitetail hunter can relate to, I glassed the CRP for antlers.
I spotted a doe right off the bat and watched her perform her morning routine. She gracefully made her way through the pasture, stopping only to look around for danger. I was just about to scan the rest of the pasture: When it happened!!!
Like a lion in the tall grass, this mature whitetail buck seemed to almost disappear into the landscape. I shouldered my Weatherby .270 and frantically stared through my Nikon riflescope. I had but a few seconds to decide if this was the buck I was looking to harvest. About the time I made up my mind that he was a shooter, he started to head for the mesquite cover. Knowing I had to overcome my buck fever and try to pull off a far from routine shot, I took a deep breath and laid my crosshairs on him. I only had about 10 yards of shooting lane left, when, like a page out of a hunting novel, he stopped and turned broadside. At that moment, the shaking stopped as I squeezed the trigger and listened for the tell tale "thud." I honestly didn't know if it was a clean shot or if he had came away unscathed.
After an hour of waiting and anticipating, I decided it was time to do some tracking. With thoughts of a downed buck running through my head, I made my way to the point of impact. I found no blood whatsoever. No deer in sight and no blood trail to follow, my heart sunk. I made a desperate trail into the dense, mesquite forest as if trying to find a needle in a haystack. I had all but lost hope when, like a gold medal winner on the podium, one single tine rose above the undergrowth.
As if hit by a cattle prod, I raced in the direction of the buck. I had no intention of hiding my feelings, as my voice echoed clear across the ranch. I kneeled down and thanked the lord for the clean harvest of this magnificent animal. I had once again proven to myself why I love the sport of whitetail hunting and why I always will.
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