From Wide OPen Spaces to, Box Seats

Most of my life I have hunted on public land in the Rocky Mountains of the West. Where the jagged rock-strewn tops of the mountains pierce the thin oxygen depleted air, offering a nearly impenetrable refuge for the majestic mule deer that I have fallen in love hunting. Over the years I have hiked countless miles and climbed absurd amounts of elevation, often just in time to see the antler tips of the buck I had been watching, for hours, days, weeks, and months disappearing below the golden skyline of the next canyon. Much like many other western hunters I wear those steep rocky miles as a badge of honor. They are hard earned and well respected throughout the hunting community. Growing up I thought everyone understood that the value of a hunt (VOH) is greatly increased by the severity of the conditions one is willing to endure during their hunt. Miles and miles of hiking improves the VOH by at least 35% versus a non-hiking hunt. Add a couple thousand feet of elevation into those miles now you have improved your VOH from 35% to 65%. Throw in some inclement weather and a clean shot from over 300 yards at a 200+ class buck... that’s the stuff legends are made of. 

 Imagine my surprise when as a youth I learned not everyone believes in VOH multipliers like I did.  I remember sitting on the floor in my grandpa’s living room watching a hunting show where the “lazy hunters” as he called them, were sitting in their 4-foot by 4-foot boxes less than 100 yards from an automatic feeder. Looking down a groomed shooting lane, just waiting for that sweet southern gold to be thrown from the feeder. I remember two thoughts I had at that moment: “this is not hunting, and was that even a deer, or a dog with antlers?” I had no idea what to call it, but it was not hunting, and that critter looked to be half the size of our mule deer. The hunters were sitting in a basic blind, but to me it looked more like a luxury box, similar to what they have available for the elite spectators at professional sporting events. I remember thinking undoubtedly, these luxury box seats come with a heater and air conditioning coupled with a massage chair, but I had to wonder what other amenities this type of sky-box seating had available to the hunter. Elevated at 15 feet in the air, did they also have an unlimited nacho bar, for sure they had a television and a private bathroom. Perhaps, they come with underground parking so that the hunter could minimize the number of steps they would have to take. I wondered do you order a specific package for the amenities you want, or are all options just included as part of the standard package? My imagination ran wild, and before the program was over, I knew with surety, this type of hunting was not for me, I would never luxury hunt from a platinum package blind, despite my uncontrollable addiction to nachos. 

 Fast forward about 20 years, where I find myself newly married and headed to South Texas to spend the holidays with my in-laws, I was excited for the trip, not only because the weather was expected to be about 50 degrees warmer than what we had left back home, but my first whitetail hunt had been arranged. Upon arriving in San Antonio, my in-laws met us at the airport. We made the short trip west to their home and there I spent a couple days cleaning up fence lines and helping my father in-law with basic home maintenance. After a couple days we packed up the car and headed down south to meet the extended family for Christmas and New Years. I was going crazy; my hunt couldn’t come fast enough. I remember looking out the window of the car as we traveled south looking at the vegetation and thinking “this is going to be hard to hunt”. I often couldn't see more than four or five yads into the brush. We spent Christmas in town with the family and headed out to the ranch on December 26th. As we went through the gate and rolled into the ranch, I realized I still could not see through all the mesquite and Althorn bushes. This was the first time it struck me; I was going to most likely be hunting from a luxury box.  

 Sure enough, we stopped just inside the gate at the hunting ranch where I saw a side by side parked. I was told we would ride over to “my blind” in the UTV. My blind? My Blind... how did this happen? There was no way I could back out now, but there was no way I could go back home and tell anyone what I had done. The VOH of this hunt had fallen through the floor and I had just arrived at the ranch. I couldn’t believe I was going to hunt from a skybox. “Man, I hope there will at least be an unlimited nacho bar” I thought. I hopped in the UTV, and we headed to my blind.  

 As we rolled up the scene was exactly as I had seen on that hunting show so many years ago with my grandpa. About 60 yards from “my blind” down a well-groomed shooting lane was a feeder that we topped off with 2 bags of Texas gold, and then set a couple of feed times for just before dark. After fussing with the feeder, we took it a step further and dumped some corn halfway between me and the feeder, because a full 60 yard shot from the blind seemed like a long shot to my hosts. I was in complete disbelief. I pulled my rifle and bag out of the UTV and climbed 15 feet into my skybox. This type of hunting was crazy to me. As I settled in my box, completely embarrassed of what hunting had just become for me, I thought “at least it will be dark in a few hours.” As time passed, I began to see a lot of motion around me. One of the first things I saw was a brilliant red cardinal. I had in all my life never seen one in the wild. Then I saw several green Jays chasing each other from tree to tree. This again, was a critter I had never seen before in my life. As the time rolled on, I was mesmerized by all the new and unique wildlife I was seeing. Before my feeder had spun for the first time that evening, I had seen over 20 varieties of birds, five wild hogs, an armadillo and hundreds of lizards, including one that I lovingly named Godzilla because it was longer than my forearm. Then it happened, the sound of the hard dry kernels of corn hitting the cage surrounding the feeder brought in a new group of animals to my sendero. Whitetail began to step out from the brush and reveal themselves. Doe after doe, often accompanied by one or two fawns each. It felt like I was witnessing an infestation. More birds joined in on the ground as they each tried to consume the kernels before their neighbors could. As the eating frenzy reached its peak there were several varieties of wildlife present. I couldn’t take my eyes off the feeder just 60 yards away. It was hypnotizing, like nothing I had seen before. And just as fast as the wildlife had been eating, the corn daylight and animals were all gone. I couldn’t wait for the next morning to see who would visit my blind, my luxury box. 

 The next morning, we woke up an hour before daylight, gathered our gear and started the drop off circuit, getting each hunter to their blinds for the morning hunt. As I waited for the sun to rise, I couldn’t contain myself. The anticipation of what the morning hunt would bring was killing me. Now, don’t get me wrong, I always get that early morning buzz as I am in my spot waiting for the hunt to begin, but this morning was different. I attribute the elevated anticipation to my curiosity of what other non-game animals I would see. As the light began to peek through the darkness and color began to paint the vista, I again was amazed by the beauty of the wildlife that surrounded me. First a sow and 4 piglets, followed by a small group of wild turkeys. The show had started, and I was right in the middle of it. I had a font row seat, no even better, I had a box seat with a platinum package. As the morning rolled on several varieties of animals came through my 30-foot wide sendero. Despite the lack of whitetail, I thoroughly enjoyed my time in my skybox. Before I knew it, I heard the UTV approaching from behind my blind, the morning hunt was over. We went back to camp and enjoyed some breakfast burritos, venison sausage and pork ribs left over from the night before. We hung out around camp that day doing chores and cleaning up the area. Soon enough it was time to head out again. As I got settled in my blind I made a decision, I resolved to not shoot just any deer, it would have to be a nice buck. There was enough going on around me to make the hunt enjoyable that I didn’t need to settle for a small buck or a doe. As the afternoon worked into evening and the skyline turned golden, I caught a glimpse of a small group of deer back in the mesquite. I watched patiently as they waited for the sound of the feeder to ring through the air like a dinner bell on an old western show being rung by "cookie” the camp chef. Once the feeder began to spin, throwing corn and dust in every direction, the deer started to move in. There were three doe and two fawns in the small group. I noticed that the two fawns seemed a little nervous, regularly looking back in the direction they had come from. As I watched I saw more movement in the mesquite, then I saw antlers. It was a buck; I pulled my binoculars up to get a better look and saw what looked to be a decent nine-point headed in my direction. I slowly grabbed my bow and gently nocked an arrow, it didn’t take long for the buck in the mesquite to make his way out to the feeder. As he fed around the feeder, he worked his way counterclockwise to the front. Once he had cleared the feeder and the other deer were on the other side I took the shot. I hit him with a double lung shot, he only ran twenty yards and fell in the tall grass. The rest of the deer in the group ran off and as I waited a few minutes to make sure he was done; it was as if the world around me went mute. There wasn’t a sound other than my heart beating out of my chest. After I waited about 15 minutes I climbed down out of my blind. I remember having to tell myself to calm down as I stepped down the ladder that led up to my beloved box seat. I made the short sixty-yard walk to the buck and stood over him in disbelief. 

 My opinion had completely changed about hunting out of a blind. The overall experience is so different than high-country hunting like I do in the West, it is impossible to compare the two types of hunting, it’s like comparing apples to oranges. I have been back to hunt almost every year since and have had some years where I bring home a cooler of frozen venison, and other years I only bring home treasured memories. After this experience, my advice to any hunting enthusiast is “don’t knock it, until you try it”. I had several conversations, over the span of several years, with my grandfather explaining to him why I enjoy going to South Texas, to sit in a hot stinky blind and watch a feeder throw corn, just to shoot one of those little whitetail deer. I don’t believe I ever convinced him on the matter, but there is no way he could change my mind either. I have grown an appreciation and love for blind hunting, and in my opinion, it does not take away from the VOH, it just changes how the VOH is calculated. Blind Hunting VOH is impacted by different variables, it’s the people, the nature and honestly the ability to keep out of the weather that I calculate into the VOH of blind hunting.