It seems common these days that folks often name deer. I’m not talking about pets, although some wild deer become so predictable and accustomed to hunter activity that they appear somewhat domesticated, even on huge ranches. We feed a lot of corn on the ranch I hunt. It helps the wild game; deer, javelinas, quail, various birds, and so on, by providing a little extra nourishment and it helps the hunter to see animals that would otherwise go unnoticed in the masses of mesquite

I’d found a cozy little place on a Texas hillside. Sitting with my back against a cedar, with an agarita bush in front of me to break up my silhouette. I hadn’t been there all that long when a nice eight-point buck came out of the brush to get a drink at the stock tank that was about thirty-five to forty yards in front of me.

Sometimes the wind blows like hell there. It blows the hardest when it comes from the west, across Devil’s Hole and the top of the South Branch Mountain, and then down the steep eastern slope into the bowels of Pot Lick Cove.

The mornings are turning cooler out here in the Big Bend country. This time of year, everything starts to take on a golden hue as we slowly edge our way into fall. The fluttering green leaves of the cottonwood trees will soon transform to brilliant gold before they are scattered by the wild west Texas winds as the northers blow in. The mule deer bucks will shed the velvet covering of their forked antlers and the elk and aoudad hunting are currently in full swing. Ah yes, it’s