From my blog:
Nothing speaks more to the rural experience than a Thanksgiving Day deer hunt. Telling the story through pictures and a few words is an honor that I always appreciate and while I often travel afield to hunt, my camera is always in tow.
For the 27th year in a row, my family took to the woods and hunted deer in the same place we always have for the last quarter century - a small patch of hardwoods that lines the mystical Bois d'Arc Creek in Fannin County, Texas.
There have always been deer in Northeast Texas. When I was younger, it wasn't unusual to see just one deer during the entire season - but that is when the season was only nine days long.
In the late eighties, the deer herd reached a critical mass. The season was lengthened to two months to the chagrin of locals and for reasons I cannot articulate, the herd exploded in numbers. Now Fannin County is home to a growing deer herd that seems to be ever expanding.
Up until Thanksgiving, I'd only been back once and hunted on a Sunday morning early in the season. On that quiet morning, my brother and I saw a few does but no bucks. As the month grew on and the rut began to heat up, he started seeing more and more buck activity. Nightly phone calls kept me updated on the deer movements but it wasn't until Thanksgiving morning that we were able to get out and hunt.
Thanksgiving 2010 was cold. A hard north wind and constant drizzle made being outside nearly unbearable. The cold sting of wind driven rain and subfreezing temperatures took its toll on my exposed face. While we'd been seeing some nice deer, no one had yet to take one. On this Thanksgiving Day, however, a deer fell.
A little after 9am, however, I heard a shot to the south. I took out my phone and texted my brother's 17-year old son Bo to check on him.
"I got a buck," read the MMS display on my phone. A few exchanged text messages later, my brother and I were walking through the pasture to check out Bo's buck.
Naturally he looked elated. Bo had harvested a doe the year prior but now he was standing proudly near the eight-point he'd taken by himself. We didn't say much when we all walked up to the buck as there was no need for words. Bo's rural right of passage was complete.
Our drive back to the house was short but Bo was abuzz with excitement. He called his mother and told her about it while Bubba called our buddy Garry and told him to come take a look. We admired the deer for a while and re-lived the hunt through Bo’s story - almost at the expense of missing Thanksgiving dinner.Moments like this, however, are priceless. And it is these moments that define what it is to be a country kid and a part of the Graves clan.
Nothing speaks more to the rural experience than a Thanksgiving Day deer hunt. Telling the story through pictures and a few words is an honor that I always appreciate and while I often travel afield to hunt, my camera is always in tow.
For the 27th year in a row, my family took to the woods and hunted deer in the same place we always have for the last quarter century - a small patch of hardwoods that lines the mystical Bois d'Arc Creek in Fannin County, Texas.
There have always been deer in Northeast Texas. When I was younger, it wasn't unusual to see just one deer during the entire season - but that is when the season was only nine days long.
In the late eighties, the deer herd reached a critical mass. The season was lengthened to two months to the chagrin of locals and for reasons I cannot articulate, the herd exploded in numbers. Now Fannin County is home to a growing deer herd that seems to be ever expanding.
Up until Thanksgiving, I'd only been back once and hunted on a Sunday morning early in the season. On that quiet morning, my brother and I saw a few does but no bucks. As the month grew on and the rut began to heat up, he started seeing more and more buck activity. Nightly phone calls kept me updated on the deer movements but it wasn't until Thanksgiving morning that we were able to get out and hunt.
Thanksgiving 2010 was cold. A hard north wind and constant drizzle made being outside nearly unbearable. The cold sting of wind driven rain and subfreezing temperatures took its toll on my exposed face. While we'd been seeing some nice deer, no one had yet to take one. On this Thanksgiving Day, however, a deer fell.
A little after 9am, however, I heard a shot to the south. I took out my phone and texted my brother's 17-year old son Bo to check on him.
"I got a buck," read the MMS display on my phone. A few exchanged text messages later, my brother and I were walking through the pasture to check out Bo's buck.
Naturally he looked elated. Bo had harvested a doe the year prior but now he was standing proudly near the eight-point he'd taken by himself. We didn't say much when we all walked up to the buck as there was no need for words. Bo's rural right of passage was complete.
Our drive back to the house was short but Bo was abuzz with excitement. He called his mother and told her about it while Bubba called our buddy Garry and told him to come take a look. We admired the deer for a while and re-lived the hunt through Bo’s story - almost at the expense of missing Thanksgiving dinner.Moments like this, however, are priceless. And it is these moments that define what it is to be a country kid and a part of the Graves clan.
Comment