It was just past midnight and I hadn’t been asleep more than a few minutes when I was jolted awake by the chirping and the constant vibrations through my shirt. Confused and half asleep I clumsily dug
through my pocket to for my phone only to be blinded by its intense brightness once I opened it.
Eventually, as I adjust to the light and I’m able to make out the menace disrupting my sleep. It’s my
Moultrie trail cam (Thank God for Technology) notifying me of movement by sending me photos of the perpetrators. “Racoons, it’s always raccoons.” I thought to myself, while bitterly lamenting the fact I had done nothing else but feed these pests by filling the trough with corn earlier in the evening. I open the notification and as the photos load to my surprise, I see something much bigger and much hungrier than any raccoon you can imagine.
The timestamp read 12:08 and 51º F. And there right before me clear as day was a bull Nilgai kneeling down eating the corn kernels that had fallen to ground hours earlier. A Nilgais mainly consists of woody plants, so seeing this big fella eating corn was rather surprising. I sat there dumbfounded staring at the photo, then suddenly (ding ding buzz) 12:10 another notification, a second Bull, my heart rate picks up a
notch. (Ding ding buzz) 12:16, more photos! Both bulls are still there this time accompanied by raccoons, “It’s always raccoons” 12:24 (ding/buzz) they’re still there. I take a screenshot and text a hunting buddy living down the road. “NILGAI! RANCH! NOW! LET’S GO! BRING THE THERMAL!”
In a matter of minutes, the truck was loaded, and we were flying down the highway. I glance at the time on the stereo it’s now 12:35, we’re only 20 minutes away from the ranch; however, an awful lot can happen in 20 minutes. Panic and doubt set in as its been near 10 minutes since I’ve received any
notification from my Moultrie. “They’re gone, we missed them,” I say to myself as that familiar
unpleasant feeling of loss begins to creep in. You know the feeling, and if you say you don’t, well, I’d
have to call you a liar. That kind of feeling when you’re fishing line pops just as your about to bring
swing that monster Redfish onto the boat, the sort of pain when you miss a perfect broadside shot on the buck you’ve been chasing all season. A missed opportunity the haunting “what if”.
The tension in the pickup can be cut with a knife and you can almost smell the doubt. As of now, we’re roughly 5 minutes out from the ranch and we drive on sitting quietly listening only to the gentle hum of the tires as they roll over the asphalt. I don’t dare look at the time or my phone out of silly superstition, we’re too close and I’d rather not know if they’re gone or not, as long as I don’t look there’s still hope.
At long last, we’ve arrived. In a matter of moments, the ranch gate has swung open, feet are on the
ground, riffle is at the ready and we begin to move swiftly and with purpose into the brush. January
weather in South Texas can be as unpredictable as this hunt. It’s started to sprinkle and by now the
temperature has dropped so much I can now see my breath even in the dark of night. By any other
accounts, this would be a miserable time to be outdoors but not today not now. The moon allowed for just enough light to navigate the winding 500 yards or so from gate to destination all that remains to be done is turn the corner and look down the scope toward the trough.
There he was, some 100+ yards away. It’s not impossible at this distance but the winds swirling rains
dropping and the colds biting at my face. I didn’t want to risk it in these conditions, it was time to close the gap. With my heart beating in my throat I inched forward sure that each step would be my last of the hunt, the one that would spook him. Finally after what felt like an eternity its time. I’m probably closer than I should be, I can not only hear them I smell them off in the distance. The grounds wet but I get down on my belly, it’s my best chance at a steady shot. I peered down the scope and the warmth from his body shone a bright white through the thermal against the dark backdrop of a cold and rainy night. As he stretched out his neck to eat from the huisache I took a deep breath, lined up the shot and slowly squeezed the trigger, it was over in an instant. He fell right where he stood, and excitement washed over me I walked up to examine him. I think back on it now and realize he’s one of the greatest trophies I’ve taken in my life, not for his horns, or the mount he’d be, or the meat that would soon fill my freezer but rather the memory of a chaotic night and a most improbable hunt.
