The Puritans set aside a certain time of year to give thanks for their many blessings in the New World. The festivities were celebrated in the fall to include appreciation for the harvest. Our founding fathers appropriately chose to follow the tradition, and surely with accent on freedom, called the special time Thanksgiving Day. Today, we all have reasons to give thanks on this national holiday—freedom, family, health, and God’s grace to name a few. Many have personal reasons for a particular appreciation. In 1999 I had just that, a personal motivation to give praise on that day. Since the specific gratitude is directly related to guns and hunting, I propose to share it with my readers.
Thanksgiving in northeast Texas to many such as myself means prime time for whitetail deer hunting. If I haven’t gotten my county quota of one buck by this date, I usually plan to hunt a few hours on the holiday morning before the traditional family dinner. Being only 45 minutes from home, my lease at Oakridge works very nicely.
Like many of my past 28 years on this hunting property, I was anxiously ready for the holiday morning. To better the hunting, a cold front pushed through the area on Wednesday dropping much needed moisture during the night and leaving relatively cool temperatures for first light on Thursday. I was in my stand of 23 years very early hoping to see a somewhat better buck than I had been seeing the preceding three weeks. As dawn broke, skies revealed to be very overcast with a threat of more rain. Light seemed to be off per clock by thirty minutes. Normally on a clear morning, seven o’clock reveals decent shooting light, but today as deer began to stir around 7:15 they were very difficult to see clearly. To my right at approximately 100 yards, I noticed a doe being spooked by a visitor in the brush. I suspicioned by the doe’s reactions the disturbing guest to be a buck and as he stepped from the thick habitat my Swarovski 10x42s confirmed it. The cloud coverage was keeping daylight so dim that the buck’s antlers were plainly noticeable only with the optics as he now fed a few steps from his dense retreat. Due to an incident the evening before where my ten-inch FA 454 slipped from my pack and dropped some 15 feet, to be safe I was carrying my six-inch also equipped with a HoloSight; however, I had foolishly neglected to insert the low light filter. (The filter reduces the glare of the red dot in situations such as this.) I continued to alternate looking at the buck, seeming to be a nice eight-pointer, first with the binoculars then through the viewing window of the HoloSight. Stalling, I hoped with each minute that I might gain a brighter image. The glasses would present the buck for a clear shot, but as I placed him in the HS window, even turning to the lowest setting, the picture would have a definite red glare making the position of the dot considerably unclear on the front k-zone of the animal. Soon the staring through the window became too much, and ignorance overtook intelligence as I squeezed the trigger of the revolver. The five special ports Ken Kelly had added only a few months earlier produced plenty of illumination for an instant as I gazed to see the buck collapse from a Nosler 260-gr partition bullet. Logical thinking, but that wasn’t the fact for the buck simply jumped about 10 feet then shook his body as to flip off some of the light rain from his coat. Proclaiming to be a rather fine pistolero, I arrogantly expected the buck to merely fall over any second. Instead he took a few more steps forward not knowing from what or where the blast had originated. It only took a couple of more seconds for me to face the reality that I was human and capable of Homo sapiens errors..no matter how much I hated to admit this one, maybe another shot was needed. I cocked the hammer and tried to steady for a second shot, but the buck stepped behind some brush just before I was able to launch another partition. Other deer continued to meander around as I sat pondering the moments and quite frankly still believing the buck to probably be lying stone dead just out of my sight. Anxious to get to my deer, I quickly slung the FA and zipped down the ladder to retrieve my prize or at least find a good blood trail. Much to my amazement, there was no buck, no blood, and I’m now convinced, no hit. What appeared to be a less than perfect sight picture and dubious shot, and one a part of me knew should not have been taken, now was proving to be a perfect miss. To continue to do my duty as a hunter, I began an extensive sweep of the brush and briars confirming that I had just missed my first buck with my FA. I was thankful to have had the opportunity and equally as proud that there was not any sign of an escaped wounded animal due to my foolish action. However, foolishness and thankfulness were about to be magnified in a manner words can hardly express.
Being only twenty past eight and somewhat brighter skies, I climbed back into my perch, FA still dangling around my neck from my handy short sling. Ready to have a deerstand breakfast of cupcakes and pop, I reached for my revolver to remove over my head. I was instantaneously struck with shock to find the big cannon still cocked from the shot never taken. Only you who have experienced such an unsafe incident can understand what I felt in my heart and mind. I knew at that moment that I had something quite special to be thankful for on this day of Thanksgiving. I had been up and down a fifteen foot ladder and searched several times though some dense underbrush and thicket without a discharge. Not even considering being hit from a bullet, the blast and cylinder gas cut alone could have inflicted severe bodily damage.
I sat giving thanks to the Almighty for my protection. Minutes later a deer fed toward me from my left. It fed on rye grass for a while then began to peer cautiously into the bushes. I could hear footsteps, then out stepped a dandy eight point buck only 50 yards away. With slightly more light than previously, but with a bit of a nervous feeling from the prior mishap, I collected my Thanksgiving buck.
Thanksgiving Day 1999 was indeed one to remember. I had gotten a second chance at my buck (possibly the same one) and perhaps a second chance at life. I wonder if anyone noticed that in my return of grace at the dinner table, I mentioned my thanks for safety and protection. I doubt that I had ever used those two words when giving the blessing, but that day they seemed quite appropriate and had a distinct meaning only I knew at that time. No doubt, God does protect the foolish. I’m reminded of a line from one of my favorite Ricky Nelson songs of the sixties, "Fools Rush In Where Angels Fear To Tread…" I believe quiet the contrary on this day, for there was a special angel assigned to this fool of the hour. Gracias a Dios por el angel que cuida a este tonto. Amen.
