Hello, my name is Wade Koehn, and like many great outdoorsmen and women, I live for the hunt. There’s just something about whitetail deer hunts in Texas that speaks to my soul. These animals are not only beautiful, but every hunt is different—whether it’s over in a flash or takes days of effort, each one brings me back to when I was a kid.
I remember the early days, tagging along with my grandfather, uncles, and my dad. They introduced me to the world of hunting, and over time, I developed my own techniques—always searching for better methods. Now, I pass those lessons along to every new hunter I have the privilege of guiding on their journey to achieve their dreams on whitetail deer hunts in Texas.
One story in particular comes to mind whenever I think about whitetail hunting, and I’m grateful I got to be a part of it.
We were hunting in an area of the ranch we call “The Santiago.” I had been keeping an eye on a big eight-point buck out there for a while. On an earlier hunt, we had a close encounter with him, but the light was fading fast and we couldn’t seal the deal. After that, he seemed to vanish. I searched high and low but couldn’t lay eyes on him again—until the day a father and son arrived at camp.
That very evening, while we were in a different location, one of our guides spotted the big eight again. It was the first day of their hunt, and already we were back in the game. Like we often do with family at camp, the goal was to get the younger hunter a buck first—sons and daughters usually get first pick.
The next morning, the son decided to sleep in and hunt in the evening, so his dad and I headed out after breakfast. The sun was just starting to rise above the trees. We drove all over, checking familiar spots, but there was no sign of that buck—until I got a call.
Another guide had just wrapped up his morning hunt and, by pure luck, spotted the eight-point across the creek by the big pond. He was chasing does. We dropped everything and rushed over. Sure enough, there he was—bedded down, calm and unaware of our presence.
We confirmed it was him, set up carefully, and took the shot. It was a clean 300-yard hit right in the vitals. He ran about 50 yards and dropped. It was a perfect hunt—one of those you talk about around the campfire for years to come.
That evening, it was the son’s turn.
We set out again, and it didn’t take long to spot another mature eight-point. He had a pale face, and I knew him well—I’d watched this buck for two years, letting him grow. Strangely enough, every time I’d seen him, he’d been within an acre of the same spot.
At first, we decided to pass on him since it was still early. But later, when we crossed paths with him again in the same place, we changed our minds. We tried to reposition for a better shot, but by the time we moved, he had slipped into the brush.
We set up in a spot that made sense, but—as every hunter knows—sometimes your plan and the deer’s plan don’t match up. Sure enough, the buck came back out, but on the opposite side of where we expected. Luckily, the son was a skilled hunter. He adjusted, waited for the deer to take a nearly broadside step, and made a beautiful shot.
At first, we weren’t sure where he’d hit the buck, but when we tracked it down, it was clear—another perfect shot. He filled his tag the same day as his dad.
That hunt will always stick with me. It’s stories like these that remind me why I love what I do. Every hunt is a new memory, a new bond, and a new lesson in patience and respect for the wild.
If you’ve made it this far—thank you. And if you enjoyed this story, be sure to check out the other tales from our guides on whitetail deer hunts in Texas at Mellon Creek Outfitters.
