Phantom of the South Texas Brush The northern breeze blows as another beautiful south Texas afternoon passes us by at the legendary Sombrerito Ranch. My hunter, John Musachia and I, sit attentively watching the mysterious South Texas brush line, both eager to see what was in store for the evening hunt. As the deer trickle in, we are glued to our binoculars, mesmerized by the infamous white­tailed deer. We evaluate each buck that breaks the brush, in search of the perfect deer for John, but hope lingers on as the sun falls on the western horizon. Three hours passed in the blink of an eye. Over our shoulders another gorgeous Texas sunset paints the sky with a blend of beautiful colors behind the blind. While the light fades I begin pulling curtains, readying our gear to make a clean exit back to the truck hidden in the thick copse. I pull my phone out to help visibility in the shadows of the blind. I cannot believe my eyes, a picture from Tony, our ranch manager, with the caption “30 yards from the blind”. The biggest deer poacher known to South Texas, a mountain lion sits just outside of Tony’s blind, while he is scouting for Mr. David Shashy of Bucks of Tecomate. The obvious response from a rancher such as myself was sent, “Shhoooott Tony, hurry!” I share the photo and excitement with John. We are captivated by the sighting of such a rare South Texas ghost. Awaiting Tony’s response nervously, I text again, “Did you get him?”, much to my dismay I see the words pop up on the screen, “I do not have my rifle, all I have is my knife and a ballpoint pen…” it wasn’t in the cards for this evening. The thought of letting that big cat ease back into the brush, wondering when he will make his next kill, comes with a feeling of apprehension followed by certainty. Maybe next time is the thought on everyone’s mind as we marvel at photo. Returning to the truck, John and I make our way to the lodge in the chill of the night breeze reliving the wonderful afternoon in the brush. Pulling into camp, the smell of the mesquite fire hits the cab of the old truck. I turn down the driveway to drop off my co­pilot and hunter, “Well John, we will get after them again in the morning”, “Sounds like a plan to me Travis” he says with a smile from ear to ear. Making the trek across the yard from the barn, I cannot help but think about that lion off in the brush, with a gloomy outlook on the possibility of ever laying eyes on him again, “Maybe next time…” I say under my breath as I turn the door knob. The lodge is buzzing with excitement and full of stories from the afternoon hunt, with the sighting of a South Texas cougar the main focus. We all turn to Tony, “What happened out there?” his face showing regret as he tells the camp about the run in with the mountain lion. With our appetites satisfied and the fire dancing in the night sky, we close the book on another wonderful day at the Sombrerito, “See y’all in the morning”. Saturday morning we gather around the table to devise a morning plan over a cup of coffee and a light breakfast. After our little “prayer” meeting is adjourned we disappear into the early morning darkness, the fading lights of the lodge in the rear­view mirror. With excitement we get settled into the blind, discussing the possible deer at the ‘S­Curve’, where we will start our morning hunt. Deer after deer file out of the brush like they are reporting for roll call. I look left out of the only window that isn’t curtained, I speak quietly “That’s a solid deer john, I know you like those big 8’s, that’s a big 8!”. He leans over slowly, “That is a good one! Can we take him?” he asks. The next sound from the blind was a 300 win. mag. torching off at a true South Texas trophy, “big buck down!” John yells. We celebrate the accomplishment in the blind as if it was his first buck. Climbing down to claim a golden triangle brute is always a time full of anticipation, waiting to claim your harvest. We take all the field photos that the cameras can handle, load our trophy and head down the road to spread the excitement in camp. On the drive in my head remains on a swivel, peering down every sendero, into every gap, and nook in the brush in hopes of even catching a glimpse of the phantom that was seen the day before. We pull back into camp, hunters and staff gather around John’s buck with the “oohs and aahs” that follow such an impressive sight. Another great hunt at Sombrerito and another beautiful South Texas trophy harvested. The Saturday afternoon hunt arrives with no delay after a big lunch and a short siesta on the porch in the South Texas breeze, dreaming of big deer, and now, big cats that await us in the copse. Formulating the afternoon game plan was simple, with one thing on my mind, the mountain lion. Thinking about the possibility of seeing that cat in the same place two days in a row produced only negative thoughts. I pushed those aside as if the did not exist, if there is one thing that is certain about the mystique of the Texas brush, is just that, you never know what is going to step out at anytime. Leroy’s Hill ground blind, where Tony had seen the lion, had two anxious hunters headed its way for the afternoon on what was to become a hunt of a lifetime. Packing my good friend’s, and whitetail legend, Jerry Tkac’s .308 Remington Mohawk we are off like a heard of turtles. Using extra cover scent and heavy curtaining, John and I are back on the hunt. This evening is off to an unbelievable start, deer coming from all directions, a couple of real thumpers even creep out to get their share of the feed. Gazing at the abundance of mature deer in a single spot, I can still only think about the sighting of the ghost of the brush. Time seems to pass quicker than ever before. I check my phone for the first time since our arrival, 5:36 flashes on the screen. I raise my eyes from my phone screen and my heart begins to race. Slowly turning my head to look out the window, I see the first cat of the night at about 8 yards. I lean back into the shadows, look towards John, “be real still, there’s a bobcat out front”. It’s a cat and a trophy at that, but not the cat I am here to hunt. We watch the bobcat stalk through the tall buffle grass making its way toward the closest mesquite tree out in front. Seconds later as the bobcat broke the cover of the mesquite, I see a flash out of the corner of my eye, couldn’t have been five foot to the left of the blind. Between my choice words of excitement and adrenaline, I reach for my rifle, “It’s the lion John, the lion!” My rifle was out the window in what seemed like less than a second. Once I had the rifle steady, following the moving cat through the cover of the mesquite, an open shot presents the first opportunity to harvest such a tremendous trophy. I squeeze the trigger, nothing, “Damn it, the safety is on…!” The lion lunges at the bobcat, the chase is on as we watch both cats display their agile abilities through the branches of the mesquite. Gone, off into the opposite brush line of our ground blind. We cannot believe what just happened, my one chance at a South Texas lion, blown by the absent minded hunter forgetting about the safety. John and I speak in amazement about the cat, he asks, “What will he do?” I am on the edge of my seat leaning towards the window at full alert, “He is going to go kill that bobcat, must be protecting a fresh kill, he’ll be back” I respond with a nervous, uncertain and hopeful tone. Minutes pass like seconds and the familiar sound of a coyote rings out less than two hundred yards to our north, “Listen to that coyote John, he’s close and headed this way.” The coyote seemed to be on a string headed straight down our brush line coming less than twenty yards from the blind before heading out into the field in front. Having very low light is our current battle, barely being able to make out the tail of the ‘yote’ in the tall tan grass. Another predator has been added to the increasingly incredible afternoon. “I think I might have a varmint call” I say to John, fumbling around in my pack blindly, pocket after pocket, keeping my head in the window, rifle in hand, hoping our trophy will show his face again. Leaning forward in efforts to get the call out the window to broadcast the call, I let the sound of a wounded rabbit squeal out. The textbook reaction you hope for by the coyote created the optimistic feeling that we just might have another run in with the giant cat. The barks and growls of the coyote become increasingly louder as he is headed straight at the blind, “He isn’t fifteen yards out” I say to john. Light is fading fast and has become as precious as gold in my mind, 6:37 is what my watch hands tell me. The coyote continues to circle in the field out front. Catching a faint outline of his body crossing out front from right to left, I slide the rifle out the window just to see if that old Leupold could pick up enough light this late in the day. Just as fast as I found the coyote in the crosshairs he vanishes, turning back to head south with a hop in his step. Scanning to the left of where the coyote had turned back, “there he is, he’s coming straight at us…” Here he comes with a bobcat clinched in his powerful jaws. The entire blind probably shaking like the thin leaves of a mesquite tree. The white of the lion’s chest was barely visible with the naked eye, his head swinging from side to side while trotting with his fresh kill, head on. I try to control the shakes and adrenaline pumping through my veins. Easing the cross hairs onto the only available shot, I begin squeezing the trigger again with the trophy of a lifetime in view, for the second time of the day. Recoil comes as a surprise as the shot rings out across the crisp Texas air, “I got him, I got him, and he’s down!” With a shot right outside the right eye, there lays a 7ft. 170lb south Texas mountain lion, a true trophy regarded by any South Texas hunter. Such an unbelievable strike of luck to have a repeat visit by the unwanted Sombrerito tenant seen the night before generates disbelief and astonishment. With the old 2x7 locked on the lion, ready for another squeeze of the trigger pending any movement. We wait for Kiro, a longtime cherished ranch hand, to come with the pickup before even thinking about stepping out of the blind. With a predator of that magnitude laying less than fifty yards from the front of the ground blind, patience is an all too important virtue. When the time comes, we all three ease out towards the harvest, rifle at the ready as we inch closer. I extend the muzzle of the old Remington towards the two cats, looking to check the eye of the lion. The bobcat is of no concern, it was clear he had tangoed with the wrong opponent. “We did it! I can’t believe it!” I yelled for the whole ranch to hear. With three of the largest smiles in Texas owned by John, Kiro, and I, we take countless field photos before loading up and heading in to share the news. Excitement spreads through camp like a rampant virus, and tales of the hunt are relived by all, calls and texts flow out and flood in for hours. What an incredible couple of days the brush has given us. To quote my grandfather, Bill Carter, “the brush giveth and the brush taketh, this time the brush has giveth.” With the hunt of a lifetime for the trophy of matching magnitude, the celebration continues on into the night, I am nothing but blessed to be able to share this moment with a great group of true friends. The irreplaceable memory will be cherished for the entirety of my life, a South Texas ghost, absolutely incredible is the only thing that comes to mind. With the insurmountable admiration from all fellow hunters and friends, the realization of such a rare achievement hits me, “A true once in a lifetime hunt…” The thought of future memories, such as this one, keeps all hunters making those early mornings and late nights, taking the time away from work and home, putting in the extra work and continuous motivation to better their own outdoor adventures. May any and all hunters realize how lucky we all are to share the great outdoors together, happy hunting, and be sure to pay attention when you are out there ‘bustin brush’ because you never know what is watching... ­Travis Carter Sombrerito Ranch