Just walked in the door from another great trip to my lease in Webb county with my dad. We’ve been keeping a close eye on the camera activity and trying to pattern 5-6 “sho nuff” cull/management deer. We can’t shoot trophies until Dec. 20 on our place, so we’re trying to get these deer shot early before the rut. Anyway, we get down there Friday evening just in time to haul butt to the blinds-2 blinds that a few of these bucks have been frequenting. Had a slow evening, unexpectedly. Come to find out, one of the feeder batteries went bad at some point last week, and we think the coons emptied the other one, as we’ve never gone through 600 lbs of corn in a feeder in 3 weeks. Anyhow, we scrambled & got them back going Friday night, and decided to hunt 2 stands at the other end of the pasture Saturday morning. We had an eventful morning hunt with lots of deer movement, and my dad watched a 140” 10 point that we know well, for 45 minutes at 15-20 yards. Kept my eye on the cameras during the day, and decided that we’d hunt the 2 blinds that we hunted Friday evening. We felt that was our best opportunity at these particular deer. As I’m sitting in the blind, checking my Tactacam app, one of our target deer showed up at the west end of the pasture, the opposite end of the place from where we typically see him pre-rut. My dad texted me at 5:15 that he had a nice young 10 there, with some does & fawns. He texted me again at 5:34 and said “Slick is here!”. I said “shoot him”. At 5:35 my dad responds with “he’s shot”. I told him to sit tight that I was going to sit until dark. I finish my hunt and get the buggy to go look for Slick. I get there, and my dad has a concerned/worries look. “Hardly any blood” he says. He said the shot looked perfect but Slick turned slightly away right as he was squeezing the trigger on his cross bow. On our hands & knees, we crawl through the brush and the thorns in the direction that he thought Slick went. Nothing. I walk the edge of the road looking for blood where he may have crossed into the other thicket. Nothing. I told dad that he lived in the big thicket to the east, and that was the direction he was headed. About that time, as we continue on the sendero crossing the road to the east, I hear dad say “He’s right there! I can’t believe it, he’s right there!”. There he was, in the middle of the sendero not 75 yards from the feeder. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen my dad cry in my almost 40 years, but he was overcome with emotion as we walked up to Slick. He thanked me and couldn’t believe I let him shoot a deer that my buddy and I have put so much blood, sweat, and money into over the last 4 years, along with the rest of our herd. I told him that I wouldn’t be there, chasing these creatures with a bow & arrow if it weren’t for him getting me started at such an early age. My dad hadn’t killed a south Texas deer since 2005, and there’s nobody more deserving. It was a tad bittersweet for me at first. The end of an era with Slick being dead, yet so stoked that my dad got it done. We’ve watched this deer for 4 years and agonized over what to do with him when he was a slick 6 until last year. This moment with my dad made it all worth it. We rushed to get him gutted and hauled to the ranch headquarters to get him “checked in” by 8:00. They aged him at 7 years old. His right beam is 25 2/8” long, G2 is 11” long, and he’s 19 2/8” wide. His left side is a spike with an 11 4/8” drop tine. They scored him at 129 2/8”, and he weighed 228 lbs on the hoof. Needless to say, he made a trip to the taxi on my way home today. We ended our night with prime ribeyes, whiskey, and reminiscing by the camp fire. I thank God for each of these moment that I get with my 71 year old hero, who’s still as strong as an ox, and passionate about this crazy thing we call hunting. Thanks for reading, and happy hunting!
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