Back a few years ago on a long-term high-fenced place we lease, our trail cameras caught the picture of a really strange looking two-year-old. His right side was a typical four points, which never changed over the years – only growing as would be expected. But his left side was simply a long single tine with a small fork at the end. Subsequent visual sightings confirmed the pictures and we named him Freak. My partners and I agreed it could be an anomaly and wrote it off to an injury. We let him walk.
As a three-year-old, Freak carried that same single tine but now had a G1 (brow tine or eye guard as it is sometimes called). We agreed that in this well-balanced herd he would likely not breed and decided to see what might happen.
When he was both four and five years old, Freak continued to have an abnormal left side to his rack and was now “big enough” to become a breeder in the herd. We decided one such funny looking deer was enough and put him on the hit list. The challenge was we never saw him except on trail camera pictures both of those years.
At age six I was very dedicated to hunting for Freak. He had developed into a pretty nice looking buck except that now he had 3 points on the left side growing out of one spot! Not only was it a “lopsided” rack, but it look downright weird. I passed on numerous other bucks that could have been taken, not wanting to ever make a noise that would scare the cagey old guy off.
It had been a wet fall and our food plots were doing really well. One mid-December day I was sitting at a spot we called High Blind. It was named this because of the elevation of the terrain and not the height of the stand. This location was a semi-wagon wheel with a total of six senderos spread out in a 180 degree half circle. Oats were knee deep in three of the clearings.
Pretty late in the day a deer showed up at the very end of one sendero. It was about 250 yards long and the mature buck stayed just at the edge of the brush. A quick look with binocs confirmed it was indeed the elusive Freak.
A careful setup with a solid rest resulted in Freak moving from standing to laying. He sure was a pretty sight laying in that thick green patch of oats. Because it was rutting time, he had broken off one of the 3 points coming out of that same spot and so seemed a bit less odd, but it was still a different kind of looking rack. Old Freak sits on the wall right about the desk in my home office and is the first thing most folks notice when they walk into the room.
We never have seen any offspring that looked like Old Freak, and for that I am grateful. He was a sly animal and a worthy challenge in my search for him. As the years have passed, I am reminded it is less about the harvest itself, and more about the experiences that come from days out in La Brasada. Thanks, Freak, for the memories.
About the only “prenuptial” agreement my husband discussed with me before we married 22+ years ago, was that I would hunt with him on the first day of deer season in south Texas. I think he has missed only two openers in something like 50 years. One to attend a basketball game of our daughter’s and another to help get me delivered to the proper location to attend a church missions meeting in Dallas. That pretty well might give you a hint.
He is a SERIOUS deer hunter, with only family and church taking a higher priority (most days). Life Member, Dr. Johnnie Rosenauer, has been allowed to author numerous articles through the years for Texas Trophy Hunters Association (TTHA). Those nice folks have even allowed our 19-year-old daughter, Jessica, to have two articles in recent years about her hunting experiences. But this article is my first and is about something none of us expected.
The evening of November 30, 2013 found me sitting in a nice blind on a small Frio County place the Rosenauer family has owned since 1938. We have always had a “real” deer lease or two besides this family place that we call The Farm. Granddad Rosenauer harvested the first deer at The Farm in the late 60’s and populations have existed pretty much since then. We have “settled” into a long-term high-fenced lease not far away from The Farm so we can drive our tractor and equipment between the places in an hour or so. Much of our hunting has been done over at the high-fenced lease for 15+ years, but The Farm is a nice break and we use it some, depending on the wind conditions and sign. Not many deer stay on The Farm permanently. You might imagine who pays attention to such deer and hunting details at our house.
Our 15-year-old son, Corban, was with me that day. He and I enjoy our deer blind time together. We are a bit more “relaxed” than someone else in our household when it comes to the whole hunting experience thing; visiting and talking about whatever is on our minds that day. We were in the blind called the Pursch Palace, given that title for our long-time friend, John Pursch, who has hunted with my husband for 40+ years. John was not hunting that day and the wind was perfect for the location.
We first saw a middle age 8-point come weaving in and out of the brush towards the feeder. There were a few does around, but the buck kept moving around a good bit. I figured he was three or four years old and in texting Johnnie, he said to just enjoy watching him as he needed a few more years of age. It was pre-rut in south Texas and a buck that age was not yet willing to fully show himself long before dark.
In another hour or so, when it was getting pretty late, a buck came out nearly 400 yards away and was walking along the edge of a 100-foot sendero where we plant oats in when rain allows. The buck moved toward the feeder area but stayed in the brush. The grass had come back pretty tall after a September mowing due to good rains and the buck was hard to see clearly. Something about his horns looked odd, but until he got closer I could not figure it out.
I was having Corban text his dad to tell him the buck had a long drop tine! I could not believe it! Somehow the text came out, “We have a 17-point with a drop tine”. Johnnie immediately texted back, “SHOOT HIM!”
Only the really serious deer managers will understand the context of that short text. My husband is very strict about what age and quality of bucks we harvest on our places. He seeks great detail about the bucks we all see and, like many managers, has lots of pictures of deer to review and evaluate each year. So for him to simply say “SHOOT HIM” tells you how excited he was with such an animal before us. More on the “points thing” later.
I shoot a Model 700 in 7mm-08 and we call it Mom’s Sniper Rifle. It has been accurized and has a good Vari X 3 scope on it. I shoot the gun well and loved it from the first time I shot it. So much so that I told Johnnie he was going to have to buy something else ‘cause that one was mine. So he did just that and got a Model 70 Featherweight in the same caliber which Jessica promptly “claimed”. I guess he finally learned something because he recently bought a Nosler Model 48 Trophy Grade in 257 Roberts and gave it to Corban so he would not “lose” anymore guns. It is all in good fun, but he works hard to make sure our guns are well-cared-for and sighted in properly whenever we go hunt with him.
The buck was very coy and did not present himself for a clear shot for what seemed like an eternity. I knew that a shoulder shot was the order of the day for such a nice trophy. The distance was a bit over 100 yards when he finally squared up and stood still for a moment. This playing cat and mouse had worked me over in terms of my nerves. I dared not focus too much on the drop tine or the rest of the horns on his head. After the shot, which was a solid hit, the deer immediately dropped. Corban texted his Dad and said, “Mom is still shaking a lot”.
It was then that I had a moment to review the texts to and from, only to discover Corban had said 17-points. Two thoughts ran through my mind almost at the same time: One, Johnnie will know I could not count that many points so late in the day. Two, oh my goodness, he is going to think I thought this buck has 17 points!
It was not ten minutes before Johnnie pulled up in the truck. Johnnie had been hunting about half a mile away with one of Corban’s classmates, Ethan, who is new to hunting and very interested in learning. Of course Johnnie is a firm believer in teaching sound game management whenever and to whoever he can. They had hurried over after walking to the vehicle.
Well as it turned out, the buck was not a 17-point. We are still not sure how Corban got that number in his head, but he is a 15-year-old teenager after all. None the less, the buck was a great looking 9-point and my husband was delighted for me. The buck carried G1’s that are 5.5 and 6 inches long with his G 2’s and G 3’s all being 8-10 inches long. His drop measured out at over 6.5 inches, coming off his right main beam. He is going to look really good in our vaulted ceiling living room along with some of our other special trophies.
The weird part of this story is that we have NEVER seen any hint of a drop tine characteristic at The Farm before. Johnnie has been responsible for the game management out there since 1976 and this was a big surprise to all of us. In going back through the 2013 early fall deer pictures, we do have one shot of this guy as part of a bachelor club group. It is not a good picture of him and we had failed to notice the drop, thinking it was part of the brush in the background of the picture.
So, my story is a good reminder – when it comes to deer hunting, you just never know what might walk out of the brush! Or what text might come from the mind of a 15-year-old.
As best I can recall, my deer hunting adventures began in the fall of 1957 as a six-year-old. I had been pestering my dad and grandfather to let me go with them since I was about four. The first trip was a Saturday afternoon, sitting with my dad in a brush pile overlooking the edge of thick brush and a newly-cleared piece of land destined to become farmland. It was cold and I could not keep still. Net result… banished as my dad’s hunting “partner” for two years!
In fairness, Johnnie Sr. was working 60-hour weeks with an invalid wife confined to a wheelchair due to polio and two little kids. It was easier for me to comprehend later that “the woods” represented his mental hygiene sessions and he did not need a squirming kid messing up that rare and precious time.
I hunted mostly with my grandfather during those years, and he sure did teach me a whole lot. After age 12 or so I was on my own and recall my first buck vividly. Especially the part where dad and granddad said, “You killed it, you clean it”!
If my math is right, 2017 totals the 60th year out in La Brasada for me. Every year that has passed represents significant time working and hunting the land. Here lately something happened on a trip that was a new experience for me and worth telling about.
In our little neck of the woods once all my fingers have counted off the first ten days of December, it is time to start hunting for rutting bucks. On December 16th I was able to rattle and grunt up two mature bucks and then three smaller ones in the span of about an hour from two different locations. The younger bucks came out within about five minutes of each other and were standing around trying to figure out where “the fight” was.
All of a sudden three sets of eyes and ears became focused on one spot. Then they high tailed it out of the country like something big and mean was headed towards them! I got all ready, thinking either some hogs or another big old buck was coming to my horns and grunts.
When our cattle tenant moved his animals off this particular ranch in the late summer, he discovered one small calf was accidentally left. He asked and of course I agreed for him to take the cow back to save the baby. That day and a half or so abandonment made this little guy very attached to his momma and we hardly ever saw them apart.
Well the monster that was coming to my horn rattling and buck grunting happened to be that calf, now weighing upwards of 400 pounds. He came out of the thicket bawling and raising a big ruckus, thinking my calling was for him and from his mother.
I did not see one more game animal after that, even after things settled down for a couple of hours. In retrospect there may be some more new and wonderful sights and experiences yet to come for this old Aggie out in La Brasada. But I do not think any of them will surprise me more than “rattling up a bawling calf”!
When my Scotch-Irish mom would listen to my childhood stories, her comment was often that I surely kissed the Blarney Stone while still in her womb. With a last name like Rosenauer, sauerkraut dripping heavily from my paternal heritage, this seemed an odd situation to a young boy. But truth be told, I have always been a story teller. From an “outdoor classroom” perspective, my many tours and showings of Texas ranches and farms since the mid 1970’s also served as a platform to tell a story to make a point. It was a real blessing to grow up in a family that allowed me access to the country often. I can recall waking up, running and playing with the hunting hounds outside in the red dirt well before anyone else stirred in the old farm house where my grandparents lived. Trips to the stock tank with a cane pole and old .22 rifle, hunting for critters made for some awesome memory making experiences in those simpler times.
I started going hunting with my father and grandfather in 1957 at age six. My father thought I made too much noise and did not much want me in the blind with him. Granddad, who was more tolerant or maybe more deaf, welcomed me. I keep that in mind now with my two little granddaughters who want to be with Poppi, but not necessarily keep quiet while hunting. At age 12 I was a full blown “lease partner”; which meant I had to work much of the summer to pay for my share of the lease payment due each September for our little piece of hunting land in western Frio County along FM 140. Some of these tales come from that wonderful place and the 21 years we spent there.
My stories are mostly based upon what I have seen and done out in the Brush Country south of San Antonio. I never joined any big acreage lease nor paid for a high dollar hunt on one of the many ranches that offer such packages. Not that there is one thing wrong with that. I have just preferred to be, for the most part, captain of my own ship, even if the vessel was a rowboat! My hunting companions have mostly been close friends and family and as the years go by, I prefer that even more. Most of my hunting has been on owned or long time leased property, often only a few hundred acres in size, and mostly low fenced. We do have one long time lease that is bigger and high fenced. I think the deer on that ranch are among the wildest I have ever hunted.
The buck that makes up our logo came from our family farm. My wife Danell harvested him with our son Corban in the blind with her. He is the only drop tine buck we have ever seen on that place since my grandparents moved there in the late 1930’s. I have managed that property since 1976 and had no idea such a deer existed there. That is what makes hunting in La Brasada so much fun. You just never know what might step out in front of you!
Also included are a few of what I hope will be motivational/inspirational writings for your consideration. They have been well received by others over the years.
I truly hope you enjoy these stories as much as I enjoyed remembering them and writing them down. Head outdoors, take a friend with you, and have some fun.