Live Bait Makes Fishing (Somewhat) Easier

By Will Leschper

The vibrant afternoon that held promise only a few hours before had morphed into a shadowy evening crammed no shortage of frustration, as well as no fish. The sloping sand flat littered with waving grass and oyster shells had produced a number of good fish in the past, but on this coastal day, the only reds and specks that materialized were in my mind’s eye. As the kayak slowly rounded a bend in the sandy shore, I spied an older gentleman exiting the water only 50 yards from where

I’d launched. He had been fishing a deep cut that previously had given up fish and where an excess of artificial offerings had been sent on this day with no takers.

A bait bucket and floating fishing caddy trailed behind as he slowly creeped toward the bank, eventually using the butt of his rod as a cane to pry himself from the sticky mud and onto dry land. As the paddle sent me closer, the man took notice and gave a quick wave before shaking down his gear. Any thoughts of this gent sharing my angling futility quickly were thrown out when he lifted the hefty stringer of trout that had been hiding behind the caddy onto the tailgate of his pickup. This angler sheepishly paddled up to get the goods.

“At least somebody found them,” I casually offered.

Public access to Guadalupe River brings prime fishing

Texas anglers have access to a prime location for rainbow trout fishing through a Texas Parks and Wildlife Department “no fee” public access lease on the Guadalupe River. Camp Huaco Springs, located between New Braunfels and Sattler, features a half-mile of bank access along alternating pools and riffles on the Guadalupe. Anglers can use the bank, which is gently sloped and rocky, or wade fish both upstream and downstream to take advantage of a low-water dam at the upper end of the property or a deep pool at the lower end. They can also launch non-motorized boats, canoes, kayaks or other floatable devices for the purpose of fishing.

The Canyon Reservoir Tailrace area features some of the best rainbow trout fishing in Texas, with regular stockings providing hefty fish in the cold-water area of the river.

More information: tpwd.texas.gov

“Yeah, I finally got some live shrimp from the bait shop,” the old man said. “I caught three sandies and five redfish, too, but they were too small.”

Chalking it up, the lesson was learned—again.

At its core, fishing is simple: Introduce a tempting offering complete with barb, your quarry takes it, and you reel them in. Somewhere along the way, all the tantalizing extras caught our fancy and made things more difficult than they have to be. Most die-hard bass anglers literally have boatloads of lures in a rainbow of colors and styles, some of which they never use. Many guys and gals who fit this description would be defined act right and attack a dry fly. There was a time when the thought of a 6-inch brookie popping a yellow humpy trumped a 16-inch brown thumping a beaded nymph for me, too, but I soon came to my senses. as purists, the type of angler who would rather not catch fish than have to admit to using live or prepared bait to scoop them into a net.

The key to fishing—especially this time of year—is to not make things harder than they have to be. With that in mind, the next few months are a great time to fish from or near the bank with live bait. Spring is a magical time for anglers looking to catch the biggest bass of their lives and though most lunkers are caught from a boat, there remains a good chance for someone angling from land to find big fish that have moved up to spawn. The same goes for crappie, which also move into the shallows to spawn as water temperatures slowly rise.

Boat docks and other structures near shore that may hold bass certainly also will have crappie near them this time of year. And there’s no better crappie bait than a live minnow. Our state record bass was caught on a minnow fished by an angler targeting crappie, so that certainly points to the versatility of using a live offering now.

Though largemouths and crappie are sought-after fish, they aren’t the only ones primed for natural offerings. White bass that have started to run up numerous rivers to spawn can be caught using minnows and other live bait choices and the ubiquitous catfish—flathead, channel and blue—can be found in some form in almost every lake and river in the state and has never been finicky about a meal.

Fly fishing also has its purists, those folks who can’t fathom dredging a nymph below the surface to catch a fish that won’t pening weekend of quail season, my son, nephew and I had slipped away to South Texas, hoping to fill the tags on some does along with a few bobwhites. It was early, barely first light, and I was in a treestand high up in live oak, busy watching a nice 10-point buck work his way almost directly underneath me. Suddenly, out of nowhere, another buck appeared at a feeder we had recently set up.

The best part about using live bait is that it simply outfishes artificials, making it perfect for introducing a youngster or beginner to the pursuit. Wearing someone out with all-day casting and little to no results is a drag, and I certainly can attest to it.

Even if you don’t have a revved-up bass boat or some other craft, you still can catch fish if you adopt the simple strategy of trying live bait.

You can take it to the bank.

It was one of those foggy mornings, but even in the early light I could tell he was a big-bodied deer with heavy main beams. They were lighter in color than our typical mature bucks’ antlers and I was having a hard time discerning his overall rack. Between fog, feeder posts and tall grass, I eventually counted seven typical points on his right side, two of which looked like nubs or jagged teeth and four nice tines on his left side. He left as suddenly as he appeared but left me with a memorable impression of what I likened to teeth on a saw blade, so I quickly dubbed him “Saw Tooth.”

Luckily, I had snapped a few photos with my phone before he walked off. I sent the clearest pictures I had to the ranch biologist via text to get his opinion of the deer’s age. Based on a few factors such as his deep body, a block head and graying around the eyes and face, he estimated him to be 71/2 years old. As the days crept by and my next hunt slowly approached, I decided Saw Tooth would be my target buck this season, and my goal would be to get a shot at him with my bow.

On Nov. 15 I hosted a hunt for my father-in-law and his cousin who had traveled all the way from northern Tennessee to shoot a Texas buck for his 70th birthday. After putting him in a box blind where some shooter bucks had recently been seen, it wasn’t long before I heard the crack of a rifle echo through the river bottom. I knew his birthday gift had been delivered. He had taken a nice 51/2-year-old eightpoint management buck.

Being only 7:35 in the morning, I continued hunting in hope of another encounter with Saw Tooth. As the morning hunt progressed, the first deer I saw was an odd, dark antlered five-point. I considered drawing down on him when another 10-point wandered out from underneath me. He was a nice buck with chocolate brown antlers, but he needed another season or so to mature.

As he assessed the area and slowly stalked around in what seemed like a figure eight, I caught a glimpse of another deer in the brush right beneath me. It was Saw Tooth. As soon as I could see his light-colored rack, I noticed the two jagged nubs on his right side. Wow!

He looked even bigger and better seeing him up close. Nerves kicked in and my heart started to pound. Reminding myself to keep my head down through the shot and not to lift up to watch the arrow—something I had been guilty of before—I grabbed my bow and turned to position myself for a shot.

Saw Tooth worked steadily towards the feeder and presented a perfect broadside shot. My arrow stuck him, and he bolted off like a scalded dog. As he crashed through the brush, I noticed my arrow had barely penetrated his body and was sticking way out as he disappeared.

I decided to wait an hour before even getting out of the tree to look for blood. The suspense was agonizing, and within 20 minutes I decided to climb down and walk in the opposite direction towards the river to look for sheds or anything that would get my mind off the buck. The treestand I was in is about 200 yards from the Aransas River on its south bank. All along the river, some of the thickest brush exists, mixed with massive trees, vines and all sorts of thorny brush, cactus, and ravines, making it very difficult to traverse.

As I walked along the river, I heard the crash of a large animal which flushed on the other side of the river. But I saw nothing. Was that my deer? No way, because this was in the opposite direction I saw him go. Finally, my allotted hour was up, and I crawled out from the dense river bottom to check for signs of blood near where I shot him.

Within 10 steps of the feeder, I found blood. Based upon the blood and other factors, I assumed I must have hit him in the shoulder. At that point I decided it would be best to come back later that afternoon, giving him plenty of time to expire.

Around 2 p.m. I returned with my two other hunters and picked up the thin blood trail. The terrain got too thick for the others to continue, but I searched on. I continued to track his blood trail which became spotty in places and ultimately lost it. After about an hour and a half I had made a semicircle down into the river bottom near where I had heard the animal flush, on the other side.

I decided to find a place to cross the river and see, if by chance, any blood lay near where that noise had come from. I found a shallow spot to cross and made it back to the game trail where I hoped I might find signs of my deer. Sure enough, I saw more blood signs and I was back on his trail. On the north bank of the river, the blood trail was even thicker.

I had to crawl on my hands and knees to get through some places to follow it. I lost the blood trail again and eventually came to an area that forked where it looked like he could have chosen one of three different ways to vanish. One led left upriver, one went forward out of the river bottom towards the neighboring property and low fence, and one went to the right heading down stream.

My heart sank. I looked and looked and found no more deer signs at all. I phoned one of Texas’ most reputable dog tracking experts. At the end of our call, he talked me out of hiring him, saying he felt the chances of finding that deer were not good, and the deer probably wouldn’t die. It’s hard for anyone to imagine how down I felt following that call.

After a rough night of little to no sleep, I decided to have one more thorough search. I would go back to the fork and look in all three directions he might have gone. Maybe coyotes or vultures might lead me to him. I started looking upstream and found nothing.

When I searched out of the river bottom in the direction of the neighbor’s ranch, I noticed a couple vultures circling way down river. They weren’t sticking around, only diving down momentarily then flying off. I thought because that’s the only place I’d seen any sort of buzzards, I would look down stream at least as far as where they had been circling. Hunched over, in order to clear all the vines and low brush canopy, I gruelingly crawled and hiked up and down the opposite side of the river for nearly 21/2 hours.

I searched the river, the banks and brush everywhere and saw nothing. No signs of my deer, no more vultures, nothing. Zig zagging my search about 600 yards downstream through one thorn bush after another, just me and my bird dog, “Remi,” we still found nothing. Exhausted and with very a sore back, it was time to give up the search, find a place to cross the river and head back to my truck.

While walking back, I happened to glance upon a wide part of the river and noticed what appeared to be the hind end of an animal resembling a deer, floating just barely out of the water. It was on the far side where the river was deeper, and the bank was high with a straight drop to the water and surrounded by dense foliage. As I stared at the tiny section of wet fur, I realized its hind legs were pointed away from me and it all appeared dark brown in color. Unsure what I was looking at, I took a picture and sent it to our ranch hand to see if he thought it looked like the rear end of a deer or a calf.

Suddenly, I noticed it rotated ever so slightly in the deeper water. A few minutes later, I could see some white on its hind quarters. It was a deer, but was it a doe, my buck, or another buck? There was only one way to find out.

I stripped down to my underwear and then Remi and I dove into the ice-cold water. The frigid water yanked my breath away. As we dog paddled across the river, my short breaths rapidly came and went, but seemed to regulate the closer we got to the submerged animal. Treading water with Remi by my side, I got my hand on its floating back hoof. I could see it was definitely a deer, but I still couldn’t see anything below the surface of the water. We started swimming back and I pulled the deer by its stiff back leg, when suddenly my kicking legs and bare feet rubbed against something smooth, slender and hard. It was my arrow and it was still sticking out of his side.

We swam to the bank where I’d laid all my clothes, and I popped up standing in about 2 feet of water and begun to turn the deer around, hoping to view its head. As its buoyant body flipped over, his whole body with all 11 points rose to the surface. “IT’S HIM, Remi”! No telling how many counties heard my shouts of joy.

I had found Saw Tooth. My arrow had landed in the vitals after all, but for some reason the expandable tip didn’t penetrate like it should have. Turtles and gars had begun dining on him, so I dragged him on land and caped out the head to haul it out and return to camp. Saw Tooth isn’t the biggest deer I’ve ever taken, but at 153 B&C he’s currently my best with a bow and without question my most memorable hunt.

It was a cool, breezy November afternoon. So far, only one young five-point buck had passed our position. The sun was dipping low to the west and the temperature was dropping. Anticipation was building as my daughter, Emma, waited by my side. A flock of wild turkeys were seen in the area a few days earlier and we were shopping for a wild bird for the table.

We heard them before we saw them. A sound like a stampede coming from the creek. It was the fast feet of 30 wild turkeys. In the mob were 10 long-bearded gobblers.

Emma was ready with her 20-gauge. This was a well-rehearsed event, the taking of a gobbler to add a spice of the wild to the store-bought bird already on the table for the family’s Thanksgiving feast. A tradition we do every year at the ranch. Emma’s aim was true, dropping a mature bird with a 9-inch beard. Fried turkey nuggets would soon be on a platter. Deer aren’t the only thing worth hunting in the fall.

Turkey numbers and drought

That memorable afternoon took place on a Panhandle river bottom a few years ago. Since then, turkey numbers have taken a nosedive in North Texas and the Panhandle. Drought is mostly to blame. Jason Hardin, Wild Turkey Program Leader with TPWD, explained the status of Texas turkey numbers.

“A recent publication in the Journal of Wildlife Management pairing harvest estimates derived from TPWD banding efforts with TPWD’s Small Game Harvest survey estimated the statewide population of wild turkeys at 790,000 birds (2016-2020 average). Defining North Texas as the Rolling Plains and Cross Timbers I would estimate the current population in that landscape to be approximately 226,000 birds across those combined areas.

“The Rio Grande wild turkey annual population trends are heavily driven by cumulative rainfall with winter and spring rains providing the biggest driver in annual nesting effort, poult production and annual recruitment. Timely rain events and cooler spring and summer temperatures led to significant population growth from 2014-2016 in North Texas and across the Rio Grande range in Texas. However, across North Texas the population experienced a significant decline from 2017-2022 driven primarily by persistent drought conditions. Drought conditions going into the spring nesting season reduces the fitness of individual hens resulting in lowered fat reserves resulting in suppressed nesting effort.

“Other short-term impacts are reduced availability of both nesting and brooding cover, and reduced numbers of alternate prey sources (mice, rabbits, etc.) which puts nests and poults at greater risk of predation. Persistent droughts also lead to long term impacts when they result in the loss of traditional roost sites at the ranch scale. Long term impacts to the overall population density also means fewer hens entering the nesting season, which results in fewer nests. Under these circumstances, it may take several years for a population to recover.

“We need year one of good nesting—increase the number of hens available to nest in year two. Next, we need year two of good nesting—then we get exponential population growth. Unfortunately, we have not stacked two good nesting seasons in a row since 2016.”

While numbers are down, it’s not all bad news. In late November 2022, I saw a flock of 19 turkeys on my favorite Panhandle creek. Seven were mature gobblers, two were jakes and 10 were hens. Friends hunting other riparian habitats at the top of Texas reported similar sightings. They are seeing turkeys while deer hunting, just not the large numbers from years past.

A conservative harvest is important to give that population as many adults as possible to help rebuild the flock for the future.

Spring or fall?

Texans have two distinct seasons to pursue wild turkeys, fall and spring. First, in many counties, legal hunting coincides with the opening day of archery season for deer in October. Check county listings where you hunt for exact season dates and bag limits. Fall hunting continues through the end of deer season in most counties that have stable numbers. In the fall, I would guess most turkeys taken are shot as a bonus while a deer hunter is waiting for his buck. Also in the fall, oftentimes mature gobblers travel in one flock and immature gobblers (jakes) and hens travel separately. Although it’s certainly possible to see the two sexes mingled together on a cold fall day.

I recall a frosty December morning in the Edwards Plateau region 20 years ago. I was hunting deer near the banks of a winding river with tall pecans and giant oak trees. The sound of cackling, yelping turkeys was deafening as the large numbers of birds, easily over 100, flew down from their roost. Crossing a cleared path near my deer stand, I counted 23 long-bearded gobblers walking single file. While fall hunting does not entail the calling and use of decoys like the spring, sights like that remind me that fall hunting can be exciting in its own way.

Spring or fall, it’s legal to hunt Texas Rio Grande turkeys with a bow, shotgun or centerfire rifle depending on the season. In the October archery-only deer season, only archery tackle is legal to bag a turkey. Again, check specific county rules before you go afield. The masses hunt wild turkeys with a shotgun.

I’ve bagged big gobblers with a .410, 20-gauge and a 12-gauge. All will get the job done. A .410 is more of an expert’s tool, not the best pick for a beginner. Take the time before the hunt to pattern the gun so you know the limits of its reach.

I prefer a shotgun with a full choke, fiber optic beads and a 3-inch shell with number 4 or number 5 shot. Emma has bagged multiple gobblers with a softer recoiling dove load, 2¾-inch shell with 7 1/2 shot. The secret: She keeps shots under 20 yards with that load and it kills any big gobbler dead with a swarm of pellets to the head and neck.

Although I’ve bagged a few gobblers with a shotgun at 40-50 yards, using both 20-gauges and 12-gauges, most have been taken at 25 yards or less. Getting close is the real allure of this game, especially in the spring when Ol’ Man Tom is dancing around the decoys at hand-shaking distance. With a bow, I prefer head or neck shots and specialized broadheads like the Magnus Bullhead versus a standard broadhead to the body. Some diehard turkey chasers will tell you a strutting bird taken at 100 yards with a scoped rifle is cheating. Maybe, but it’s legal in Texas to use a centerfire rifle in most counties.

Spring is my favorite time of year to hunt North Texas turkeys. The spring season starts with a youth-only hunt in many counties in late March. That youth season is a great chance to take your kids hunting before the birds are pressured in the general season. Emma has taken several turkeys, both jakes and gobblers, during youth season. Although for me personally, I like to pass jakes and let them mature, but for any young person getting into hunting, I think it’s important to let them shoot to keep their interest level high. I’ve learned, if you tell a kid they can’t shoot too many times, they lose interest and find something else to do.

After youth season comes the regular spring season, usually opening in early April and running into mid-May. Despite the calendar saying spring, dress for winter weather on any morning turkey hunt at the top of Texas. I recall last year, hunting opening day, April 2, with Emma. It was 33 degrees when we climbed into a blind by the creek. We heard two gobblers sounding off under the cottonwood trees, but they went the wrong way. All we had to show for our early rise that morning were cold hands and runny noses!

Strut show

Because turkey numbers have been lean for a couple years, I have to think back to the spring of 2017 to recall a really great morning hunt. Notes from my journal say it was still pitch dark when an owl and multiple gobblers were both gobbling and hooting at each other from the cottonwood trees! With dim light came the sound of beating wings. The birds were on the ground, and I was ready.

A few rubs on my box call got an instant reply. “GobbleGobble!” Multiple toms were headed my way. Through a slit in the side of my blind, I could see a dozen hens walking down the red clay road.

The hens seemed unimpressed by the boys following them, but to my eyes, it was a spectacular sight. Six mature gobblers, each one with a tail fan as big as a trash can lid, was strutting behind the girls. A few more soft yelps and the lead hen steered the flock my direction. It rarely goes like that, but on that April morning, they were on me like a guided missile.

With the entire flock inside bow range, I picked out a close target. My arrow lopped the big 20-pound gobbler in the neck, sending him flopping like a fish out of water. The other birds stared, a few even jumped on the dead bird and flogged him with their wings. I had to wave my arms to send the rest of the turkeys scurrying down the creek.

Whether you hunt them in the fall or the spring, Texans are lucky to have wild turkeys on the menu. Maybe when the drought lets up, we will have a few more.

Let’s see a show of hands for those who have killed a trophy axis buck in pouring rain. Hold ’em high. Well, not many. It takes a lot of determination to chase axis for two days and end up getting a big buck in a rainstorm, but Shylah Cutbirth Isom is that kind of huntress.

I’ve known Shylah—I call her “Shy”—all of her 30 years, being close to the Cutbirth family since my days in Brown County as a young, aspiring wildlife biologist. Her great-grandfather Sam and her grandfather Treldon were close friends of mine. Treldon, her father Kyle and I spent many happy days on the Cutbirth Ranch, just south of Brownwood.

Like a lot of ranch-raised girls, Shylah killed her first buck— a four-point—with her grandfather, using his Sako .222, on her eighth birthday. When she turned 12, Kyle bought a Sako .22-250 from me and gave it to Shylah. During the last 18 years, she has taken about 30 bucks, and many does with the .22-250—her only deer rifle. But that’s not all.

When Shy was 12 years old, the same year she got the .22-250, she was diagnosed with Limb Girdle 21 Muscular Dystrophy, a progressive disease that causes weakness and wasting of muscles. I can remember when she participated in various local and national programs to explain the disease, and raise funds to study the malady. Needless to say, she has dealt with MD all of her teen and adult life, getting about the best she can.

After graduation from Brownwood High, Shylah went to Texas Christian University in Fort Worth. Later, she finished her class work and graduated from Howard Payne University with a teaching degree. Since that time, Shylah has taught various grades in public and private schools.

Since her first buck, Shylah has hunted whitetails on the family ranch with her father and grandfather—usually from a blind near a feeder. “I’ve killed a lot of deer from the comfortable ranch blinds,” she told me from her home in Midland. “The hunt for the axis buck was completely different, and one to remember.”

The sprawling Cutbirth Ranch is normally leased to hunters, but was open to family hunting in 2022. Shylah and her dad had talked about her taking a buck from the several axis deer on the ranch. Of course, Kyle agreed on a hunt whenever she could come with her husband Austin on a family visit. Austin’s family lives in Brownwood, and this happened to be Labor Day weekend of last year.

Austin and Shylah drove over from Midland, and after family visitations, they spent Saturday evening on the ranch in the

Polaris Ranger. In late evening, they came across a group of axis with a good buck. Shylah texted her dad, who happened to be in the shower, and asked, “Dad, is my axis hunt still on?” Kyle didn’t answer until later, after the spooked deer were gone. Kyle finally answered, “Sure, go for it. You know that the bar on axis is 30 inches, so try to get a good one.” By then, the hunters couldn’t find the buck.

Shylah was disappointed because the buck was a real trophy. “I’m going to get that buck tomorrow,” she told Kyle that night. “What gun will you use?” he asked. Shyla quickly replied, “I’d like to use my .22-250, but I haven’t shot it in some time.” She conceded to using Austin’s .308.

The next day, Shylah felt good about the hunt because when they got to the ranch, Kyle had picked out a good spot behind his house in the Jackson pasture, where the axis had been coming in the evening. “I have checked your .22-250, and you’re ready to go,” Kyle said.

The weather was hot, as Austin and Shylah sat in the Ranger waiting for a buck. She was dressed for summer hunting, sitting on three pillows to get a rifle rest over the front of the ATV. There was no walking or stalking the buck—it was all in the Ranger—because Shylah couldn’t walk through the pasture. So, in late evening, the two sat in the Ranger and waited, and waited.

The hunt was slow, so they rode around in the Jackson pasture. Not seeing anything, they went to an adjoining pasture, still looking for the big, spotted deer with long antler beams. Kyle texted Shylah to see what they had seen. “There’s a storm coming, so you don’t have a lot of time.” Austin and Shylah could see the dark clouds to the northwest, but they kept looking for a buck.

As they came to a pasture gate, they spied a big axis in the adjacent pasture. Shylah couldn’t get a good shot from the ATV, so Austin carried her piggy-back to the gate. Shylah’s shooting position was not good, so Austin took her piggyback to the other end of the gate. She tried to shoot, but the rifle was getting heavy and the buck had moved away. She didn’t take the long shot.

Back in the ATV, they kept trying to find the buck. They saw only whitetails, so they decided to go back to the Jackson pasture where they had started their hunt. They saw no axis, but they saw a monstrous rain cloud coming.

“Let’s go back to my brother’s pasture for a last look before it rains,’” Shylah suggested, so Austin steered the Ranger toward “Bubba’s Pasture” gate. As they arrived, there he stood—a big axis buck. He spooked toward a tree line.

Shylah knew this was a different buck, but he was very good. Austin drove the Ranger down into the trees, and they decided to wait in the ATV until dark.

Two axis does came out of the brush, just as the rain came. As the downpour drenched everything in the Ranger, including the hunters, the buck appeared. “I tried to get the scope on him, but the rain had it blurred, and I couldn’t see,” Shylah said. Austin wiped the scope lens and Shylah looked again.

She still couldn’t find the buck, as the rain soaked everything in the Ranger. Austin took the rifle. “I can see the buck!” Shylah took the rifle back and looked. “Well, I can’t!” Between the two, tempers were getting short, and they decided to give up. They were soaking wet, the rain blurred the scope, and the buck disappeared.

As they headed back to the Jackson pasture, and on to the house, Austin decided to make a swing through a small group of trees and brush. As the Ranger entered the tree line, there stood the buck. The rain had slowed enough so Shylah could see through the scope. And sitting on her three wet pillows and taking a rest on the Ranger, she took a broadside shot. The buck lunged sideways, and took off running. “I think I hit him a little low,” Shylah said to Austin, as they drove the ATV to where the buck was last seen.

As they followed the wounded deer, the hunters could see the axis buck lying in some brush, head up, looking straight at them. Shylah bolted the hull out of the .22-250, and that’s when they noticed the clip was empty. The deer and hunters just stared at each other.

Shylah called Kyle. “I shot a buck and he’s wounded. We don’t have any more shells.” As Shylah talked to Kyle, the buck got up and wandered off to the right, and into the darkness. Kyle came with flashlights and more ammo. Shylah said, “He went off to the right.” Kyle and Austin went walking on foot because the brush was too thick for the Ranger. Shylah, soaked from head to toe, stayed in the ATV because she could not walk well enough to follow the men. After a long search in the dark, Kyle and Austin returned. The mosquitoes were swarming. “By morning, the meat will be spoiled, and the cape may not be any good,” Kyle warned, as they stood by the Ranger. “I want the meat, and I want the hide,” Shylah demanded. With that, Kyle took the flashlight and made a circle to the left for a last look. In a few minutes, he returned as Austin and Shylah, sitting very wet and scraggly in the dark, fought mosquitoes. “I guess you did all right,” Kyle said. Shylah exclaimed, “You found him!” “Yes, he’s not far over there,” he said, “so let’s try to get to him.” Austin drove the Ranger and Shylah got a look at her first axis buck. They took photos and loaded the buck as she pushed her wet hair back and saw her watch—11 p.m.

The old buck had long 34 1/2-inch beams and the usual six tines, except the brows were broken, leaving about 4 inches on each side. “We’ll let the taxidermist work on that,” Austin remarked as they got ready to drive to Cross Plains to Kyle’s favorite cold storage, after he called and made the late-night arrangements. “You can take the woman out of the hunt, but you can’t take the hunt out of the woman.” That’s a good Goreism for a 30-year-old who grew up in a hunting family—Sam, Treldon, Kyle, and now Shylah—four generations of Cutbirths with a long hunting past. Congrats, Shyla, for your big rainstorm axis.