If you recall, I left Canadian Texas and Joe Bob with a beautiful buck in the truck headed for the next leg of my whitetail jaunt with LOCO outfitters. About halfway “home” Dane Drake called me to check on my whereabouts. Dane is not only a full-time rancher and outfitter, but he also is one of the lead auctioneers at the Beaver County Stockyard in Beaver, Okla. Since we had a few days until deer season opened, he invited me to come to the barn for lunch and to experience the cattle auction he was moderating. There was no way I was going to turn down a lunch on Dane’s watch, for I knew full well he would get me back. A little history is in order before I tell you the story of an unforgettable experience on the Beaver and Cimarron Rivers respectively.
I felt like I was part of the old Chisholm Trail when I pulled my pickup onto the street that led me to the stockyard. As I stepped from my vehicle, I could hear cattle lowing and the ranch-life aroma hung heavy in the crisp air. I paused to take it all in. I was an intruder for sure, and out of my domain. Sure, I would be at home in the flatlands of the Mississippi Delta walking the sandy-loam cotton soils, but it had been a minute since I had de-horned, wormed, and vaccinated cattle. I bet you didn’t know that did you? Ask Doctors Thad Owen and Pat Luckett.
When I walked into the lobby, Dane greeted me and introduced me to a few folks. The first was Jeff Slatten, owner and operator of the sale barn. Jeff walked me through the facility and gave me a brief history of the iconic barn which has been in business for over a century. Serving ranchers and cattle buyers from Oklahoma, Texas, Kansas, and Colorado, one can expect to sell and purchase some of the finest cattle in the Midwest here. I was awestruck with not only the history of the sale barn, but the experience of being in the presence of ranches and ranchers like Barby, Hibbs, Harmon, Skaggs, Konkel, Slatten, and more.
The cheeseburger from Carmen’s café was one of the best I ever had. Dane paid the tariff and went to his perch to begin the sale.
I was mesmerized by the way the auction went. Cattle fetched high prices, and I attempted to watch each buyer’s telltale sign on how they bid. I sat rock solid still, as I sure didn’t want to bid three dollars a pound for prime angus beef. Deer hunting is high enough. Dane watched every move of potential buyers and Jeff, and his wife Jeri, stopped by several times to check on me. I was treated like royalty and their hospitality was, indeed, sincere. I wouldn’t take anything for the experience, but it was time for me to head to the Chuckwagon.
I stowed my gear and got a good night’s sleep. The next day found me in the truck with Dane setting up blinds and chasing a few quail. The bird population has recovered, and coveys are thick. We collected several for the grill that first night with visions of mahogany antlered bucks in the coming days. Orion, with stars casting a light upon the brush-covered landscape, was watching from above as monarchs cruised the river bottoms and sage flats in search of receptive does to keep the gene pool alive and strong. Epic, is the only word to describe what would unfold in the coming week.
Legal shooting time was 7:01 a.m. I was in my stand an hour and a half before to allow everything to settle down. In the pre-dawn stillness, I listened to Mother Earth come to life. The gentle hoots of the Great Horned Owl, the lonesome call of the coyote, and the gentle ripple of the waters of the Beaver River were all that could be heard in the pitch of the night. I absorbed what was offered to me. Dawn began to crack, and the sounds changed. Quail began to whistle as the pink sky in the east emerged. Mallards chuckled as they set wings for the shallow riffles in the river. I trained my binoculars on the dark shapes of whitetails as they emerged from the thick brush. My target buck was close, and I could sense his presence.
For four days I sat from before dawn until dark. Matt Dauphin, my guide for the week, made sure I wasn’t late for my sits. With only a bottle of water and a granola bar, I was committed. Beautiful bucks made an appearance throughout my sits. There was the young 6 x 5, barely three years old, that caused my pulse to increase the first time I saw him. Main beams already extended past his nose, but alas, he still has several years to spread his genes throughout this river bottom. On more than one instance, I reached for my rifle when I saw him. I can’t say I was disappointed each time I saw him throughout the week, even though I was looking for the haunt buck. He is special indeed.
I picked up movement in the brush as a double-main-beamed buck showed himself for the first time. He was bleeding from his pedicle and his right antler flopped as he walked. There was a fight at some point, and I could only wonder if he was the victor. Was the battle between him and the buck I was after? Did he send my buck fleeing to the sandhills? Time would tell.
For the entire week I was harassed by turkeys, with some gobblers already strutting and gobbling. They must be confused, for we are several months away from that season. Cattle paraded by me daily. The deer are used to them as I became used to them, too. That big red heifer did annoy me though when she rubbed her back on my stand. Coyotes and Matt checked on me routinely. Dane, if you don’t win a coyote calling contest here, then perhaps you should take up golf. The days waned, and my hunt was coming to a close, but it was only a matter of time.
The last afternoon Dane and Matt gave me the option. My buck hadn’t showed up in over a week. They asked me if I wanted to stick it out or move to the hills where several other old warriors were known to hang out. I elected to try something else, and Matt and I headed for parts unknown. It didn’t take long, and we found a dandy bedded with a doe. It took some doing to put a stalk on this buck but in time we were in position to make the shot. The wind was right, and after crawling through a bed of sandspurs, the shot was made. The big eight was blind in his right eye from fighting other bucks to keep his maiden. Each antler tip was chipped from repeated scuffles. His teeth revealed he had more than seven seasons under his watch. His history will remain for years through the fawns he has sired. I was fortunate to take him, and the stalk and hunt with Matt and Dane will be told around the campfires for years to come.
I made it home for Thanksgiving once again and Stacey had the table set in full splendor. I knew better than to get that second plate. The next day Dane called me to tell me my buck I had been hunting all week, showed up the afternoon I left for the hills. He said, “don’t blame me, you made the choice to leave.” I laughed. No sir, it was my decision. I had a helluva hunt and wouldn’t take anything for my week. Tyson, Devon, Matt, and company worked hard all week for their hunters. I will remember this one forever.
Did that buck know I was there? Did he have a sixth sense not to reveal himself? Had I stuck it out the last afternoon, would he still have emerged from the brush as we know he did? Did I do something wrong, or was it timing? That’s why it’s called hunting. One never knows the outcome. If it was easy, everyone would do it, or perhaps no one would do it. The thrill of the chase and to match wits with one of the most magnificent big game animals on the North American continent is the ultimate, at least in my opinion. Dane summed it up when he said, “if you’re gonna hunt big deer, then you gotta hunt big deer.” Truer words have never been spoken. It’ll be another year before I make it back out there. Dane and company have job security to try and find another one. Hmm, why another one and not that one? Well, that’s a story for another article. You’ll just have to wait and read about it in the coming weeks.
If you get the chance, drop by Beaver, Okla. and visit the county stockyard. Jeff and Jeri will patch pleasure with you and who knows, Dane might even buy you a cheeseburger. Experience the Old West for what it offers and a little piece of history of the cattle drive. One word of caution though, stay out of that river bottom. I have a rematch next fall, and I don’t want to show my hand. I’m sure you understand where I’m coming from.
Until next time enjoy our woods and waters and remember, let’s leave it better than we found it.
