By Kristine Schmidt
I married into a deer hunting family several years ago, and my husband, H.C. Schmidt and his dad, Henry (Bubba), have killed some good bucks on the ranch near Sandy Creek in Gonzales County. I had always wanted to start deer hunting, and last Christmas I got the chance. Bubba had given me a Browning BAR .243 with a 6X Leupold scope for my birthday in November. The gift was sentimental because it is the only rifle I’ve ever owned, and it came from Bubba. Also, my two sisters-in-law have the same gun, which has mild recoil and a fast bullet.
After eight years of filling feeders and riding around in Little New York (the local community), I finally felt ready to learn the art of hunting from the best. H.C. helped me sight-in the .243 and I began to feel comfortable shooting my new Browning auto—no bolting—just load it and pull the trigger. We set up targets near the tank at Bubba’s house, and I began to gain more confidence behind the scope. The rifle felt very comfortable, the perfect size with a classic, timeless look. I even loved the camouflage rifle case with corduroy interior. The ammunition I used is 100-grain Remington Core-Lokt, a good load for deer according to H.C. and Bubba.
The day before Christmas, Bubba called and told H.C. he had seen a large buck in one of his pastures, and he wanted me to come hunting. I was immediately up for the challenge. Bubba had a feeder and a food plot for wildlife in the pasture, and I had seen a lot of deer and turkey there in the past. I had spent almost a decade venturing with my husband on this piece of property. I had even shot my maternity pictures with my daughter River in front of the majestic oak trees. We watched many sunrises and sunsets and worked cattle and hunted hogs on the place.
On Christmas Eve, I arrived around 2:30 p.m. to get situated and get in the blind with Bubba. My son, Truitt—Bubba’s grandson—tagged along and we took the Mule to the blind about 3:15 p.m. I had come to the ranch from Gonzales, and my Browning .243 was at home in Shiner. Bubba said I could shoot the buck with his rifle if it showed up, so we all got into the blind.
I felt anxious and nervous. We continuously hushed my 4-year-old and eventually he fell asleep on our jackets on the floor of the blind. Over the next few hours, the wildlife began to appear. We counted over a dozen turkeys, a lot of deer and a gray fox in the oat field, but only a few small bucks.
As the sun began to set, I felt a little frustrated the big buck had not shown himself, and then suddenly, he appeared! Bubba could see his big antlers with the binoculars, and he quickly got his rifle set up for me. “It’s him! He’s here!” he said. I immediately regretted not having my .243. I tried to get comfortable behind Bubba’s rifle, and he told me not to shoot until the buck was broadside. I had the perfect shot, but I hesitated, and the buck was gone.
I felt so ashamed I had missed my opportunity for the big buck. All the build-up, preparation, and anticipation had been a waste, and I didn’t have the .243 I was used to shooting. I had not had any experience hunting deer, and immediately felt embarrassed I had let Bubba and Truitt down.
That night I couldn’t sleep and kept having flashbacks of the buck through my father-in-law’s riflescope. The red outline of his body through the illuminated Leupold scope haunted me that evening, after I had put out all the presents under the Christmas tree.
The next day was Christmas and Bubba called me that morning after he had sat in the blind. He had gone out early to see if the buck would return. When I saw his missed call, my heart sank, and I anticipated one of the neighbors had killed my deer. But instead, Bubba told me he had seen a large buck at the top of the hill near the oat field. My hope was renewed, and I began to prepare for day two in the blind.
I made sure I had the Browning .243 that Bubba gave me, and I also came better prepared with camouflage, binoculars and my picnic basket. When I arrived at Bubba’s house, we hopped in the Mule and drove back to the blind in the food plot.
Bubba scattered some corn in front of the blind leading to the feeder. I felt organized and I wouldn’t let the opportunity pass me by a second time. I was laser focused with no distractions, making sure my hair was in a ponytail. I practiced looking through my scope and aiming at some of the small bucks, visualizing that they were the “big boy.”
We sat patiently as Bubba told stories about hunting in Africa, and we enjoyed cold tangerines out of my picnic basket. We joked as we watched the pasture come alive with deer and turkeys. The sunset was spectacular, but the buck was a “no-show.” Bubba explained the rut was over and the buck may not show himself again. The wind went out of my sails as I realized I might never have the opportunity to get the buck with Bubba. But I said a little prayer that night in hope of my wish coming true.
The day after Christmas I spent the morning taking down decorations and cleaning. By 2:30 I was ready to go back to the deer blind. I knew this would be the last evening I would sit in the blind with Bubba. The season would end in one week, and time was running out. I drove from Shiner to Little New York and met Bubba at the house.
We were in the blind by 3 p.m., watching a group of turkeys as the evening was very quiet in comparison to Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. We saw nothing but the turkeys until about 4:30, when a few does came out very slowly to eat the corn Bubba had scattered. Eight does ran from the brush line, coming out in front of the blind. Bubba could see a few small bucks up by the big oak trees on the hill.
It was only five o’clock so we figured we had 45 minutes before any older bucks would come out. But we were wrong. The big buck had chased a doe into the field behind me and we could see him clear as day. Bubba counted his points and assured me this was indeed my buck. I began to prepare for the shot.
I moved the chair and tripod around and put the rifle barrel out the window. As soon as the buck stood still and broadside, I aimed behind his shoulder and squeezed the trigger. The 100-grain bullet found its mark, and the buck fell. I looked teary-eyed back at Bubba, as we stayed alert and I was ready to shoot again. “Keep a close eye on him in case he gets back on his feet,” Bubba said. But the deer did not get up. I had made a good lung shot behind the shoulder, and Bubba said the shock is what put the buck down so fast.
I called H.C. and told him I had finally killed my first buck, and then he headed towards the property. I calmly came down from the blind and we approached the deer from behind. The buck looked gorgeous as we admired the antlers.
After taking pictures, we loaded him in the Mule and headed back to the house for gutting and skinning. I felt rather sporty in a pair of pink camo mud boots that Debbie and Bubba had given to me for Christmas eight years previous. River and Truitt were excited about my buck, as I filled out the tag and put it on the antlers.
I felt proud and emotional. It had been a high priority to have this experience with my father-in-law, and now I finally had a beautiful buck to show for it. My husband carefully caped the deer for my mount and we placed the head and cape in the cooler. Bubba measured the antler width at 18.5 inches.
We watched the sun go down behind the pecan orchard from the back of the truck and I put the deer meat—back straps, hind quarters, shoulders and tenderloins—in the cooler. We would have many good meals from all the venison.
As nightfall came, the kids exclaimed to their dad that Mommy got a big buck with PoPo and when they grew up, they were going to hunt deer, too. I will always look back and remember my Christmas buck that I shot with my rifle, a present from Bubba. And, more important, getting the buck with him. I’m thankful for this memory, which is absolutely irreplaceable.
