Like all Novembers in north central Texas, I found myself in my hunting blind smack dab in the middle of the whitetail rut.  This is easily one of my favorite times of the year. For me, it’s not only an exciting time to deer hunt, I enjoy the cooler temperatures, changing leaf colors and new smells of fall. I perked up as I saw a doe sprint out of the brushy ridge about 250 yards out.  It had been slow for the first hour and a half and I was getting uncharacteristically antsy. Ten minutes prior, I had started to wonder if I was spinning my wheels hunting in this spot. “I really need to find a more quality hunting property,” I reasoned. My attitude was close to spinning out of control. Thoughts of how much time I had already put into hunting that season with little results filled my head – not to mention the chores I had hanging over my head at home. Finally, a sense of entitlement and resentment started to set in as I pondered how hard I had hunted and prepared. Many other hunters I knew had already seen much better results – on much better hunting properties. “I deserved better”, I thought.

Blessings

It’s hard to beat sitting in the midst of His creation and truly reflecting on all we have to be grateful for. Whether witnessing the day coming to life or winding down, hunting provides the ultimate opportunity to  let go of earthly stresses, if not for a little while. Personally, witnessing the big things His creation offers makes it easier to have gratitude for the seemingly regular things he provides us such as home, family and health. If you think about it, He seeks us through His creation here on earth through grand sunrises and sunsets, the sound of flowing creeks and deer that seem to appear out of nowhere, just to name a few. We get all of this and more from a steadfast God (James 1:17). Going afield is an opportunity to show we’re grateful for these and other things in our lives. Unfortunately, I find that this opportunity is at times lost in the midst of misguided outlooks and the pursuit of self-satisfaction.

Despite the many things we love as hunters, we likewise often think of things to complain about. Sometimes things we don’t have or have lost. I guess that, as humans, it’s the way we’re wired. Crisp fall mornings, the quest for the nice buck seen on the trail camera and spending time with the guys after a hard work week can often be offset by the annoying lease member, the increasing cost of hunting property and the pesky neighbors that seem intent on shooting every young buck they see.

Outdoor Motives

I’m very blessed to have access to a family ranch to hunt. On this property, we are actively involved in deer and habitat management.  We love hunting and it’s typically not all about shooting great bucks. While this is true, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that my end game is often defined by shooting a mature whitetail buck. In the meantime however, I gladly do my part in conservation and game management by participating in the wildlife management program, as well as putting a dent in the suggested doe and management buck quota. I consider it fun, especially when hunting with a bow.  Still, I’m always on the lookout for mature shooter bucks and sometimes left with a little disappointment when unable to harvest one. The latter described my mindset on this particular November Texas day.

Fickle Attitudes

That doe hadn’t just run out of the treeline. She had done so with a purpose. After making a couple of nonsensical circles, she stopped about seventy yards from her exit point.  she was frozen and staring back. It was a familiar pose and a good sign of things to come. My attitude instantly changed. “This is why I hunt, I mused as I nocked an arrow and quietly arranged myself in the makeshift ground blind. After all, the rut was on and it was just a matter of time before the magic moment occurred. I had known this all along. Despite having hunted for over forty years, my heart raced and I was at full attention, as my rightful ideal situation was unfolding.  The doe disappeared into the brush, but was moving in my direction. She was going to lead a nice buck to me on a string. I had seen it many times in person…. and on TV.  Patience and optimism now reigned supreme.  I looked at the horizon and noticed the interesting colors and shadows. I was so glad to be an outdoorsman and couldn’t imagine missing out on such beauty while sitting inside watching football or playing on my phone. There was a good hour of shooting light left. I gazed back up at the ridge and life was good.

Fickle Attitudes II

I continued to keep tabs on the ridge and closer scattered cover. Nothing. I looked at my watch noticing that only ten minutes had passed. Then, noticing movement, I saw a rather smallish deer with a modest basket rack coming out of the brush. He stopped and gazed, then with head down, intently moved across the opening obviously seeking his mate. Regardless of buck size, I usually relish witnessing whitetail behavior during the rut. However, today I wasn’t particularly amused. Like flipping a switch, the same shadows and rays of sun made me think of the unseasonably warm day and my current discomfort in this section of flea-bitten hunting ground. My dreaded Monday morning meeting at work entered my thoughts as well.

Back to Wordly Things

I set my bow down and continued to glass the landscape. I noticed a few does enter the picture. This was their usual evening migration to a nearby grain field. I was glad to see more deer, but found myself on my smartphone responding to email and surfing a couple of my favorite hunting blogs. At least I could see big antlers there. A recent text from a friend included the image of an acquaintance posing with a huge “management” eight pointer. A 140 inch management buck. No longer acknowledging the surrounding country, I was in another world. A couple of does appeared about thirty yards out of my shooting range, but would eventually be in bow range. I resigned myself to shoot one of them if the opportunity presented itself. Wondering what I was going to do with all of the meat I was accumulating, my thought bubble screamed, “what a pain”! As if I was a great archer and a perfect shot was imminent, I mentally fast forwarded to the laborious task of skinning it.

Game Time

Even on days with the worst attitude, the last few minutes of shooting light perk me up and something seemed to look different in the area in front of me. Behind a group of does, there was another deer. Eventually raising it’s head, I saw head gear that got my attention. It was a deep chested mature buck and it slowly followed after a doe that had exited my view. He was gone. He reappeared but was out of my range. Darkness was setting in and my time had about run out. In my excited state, I reveled in my calm surroundings and the beauty of the colors and lighting grabbed my attention again. As he stood adjacent to the heavy brush line, I was able to gather enough light in my binoculars to determine he was old enough to shoot and had good tine length. He moved closer, but admittedly was at far edge of my comfort zone and skill level. Enjoying my newfound  contentment and thanksgiving, I knew that no matter the outcome, I was good. What a privilege it was to be part of this turn of events and special time in the outdoors. Though filled with adrenaline, it was at an optimal level and I was ready to take my shot. I felt confident, empowered. I paused as I thought I heard voices.

Voices in My Head

It took a second, but I realized that I really was hearing voices. The deer, including the buck darted out of sight.  I froze and listened closely. It suddenly became clear that the voices came from a nearby vehicle and were familiar only because I was hearing pregame commentary from a football game. Depending on the wind, It wasn’t uncommon to hear hunters in a camp on a neighboring property – but did it have to be now? Angered and bewildered, I looked across the area once occupied by deer and thought, “I’ve got to find a better place to hunt.”