He walked with a distinct limp on his back left leg. One side of his headgear was now a long spike, and the other was a cluster of mangled points. It was evident, he had passed his prime, and from the looks of things, he had been possibly hit by a car or truck on one of the old county roads around the place.
I told the "Outlaws", "If you see the Old Man, please shoot him, otherwise he'll either starve to death during the winter, or the Yotes will get him".
Everyone agreed it was the right thing to do.
Well, when season arrived, he vanished. I told myself, "Someone on another farm got him". Well, time passed without seeing him. Then a couple of weeks back, the Old Man showed back up, this time even worse for wear. The cluster of points on his good side had been broken off, now all that remained was a big, thick stump of antler. The limp was even more pronounced.
I knew it was only a matter of time.
I texted a good buddy of mine on the 10th of November and ask, "you wanna go hunting today." His reply was, "I'm already in the stand." I chuckled to myself and texted back, "I'll be out shortly." I got a reply of "I've been in the stand most of the day and haven't seen anything yet".
Youth is a wonderful thing! Robert is 15 years my junior. He only started hunting about 6 years ago, and he's been more excited than a new gun dog!!
Anyway...
I make it to the farm about 14:30 hours, grabbed my gear and head off to my favorite stand located down on a creek bottom. It was in the low 50's temp wise and had been spitting rain most of the day. I meandered the 1/4 mile to the stand from where we all park and made my way to the ladder.
I climbed in, pulled my bow up, cocked it, settled my gear into place, and hit the cushion with my rear.
I texted Robert and said, "I'm in the stand. Happy Hunting!" this was around15:00 hours. At 15:15 I texted him and said, "My hunt is over. I just killed the Old Man."
The elderly statesman had come down a long winding trail from the creek. As I watched him approach, I had mixed emotions. There was the excitement of a large bodied mature buck coming into view, then the sadness of knowing his race had been or was about to be... run.
Perhaps in those moments, I could see me limping thru the woods. Knowing one day, my time would be over. Knowing that I too am not Immortal.
As he closed the distance, it was clear the pain in his steps had taken their toll. When he would stop to browse, he never put any weight on his left hind leg.
When he finally stood at 20 yards, I said to myself, the prayer I always say, "Lord, if You allow me to harvest one of Your creations, please let my aim be true, let my arrow fly straight. May it find its mark, and may the end come swiftly for your animal".
I then pressed the trigger.
It was over quickly. He ran maybe 25 yards from where the arrow hit him. The big 150gr VPA 3 blade had done its job. Once more, euphoria and sadness swept over me. Perhaps I'm getting soft in my old age. I don't know.
He and I had quite a time getting out of the woods. It was like pulling a truck uphill. And I only had to move him about 100 yards to get to the road than runs thru the place. Nothing reminds you quicker than dragging a deer that you are out of shape!!
I had him aged by one of my local Game wardens. We put him at between 6 and 6.5 years of age. That's old for a deer in East Texas.
He had a broken left leg, up in the hip area, that had not healed even close to correctly. Game Warden was surprised he had survived the initial injury.
He wasn't much to look at. But I skinned out his skull, a testament to a life well lived. I'll keep it in his honor.
