Return with me now to those thrilling days of yester-year, a time when I was younger and hunting in Mexico just below the border was safe.
“Despacio, muevete, muy despacio!” Cautioned the ranch manager in Spanish. Ironically he proudly wore the name, Elvan O’Brien. And indeed he looked Irish with hair as red as mine was back then. “Camina hacia el viento, détente a menudo para mirar!”
“Si Evan, gracias…I will walk very slowly into the wind and stop often to watch!” I responded.
Elvan nodded “Te ira bien!”. The added, “Por favor, guardame un poco de venado de tus ciervos!” I told him I would surely save some venison for he and his family, should I take a deer.
Earlier that morning, sipping strong black coffee around the mesquite coaled campfire long before first light with Elvan, he told me where he had seen some nice bucks on the near 30,000 hectares ranch. He too said the rut was still three weeks away and the best way for me to hunt would be to walk very slowly into the wind and watch for deer. If I saw one in the distance, I should stalk him, but always move “Poco poco!”. At the time there were no deer blinds on the ranch, nor did deer have any idea what corn was!
I had originally planned to hunt the Mexico ranch south of Lake Amistad when whitetail bucks were coming to “rattling horns”. Unfortunately, my schedule would not allow me to do so. Even so I was excited. The ranch was huge and had not really been hunted in several years. I doubted much of it had been hunted even back then.
There was one road and one road only, that cut right through the middle of the ranch. I doubted seriously previous hunters had ventured into the brush far away from the road.
To hunt the property, I could drive the one road back and forth or walk and still hunt. Elvan suggested and I agreed on the latter. He said if I wanted, he or one of his vaqueros would take me down the road, drop me off at first light and then pick me up just before dark. All I had to do was to walk to one of the two windmills which were on the road toward the middle of the ranch. Both were visible from hill tops ridges, so I could roam far away from the road, and yet easily find my way back to it. This before GPS!
Sounded like an adventure, particularly in not knowing what I might see. Based on sheds and dead-heads around the ranch’s headquarters, there were some darn nice whitetail bucks on the ranch.
Up early…After putting several water bottles in my pack as well as four fajita tacos, four oranges and a couple of candy bars, I got ready for the day’s hunt. After making certain I had a couple of compasses and several extra .270 Win Hornady rounds, I grabbed binoculars, rifle, walking/shooting sticks then loaded into the ranch’s 1950 Chevrolet pickup.
“Te dejare en el Molino de viento del sur. El Molino norte esta a ocho millas de distancia. Nos vemos alli en la oscuridad.” Said Elvan. While I was not totally fluent in Spanish I understood he would take me to the south windmill and for me to hunt my way toward the north windmill which was eight miles away. He would meet me there at dark.
When he did drop me off about twenty minutes before sunrise he said, “Si disparas un dolar, usa esta cinta naranja y marca un rastro. Un vaquero vendra a caballo y traera a tu ciervo de vuelta al campamento. Buena suerte!” He handed me a roll or orange flagging and instructed if I shot a buck, to mark a trail back to the road and a cowboy would come on horseback and pack my buck back to camp. Up to that point I thought I was going to have to quarter any deer I shot and pack it to the road where it could be picked up later. With the horse option I knew I could hunt much farther from the road.
A cool breeze blew from the north, which was the way I headed walking very slow, stopping to glass the relatively low brush ahead, to the sides and behind. I had learned a long time ago to not just look ahead but behind as well. During many years of still hunting, I learned some bucks, especially those which are mature often lie low until all danger has passed before getting up and either leaving or resuming whatever it was they were initially doing.
Rather than walking in a straight line, I zigged and zagged back and forth, walking a half mile to the left and then turning and walking to the right a half mile or so, at about a 45 to 50-degree angles. Doing so I covered considerably more territory.
I knew the deer density on the property was relatively low, likely a deer to 25 to 30-acres. Thus, I wanted to cover as much “country” as possible, but also knew I needed to go slowly so I could see deer before they saw me.
I had walked thirty minutes before I saw my first whitetail, a really nice buck, albeit a youngster. He was a ten-point, 20-inch spread with decent mass. A few minutes later I spotted four does and three fawns, as well as a yearling fork-horn. They fed in a low area. After watching them for a few minutes I moved on. It was a while before I saw another deer. But it was a buck.
This one was interesting and he was not far from the road, only three hundred yards or so. What really interested me, was the buck’s droptine on his left side. There too, was no doubt the buck was at least six or seven years old.
The ranch’s owner had given me permission and tags to shoot three bucks, and, he had asked me to shoot a deer for the ranch’s vaqueros. This buck was fat and big of body. I decided to take him.
Slowly and cautiously I got a solid rest in the crux of an ancient dead mesquite. My 130-grain Hornady .270 Win Interlock bullet dropped the buck in his tracks.
At the buck’s side I said a prayer of thanks, then field-dressed it. Using a rope carried in my pack I pulled the buck high into a mesquite tree where coyotes could not reach him, then used the orange flagging to create a trail to the ranch’s road.
I spent the rest of the day still hunting my way toward the north windmill. I saw several more deer including a most interesting short-tined 10-point with main beams that spread to at least 26 and maybe even 28-inches. I was tempted, but his longest tines were only 4-inches long at best. I hoped I could find an equally wide-racked buck but with much longer tines.
Actually I did see another really wide buck I tried to get close to. He was at least 28-inches wide outside, a 10-point with tines at least 8-inches long (compared them to ear length). Try as I might I could never get closer than 500-yards. Had the hunt taken place recently, I could have taken him with either my 6.5 PRC or 7mm PRC Mossberg Patriot topped with Stealth Vision 3-18x44 scopes with adjustable turrets, and shooting Hornady Precision Hunter ammunition. But that was then and not now.
By the time I met Elvan at the north windmill at last light I had seen no less than 20 bucks. I asked about retrieving my buck. He replied, “La noche sera fria y la carne se enfriara por la manana. Lo recuperaremos entonces.” I agreed the night would be cold and the meat would stay cool throughout the night. There would be time to retrieve the deer tomorrow.
I hunted three more days, still hunting and glassing. During that time, I saw numerous whitetail bucks, even a couple of nicely antlered red stags. Where they had come from, I had no idea!
Last afternoon of the hunt I shot a really nice a handsome and old 140-class ten-point. I found him while still hunting along the edge of an occasional creek, taking full advantage of the breeze in my face, sun at my back and moving extremely slow!
My four days of still hunting was great fun. I saw numerous really nice bucks, took two, explored land where very few humans had likely previously trod, other than maybe the “ancients”. I found several “arrowheads” verifying their previous presence. I admired the artifacts, then returned them to where I had found them. I had eaten well and enjoyed evening’s campfires being serenaded by coyotes. Several days extremely well spent!
Before leaving I made arrangements with the owner to return the following year…but as has been said, “Therein lies another tale!”.
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