Hunting is often attacked by those who would make us out to be vicious, cruel and unfeeling monsters. The opposite is clearly true though. Our sport and way of life promotes family bonding and friendship in the most basic form.
Our story begins last season on a family adventure for Eric Hunt (whose name is only fitting). He was accompanied by his father, Thomas Hunt, and a good family friend, George Dillard. Prior to the hunt, Eric and I spoke often. He emphasized his desire to find a thirty-inch mule deer. Even though he was only in his early twenties, he’d set his goal on a high mark. Finding a thirty-inch mule deer can be a difficult proposition, but I felt confident that Mexico would offer him a good opportunity. Overall though, you stand a better chance of winning the lottery than finding a buck of this caliber.
After some unexpected running around in town on my part the afternoon before, we finally headed towards camp later that evening. Tom will probably rib me about that for the next twenty years. Our reward was a late dinner of tasty chicken quesadillas prepared by my cook Chapo before we called it a night. The wake up call came early as we stumbled out of bed and were greeted to a hearty breakfast. I had a plan in mind for the first morning which I hoped would prove successful as it had so many times before.
After breakfast, we packed up and drove away from camp. Not far away, we were greeted with the welcomed sight of a small Coues deer buck feeding just off our main travel route. He seemed to be uninterested in our intentions. After several minutes, he slipped away into the thick cover of the surrounding landscape.
We dropped off George first along the way. He and his guide would work their way across several large pieces of real estate and we would pick them up later somewhere along the way. We consistently take a good buck or two in the area and hoped lady luck would shine on him. I knew George had high trophy standards and was confident that he would not shoot unless a true trophy buck showed himself. What I admired the most was George’s patience and desire to embrace the total hunt experience in the company of good friends.
We continued on our way to where we would drop off Eric and Tom. Suddenly, a doe was spotted off to our left on a small slope facing us. We jumped out of the vehicles and found several other does feeding and moving in close proximity nearby. The rut was underway and I glassed frantically for any sign of a buck. I told Eric to get his shooting sticks ready. Shortly thereafter, he appeared. What a beautiful sight! Large antlers on a majestic buck cresting the ridgeline and slowly working his way down the slope face toward the does. I remember Eric repeatedly asking me whether he was big enough. Without hesitation in my voice, I said “Shoot him.” I normally don’t make a shooting decision for a hunter, but I instantly knew that this was the type of buck Eric wanted. A well placed shot at 260 yards dropped the buck.
The buck was a wide and beautiful, typical-framed deer taping out at 31-inches. Eric was surely happy, but was amazed that his hunt had only lasted about an hour into the first morning. I often wish I had the same problem. We all shared in Eric’s glory as hand shaking and congratulations were handed out like candy. As we admired Eric’s buck on the ground, I glanced over at Tom and saw a father’s proud grin on his face.
The morning was still early and Tom still hadn’t found his buck. Eric asked if he could tag along with Tom and help him on the hunt. I agreed without any reservation. What better way for a father and son to spend time together. Wouldn’t you know it, about ten minutes after I dropped Tom, Eric and Jose (the guide) off down the road, they found a buck. He was a heavy and solid, deep-forked, 26-inch buck that would make most hunters happy. It was early in the game and they elected to pass on him.
The next few days were exciting as George, Tom and Eric became rapidly acquainted with the Mexican desert and its animals. They encountered the wonderful jumping cholla cactus and discovered that everything out in this Sonoran desert bites. At night, we would settle after a great dinner and reminisce around a campfire about the day’s events. A highlight of one evening was listening to my friend, Don Biggs, describe the group of “monkeys” he had seen a few seasons prior. These “monkeys” are known to the civilized world as coatimundis, but Don’s identification of the species was more entertaining. Plenty of laughs echoed loudly in the darkness of the night. Thanks to Tom and George, it was there that I became acquainted with a drink they commonly refer to as “Peaches.” “Peaches” is a tasty drink made locally in Arizona and refreshing after a long day in the field. I felt privileged that they offered it to me in friendship and was glad to share it with them.
Over the next few days, big bucks were spotted by our group of hunters. George had an opportunity on a great thirty-plus inch wide buck at close range and was about to close the deal when he realized that his safety was only halfway removed. Unfortunately, the buck spooked as he tried to drop the safety off completely. A few days later, George had another opportunity on a whopper buck, but the deer slipped behind a tree and didn’t offer him a clear shot.
One evening, Eric told us of the buck he and his dad had seen from a glassing point above the desert floor. The buck was chasing a smaller 25-inch buck. Eric even filmed him at over 1000 yards with his camcorder. The video showed an impressive animal with great mass and height, a trophy by any standard. Jose and Tom slipped down and got within fifty yards of that buck. But, due to heavy cover, he slipped out ahead as Eric watched from above. A few days later, Tom had an opportunity on a super 5x4 that was over thirty- inches wide. The buck was running with a group of two other bucks and fifteen-plus does. Tom didn’t realize the buck was that large until it was too late to shoot. Eric and I can only attribute this to slower sensory reactions due to old age. On the last day, Tom shot a smaller 25-inch class buck. My tactful outfitter vocabulary still resonates with the words I spoke to congratulate him that evening, “Nice Coues deer, Tom!” I’m glad Tom didn’t have any sharp weapons handy as he might have finished me off on the spot.
It goes without saying that new friends and good memories were created on this family hunting trip south of the Rio Grande. Lasting memories created in God’s remaining wilderness. I’m just grateful to be a small part of it all.  |
From
the Aug/Sept 2005 Issue of Hunting Illustrated Magazine - posted July 6, 2005
