Deer hunting in the Texas Panhandle is always a unique experience. If you’ve been through the area, you’ve probably seen some scrawny pronghorns and thought that was the extent of the larger-than-a-jackrabbit wildlife population. To be fair, the jackrabbits are pretty good sized.
Anyway, this may come as a surprise: There’s a decent number of both Whitetail and Mule Deer running around, too. They are well-hidden, and of course, in the open, they’re going to see you long before you see them. The obvious solution to this problem is to find a place with water and cover.
When I was 18 (Good Lord, that was a long time ago!), one of the best locations suiting that criteria was the Plum Creek vicinity of Lake Meredith National Recreation Area. At the time, it was very close to the southern end of the lake and the happy little creek ran steadily through Plum Creek Canyon. Whitetail and Mulies both grazed along the rim of the canyon and bedded down in the heavier brush below, near the creek.
My brothers and I hunted both the canyon and the prairie above it often, and on this particular trip, we’d opted for the flats above the creek. The middle brother, Mike, volunteered his wife’s brand-new Dodge Colt station wagon for the expedition. Senior brother, Ken, and I were only too happy to leave the driving to him.
If you happen to remember the Colt, built by Mitsubishi and labeled by Dodge, you know it was a small vehicle and not one that you’d normally expect to see on a deer hunting trip. For our purposes at the time, it was new, had room for the 3 of us and our rifles, along with coffee, sandwiches and other necessary sundries. The icing on the cake was a rooftop luggage rack, which meant we wouldn’t have to share our space with any game we harvested.
A bonus we especially appreciated when we set out on the trip from Amarillo was its more than ample heating system, since the day was cold – the bone-chilling cold that comes with the Texas Panhandle fall temperatures and humidity. As we piled into the vehicle before dawn, we knew the hunt would be frigid, but tough, young men like us couldn’t be put off by that. It was time to put some meat on the table!
We set off enthusiastically and the 56-mile trip went by quickly. We found a suitable parking spot, which, in those dinosaur days meant pulling a comfortable distance of the dirt road. We bundled up, gathered everything needed for the hike, loaded up and headed out. The plan was simple: range out with some distance between us, but within sight and advance at an even pace.
The top of the canyon isn’t just grassland. In fact, it’s fairly well covered with sage and prolific wild plum trees, hence the name for the area and its features. The fruit and the plants themselves are food for the deer, as well as a great source of jam for the two-legged pickers that frequent the area during the late summer and early autumn. The dense bushes are also great cover for the deer.
So, off we went, working our way carefully and quietly around the brush, eyes open, heads on swivels, and mouths closed. We kept a man walking along the edge of the canyon, in case something ran that direction or popped up from below. Every step was carefully planned on the frost-covered ground, to avoid slipping, snapping twigs or stumbling over rocks.
The morning’s frost was well-thawed and soaking into our boots and pants legs by the time we turned and headed back to the car. Undaunted, we knew we could warm up while we drove to another spot and walked again. We were well-versed in open range, fall hunting, Texas-style.
The first pass was fruitless, but we’d seen tracks and warm sign, so our spirits were high. Nevertheless, the car was a welcome sight and the promise of heat was inviting. We closed ranks as we approached it. Mike made sure the chamber of his rifle was clear, put it behind his seat and climbed in to start the engine, which fired up happily.
Being the youngest and lowest on the totem pole, my seat was in the back, behind the passenger seat, and one of my responsibilities was to make sure his gun and mine were safe and stable in the back. In the passenger seat, Ken kept his rifle readily available, with a full magazine, but empty chamber, in case a quick step out and shoot opportunity arose.
I was busy with gloves and such as Ken hurriedly climbed back into his seat and shut the door. A moment later, my hearing suddenly disappeared. It was an odd sensation. I hadn’t heard a noise, simply felt intense pressure on my eardrums and everything went silent. The concussion in that closed space was pretty intense. As I collected my thoughts about that, I also lost my eyesight to a thick cloud of dust and smoke.
My hearing began to return, with a definite ringing noise, and as I realized the car had suddenly listed slightly to the right, I heard Mike exclaim, “You shot my car!”
Now, before you judge, let’s be honest. There’s not a person among us that hasn’t done something stupid and completely contrary to our upbringing. The three of us had been raised in a family of hunters, had safety drilled into our brains, and hunting accidents didn’t happen.
In short, Ken’s hands were freezing to the point of numbness, and as he was clearing the chamber outside of the car, the bolt jammed, with the 30.06 cartridge crooked on the loading rails. He carefully got into the seat, with the muzzle of the rifle on the clean floor mat. He shut the door, to retain the heat in the car, and jiggled the bolt until it slid. On the way forward, it chambered the cartridge. All any of us can say for certain is that, at that point is, the gun discharged when the bolt closed.
Needless to say, we wouldn’t be making a second trip across the prairie that day. We did get to try out the shiny, new jack, tire iron and spare that came with the car. With that done, we decided the best course of action was to accept the lesson learned, head home, and explain the events of the day to Mike’s wife.
It wasn’t our proudest moment, but eventually, we’d all be able to look back on it and laugh, while counting our blessings because the only casualty was a tire. There was, of course, the small hole in the floorboard, which was never repaired. The floor mat, was eventually replaced.
This story has become part of the family legacy, as a perfect example of what not to do. Leading by bad example is a solid part of our backgrounds. The Plum Creek area is still regarded as a prime picking and hunting area, not only for deer, but also turkey and several game birds. The lake shore is much farther away, due to a loss of volume in the reservoir.
I’m happy to say that I regained most of my hearing, although I managed to damage it permanently, later in life, on a job. That, however, is another story.
