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"The Bladed Buck"
by
Bruce Goodrow
The old buck stood at the edge of the sage and peered into the canyon to the East; his antlers gleamed in the morning light
of a new Texas dawn. Almost imperceptibly, the days had grown shorter and the wind seemed to speak of yet another fall. Many a season had come and gone without intrusion or danger and over the years the
huge eight point had become the acknowledged master of his domain.
The first four years of his life had passed without incident as Whitetail hunting had not been permitted on his home range. His days and
nights were spent with a seemingly endless supply of food, water and receptive does. The genetic code of the large buck had preordained an eight point rack but with each year it seemed to double in both tine length
and mass. It was in the fall of his fourth year that the buck first displayed the unique trait that was to become his signature for the remaining years of his life. His already impressive eight point antlers had
emerged bladed! The main beams had thickened yet again but this time had formed blades which gave the buck an unforgettable profile of glistening brown spear points protruding into the Texas sky. The buck
had grown large in his four years and now tipped the scales at over 230 pounds. Local ranchers had named him Blade.
As the huge deer scanned the horizon and tested the wind for the presence of danger he
reflected on the changes that now forced a diligence to the slightest variances within his environment. The change had occurred suddenly, almost without warning! Humans seemed to be intruding on his rangeland; scent
was everywhere and he had seen humans stretching wire and heard a cacophony of building and banging in the many ravines and ridges of the ranch. That fall Blade had sensed an ominous change that was
intrinsically foreboding; his every instinct seemed to scream out warnings. Rifle shots had often rung out on the neighboring ranches, pickups came and went at unusual hours and Blade grew increasingly more
secretive. He learned that the darkness of the Texas night meant that he could come and go with no more than a silent shadow on a moonlit night. As he roamed across miles of Texas prairie and grasslands
Blade became aware that the land to the south always seemed undisturbed, almost pristine to his acute Whitetail senses. No scent, no sound and never an encounter with man-- these things the Bladed Buck knew meant
life without danger and alarm.
As more seasons passed he learned to avoid the dangers of November by moving to the South at the first awareness of human intrusion. He now traveled only at night and
used the rolling terrain and lush vegetation to facilitate his invisible passage. The last few years had witnessed a transformation in his Texas habitat. The vile scent of man had seemed to increase
dramatically. His nocturnal reconnaissance told him that the human scent had indeed permeated his private domain. Blade changed his personal bedding and feeding areas to the ravines, dry washes and CRP grasslands to
the South. He had made the move without incident and had become totally familiar with each canyon and ridgeline in his new area. Blade did not understand the nuances of human property ownership and, even if he had,
he would not have cared. He only knew that his keen instinct for survival had demanded a move, a move that placed him within a five square mile range in which no hunting was ever allowed.
The new area,
while being safe and free from human intrusion, was not totally perfect. It lacked the abundance of water and succulent green wheat fields that lay just beyond the fence to the North. Blade became aware
that danger to the North seemed only apparent in the late fall. In years five and six of his life he moved freely between the ranch to the south and the ranch to the north, each transition triggered by the scent and
activity of man. By November of each year it was as if he had disappeared from the face of the earth.
Blade found himself repeating the seasonal pattern of evasive movement each passing year; at the first
sign of human intrusion he jumped the fence to the South and sought seclusion. Blade would remain hidden until all sight, sound and smell of man had faded into a new Texas winter.
It was in Year Five
of Blade's life that I first saw him on the edge of our winter wheat field. He was an unforgettable buck—huge body and those bladed antlers so evident in my Steiner binoculars. It was in late October
and I was just getting the deer feeders in position throughout the ranch. He was an impressive buck and those most unusual antlers were hard to miss. The white markings on his chest extended upward in a most
distinctive pattern. We were about to open that area of the SaltFork Ranch to allow hunting for the first time.
In the weeks to follow I saw Blade three or four times. The first November weekend in Texas
has always marked the beginning of the Whitetail rifle season. In the first year Blade had been lucky, he had chosen to bed well over on the Oklahoma side of the ranch. Oklahoma deer season did not open until mid
November, over two weeks later. Within the two weeks between the Texas opener and the Oklahoma opener, Blade just vanished.
No hunter on either side of the respective state lines ever saw a deer with
bladed antlers. It was in the following spring that I saw Blade again but his antlers had already been shed. The large body and white chest positively identified him to me. The 2004 season was almost
an identical repeat of 2003. I saw Blade in September and October as I worked on the ranch filling feeders and clearing shooting lanes. The large buck once again carried his amazing rack of bladed horns. Blade
had become acclimated to my presence and would actually observe my actions from tree lines and ridges not far away. Once again not a single hunter ever saw a bladed eight point during our fall hunt.
In
September of 2005, I once again returned to the ranch to complete the usual work of filling feeders, setting clocks, changing batteries and putting up tarps on our deer stands. I saw Blade on the first day that
I worked. He watched from only 60 yards away as I got out of the Dodge and walked to the feeder. In the ten days that followed I must have seen him on at least six occasions. It was about this time
that I became convinced that if this deer was ever to be harvested it would have to be before the November rifle season began! I had made up my mind to try to take this trophy with my bow.
Bow hunting
on the ranch is not as easy as it first sounds. There are very few trees suitable for climbing and what few trees exist are always in the wrong place. Blade was an open prairie animal and there were no
trees any bigger than a forearm anywhere near where he ranged. I spent the best part of a day making two different ground blinds in a small canyon which had a corn feeder located on the upper end. I
had decided to use a pop-up blind with shoot-through mesh. I completed my early preparations in September and returned to Tennessee.
Bow season in both Texas and Oklahoma opened in early October and I
headed back out West to see to see if my theory about Blade and his disappearing act might be true. Upon arrival I took my two pop-up blinds out and set them in position. I used tumble weed, mesquite, and
prairie grasses to break up the blind outlines and camouflage the tent. Juniper tree branches were cut from nearby trees to provide additional cover and to mask any scent that might alarm the deer. I had created two
observation/shooting holes in the blind and arranged a small folding stool as a seat.
Day One began as pure monotony as I did not see a single deer that morning. The trouble with shooting from a
ground blind is that you have such a limited area in which you can see. The evening of Day One was more productive as about an hour before dark the small draw was invaded by five does and three
yearlings. They proceeded to graze around the corn feeder until almost dark but there was never any indication that a buck was within miles. That the feeding animals were oblivious to my presence, made me aware
that my camouflage was effective and my scent was not alarming. The deer moved to within ten yards of my blind with no obvious sense of alarm.
Day Two arrived with a beautiful Texas sunrise; the purple
glow gave way to pink then rose as the first sight of the sun appeared on the eastern horizon. The sunrise proved to be about the only thing awe inspiring during the entire morning. The only animal that
passed my way was an armadillo!
The second evening was much more exciting. I had gotten to my blind late and had no more than settled in, when two does moved into my line of sight about 20 yards
away. They were soon joined by three other deer, a spike and two does. These deer knew exactly when the feeder was set to spin and had arrived for their evening snack. When it went off, they jumped at
least three feet off the ground and all ran a short distance away. Within 15 minutes they were all back at the feeder as if nothing had ever happened. They moved around without concern until almost dark
when, in unison, they looked to the east and stood frozen with eyes and ears alert. In an instant, there he was—the bladed buck! He ran out of the darkened brush and scattered the mesmerized deer
like chaff in the Texas wind. He was in constant motion. I wished a thousand times that it was rifle season! He was only 60 yards away but he may as well have been on the surface of the moon. I
never even raised the bow and within a few minutes he was gone.
Day Three began as a carbon copy of Day Two—a beautiful sunrise and no deer. After an hour and a half of listening to turkeys
coming off the roost to the east, I called it a morning and headed off to work on the northern part of the ranch. My thoughts most of the day were about Blade and perhaps a chance to see him again.
At
4:45 PM, I arrived back at my blind and settled in to see what the Great God of Deer Hunting had prepared for my evening's entertainment. The sun had already moved to the back of my shooting area when I saw
motion. A young six-point was headed right towards the blind and he passed so close that I could have touched him with the bow! I remember thinking, "This scent control stuff must really work!" As the
last of the evening light rapidly faded, two more does came into view. They lingered at the feeder while appearing nervous and spooky. The draw was suddenly filled again by the presence of Blade. Once
again he charged at the other deer, and then satisfied that he had reinforced his dominance, he slipped into the scrubby trees and vanished from my sight. I began to wonder about my blind placements as now I
had seen the buck two times and never been positioned close enough to even think about a shot.
Day Four dawned with me in a warm bed. I had decided that because mornings had not proven to be very
productive, I would let both my body and my blind have a rest. I would set up again that evening.
I arrived at the blind earlier than usual, about 4:00 PM, and saw only a covey of quail until 6:00
PM. The sun was almost on the western horizon when four deer moved down the small ridge directly in front of my blind. They proved to be two adult does with yearling fawns. The foursome fed and
browsed in the draw until about 6:30 when they were joined by four more deer—three does and a small fork horn. After a few moments of snorting and shifting around, they all resumed just being
deer. As darkness descended, once again each of the deer became alert and stood as immobile as marble statues with their eyes fixated to the north. In a heartbeat Blade was there! He ran at the
feeding deer and they fled from him into the nearby brush. I became aware that some of the deer were just to the right of my blind. I could see movement and legs but not the body. In a moment, the
small fork horn moved into sight and stood there looking across the draw towards Blade who was approximately 60 yards away on the opposite side. Apparently offended by such insolence, Blade began walking
stiff-legged towards the four-point. His route would take him directly into my kill zone at about 20 yards away. I drew the bow and gave a quick thanks to archery technology and 80 percent
let-off! Blade moved from my left to my right and at 20 yards I released the arrow.
The second I let the arrow slide from my fingers, I knew the shot was good. Blade leapt straight forward and
into sheer darkness. I looked at my watch, and then proceeded to wait for those eternally long 20 minutes to pass.
No trace of light remained in the evening sky when I left my blind and walked over to
where Blade had stood when I released the graphite arrow. The ground glistened with blood—bright red and abundant. I tracked the buck down the draw and into a thicket of small trees and
brush. The big deer had jumped a fence and run into a section of CRP. I was able to follow the trail only about another 75 yards when it just seemed to evaporate. I had marked the trail with pieces of
white paper towel so decided to give up for the night and see if I could pick up the trail at first light the next morning.
During the night, I must have looked at the clock a hundred times! Daylight
found both me and Vallie, my dog, in the CRP looking for blood sign. We picked up the trail with little trouble and soon the signs were obvious that the large deer had been headed to a deep draw with a small
creek running through it. Vallie and I walked to the rim of the draw, and there by the creek edge, I saw the white of the buck's brisket. We cautiously advanced to where the huge Whitetail laid
motionless. Blade was awesome and I thanked the Lord for the blessing he had bestowed upon me. The bladed eight point rack was even more impressive when I held it in my hands.
The hunt was one of
the most gratifying I had experienced in years. Blade was my first deer killed from a ground blind. The realities of Texas had been good and bad—good to be able to harvest such an animal, but bad
that my inability to track him at night resulted in coyote damage to his cape. Luckily capes are easily replaced. Thank God coyotes don't eat horns! Blade was officially scored as 148 6/8. Texas Fish and
Wildlife personnel aged him as 7 years old. My hope is that the genetic heritage of this fine animal will continue to bless the SaltFork Ranch for many generations of Whitetails yet to come.
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