Hunting Texas style

Hunting, firearms, reloading, rifles and shotguns used to be a passion I enjoyed every hunting season. The nine months leading up to it was used to sharpen my skills. I voraciously devoured hunting journals, magazines and books by great hunters and firearm experts. Skeeter Skelton, Dan Wesson, Bill Jordon, Peter Capstick and Elmer Keith all taught me, through their hunting and firearms books.

My three brothers and I bought RCBS reloading equipment with its famous Rock-Chucker press and before long we were building rifle, revolver and pistol loads tuned to the firearms they were intended for. We built special life-sized antelope targets and took them to Turners range, where we punched precision holes in them at 200 yards.

I obsessively studied ballistics and could argue bullet drop compensation; the effect wind velocity has on a 150-grain boat-tail bullet at 300 yards. I could tell you in no uncertain terms why the .30-06 is THE rifle to buy, if you can only afford to buy one gun. If you wanted a big-bore single-action Ruger magnum revolver, but wondered if the .41 Mag Blackhawk was a better choice than the .44 Mag Super Blackhawk with 11 inch barrel, I would tell you the .41 Mag has more “felt” recoil, so if recoil was a problem, go with the bigger caliber.

I took the Texas Hunters Education course at Lee College taught by Jimmy Johnson and enjoyed it so much I became an instructor. I went to the Y-O Ranch and other great places around the state, learning hunting ethics, first-aid, survival, marksmanship, etc., etc. To sum it up, I was very much like 15 people you know and maybe…I am describing you.

I felt I could shoot well and on one particular “meat-hunt”, I harvested 3 spike deer at 140 yards, with two of them on the run…using my magnum-velocity hand-loaded .45-70 Marlin 1895 SS and 4X scope. This rifle’s recoil would ring your bell.

Where in the world am I going with all this blabbering and personal bragging obsessions, you ask? I’ll tell you and it is exactly the crux of this story and a confession.

I made a terrible blunder on a hunt in Hondo, Texas, that except by the grace of God should have left me paralyzed or dead.

The reason I talked about all my qualifications is to show no matter how much you prepare and how much knowledge you possess, it can all be voided by willfully ignoring hunting safety. I know. I was a hunter education instructor. At least that’s what the shoulder patch on my camo coveralls proclaimed.

My church brothers and I were on a giant lease. There was so much land per hunter that we split up to hunt sections, with the long dirt road back to the cabin, a no-shoot zone. I spent the morning in a ground blind and not seeing anything, I decided to mosey down the road towards camp, a distant mile away and have a cup of Joe. Joe is coffee. Strong black coffee is a staple in the Marshall family. Walking on the road was OK and agreed upon. So off I went, strolling and taking my time.

I was toting my loaded custom rifle, magnum revolver and daypack and generally enjoying myself, when I noticed a game trail snaking up the hill beside a barbed-wire fence. The temperature was about 40 degrees and it was sunny with no wind…perfect weather. I could plainly see deer tracks on the path and the scrub oaks and sagebrush began calling my name.

This is when I made my first mistake.

I left the road and eased up this trail thinking I shouldn’t do it. No one knew where I was at this time. I was breaking the rules, but my desire to hunt, trumped my judgment. I told myself I would only take a peek and then come back. I walked about 200 yards and right before me was a belly path under the fence where deer had been crossing. I could see deer hair on top of the wire and on the bottom. Stooping down, I searched the area with my eyes.

50 yards to my left was a tree stand and I instinctively knew it was the perfect ambush site. My trip off the road was so far in the back of my mind, that it “might’ent been there at all”. Using proper safety technique I pulled a rope from my pack and after unloading my rifle, I tied it all together. Taking one end of the rope in hand, I carefully climbed the 15 feet to the platform, cautiously squeezing under a limb and testing each step. The last thing I did before mounting the platform was duck under a 2X4, which was an intended shooting rest.

Once situated in the tree stand, I noticed the tree limbs had grown so low, I would have to lie flat on my stomach to see the fence and then be out of position to shoot. Oh well, there’s no free lunch today I thought. Maybe I could find a position on the ground that would put me in a better position.

My rifle and pack were still on the ground, so dropping the rope, I eased off the stand backwards, as is standard practice. Placing my feet on the rung, which later I calculated to be at least 10 feet up, I ducked under the 2X4 brace and steadied myself by grabbing the 2X4... Everything after this happened at light-speed.

The top half of this one, untested piece of timber snapped off and I began my backward descent better known as terminal velocity. Instantly I was flipped head down by the limb, I had ducked under. My final thought before impact was “Oh great! Now, I’m upside down too”. Now if you’ve read anything I’ve written in the past, you will remember my martial arts training. Besides Karate, I was fairly well versed in Jiu-Jitsu and Hapkido and the only benefit I realized, was the instinct to tuck my head.

I slammed into the ground with all the force gravity could muster and hopping to my feet, I yelled out “Praise God, I’m alive”! I then sat down.
My head was pounding and I was becoming drowsy. I knew this was a bad sign, so I figured to wait it out and sit down by the tree and gather my strength (and believe it or not, get in a little hunting). I sat at the tree fighting sleep and watched that fence crossing. I looked at my watch and it was 3-something, so through the fog I realized I had sat at the tree for about 3 hours.

Standing up and looking around, to my surprise I could see the camp house about a quarter of a mile away. I made a beeline towards it, head pounding, stumbling and wondering if there was aspirin available.

I arrived at the camp and when I entered; my buddy’s Dad was standing in the living room looking at me with a strange expression on his face. I asked him if there was “any aspirin, cause I have a headache”. He said “You better look in the mirror, because it looks like it’s worse than that”.

I did and to my total amazement. I had an egg-shaped bump on the side of my head and my face and clothes were almost black with dried blood. I had no idea.

After I got over the concussion and thought it all out, I determined to never again let my judgment be clouded by raw desire. My case was one of thousands and many hunters can tell you similar stories. I fortunately lived to learn from mine.