The light but steady breeze was cold, and out of the north-west. With temperatures just above freezing and an overcast sky, it was the ideal day one might draw up if asked to describe what a winter hunt should feel like. I chose a spot that I had hunted a few times before this season and in years past. I’m familiar with it, and I like that it brings together two habitat edges alongside the swamp. It’s the winter season and any bucks willing to get on their feet during daylight hours aren’t going to put themselves in the wide open. As I imagined how the hunt could unfold, it involved a mature buck moving through a pinch point in front of me about 20 yards away. Thinking along those lines, I set my stand platform accordingly, although only about eight feet off the ground. I liked that the lower height afforded me better shooting lanes, but just as importantly, quality back cover.
My focus throughout the evening was the pinch point. Having seen deer traverse it several times previously, I knew a shot opportunity might happen quickly, and could be brief. With this in mind, I rehearsed the shot a few times as the evening wore on. The sky was unusually dark this evening due to thick clouds and the possibility of mixed rain and snow at sunset. It wasn’t until 4:30 that could hear the familiar crunching of leaves coming my way and almost simultaneously I caught movement to my left. A young buck was coming my direction but not nearly mature enough to have me reach for my bow. He methodically made his way behind me and eventually stopped to work over a licking branch about 50 yards away. He made enough of a ruckus that I hoped other deer nearby might hear it and come to investigate. Eventually I could hear the faint sound of his steps fade away leaving me alone with my thoughts once again.
Glancing at my watch and considering the already darkening conditions, I figured there was no way I’d still be able to shoot when the 5:15 legal shooting deadline came. As excited as I was for the hunt reaching the magic hour, I was equally disappointed at the lack of activity to that point. Finally, I caught movement in front of me and saw that an antlerless deer was walking steadily in my direction. I viewed her through my binoculars and recognized the deer to be a doe fawn. With her hair fluffed up to protect from the cold she looked as much like a teddy bear as a young deer. This wasn’t a deer I would consider shooting, but I felt there was a good chance its mother would be close behind.
Almost as quickly as that thought crossed my mind, I could hear the steady walk of another deer coming my direction, and following a similar path. Surely this was the adult doe, and she would be just in time for a shot opportunity. I grabbed my bow and situated my feet in preparation for a possible shot. As the deer methodically worked its way through the thick cover of the swamp, I thought I caught a glimpse of antler on its head. I’m not sure why my expectations were so low, but I assumed it was another immature buck that I would only be observing as it walked by. My mindset changed instantly the minute the deer stepped into an opening and I could get a full view of him. Not only was this a buck, his rack was magnificent and almost defied belief. I could feel my heart rate going from 60 to 120 in an instant, and the game was afoot.
As fully mature bucks often do, he stood at attention for nearly 10 minutes surveying the area for danger. He was still about 40 yards away and facing directly toward me, so a shot was out of the question. I couldn’t help but admire his high, wide rack that was stacked with the longest tines I had ever seen on a buck. Somehow I was able to keep my composure though and begin to consider potential shot opportunities. I watched patiently as he checked the wind and looked in all directions for potential trouble. His ears moved like antennas while the rest of his body remained motionless. Light was fading fast and the giant buck seemed just as close to walking back the direction he came from as continuing forward on his intended path. The clock was ticking. My heart was pounding. I was starting to feel the cold in my fingers from having held my bow for so long. So much was happening, while at the same time nothing was happening at all.
Finally, with just a few minutes of light to spare, the old buck relaxed and started moving forward as he fed on the few swamp grasses that remained. I saw a small window just ahead of him, and that would be my opportunity. I somehow had the wherewithal to ease my rangefinder to my eye and it revealed 35 yards to a tree that was just behind the deer. Thinking about his position in relation to the tree, I estimated him at 33 yards and I set my sight pin accordingly. The deer worked his way into a position where I could clearly see his head and neck on one side of a shrub, and his backside on the other. It was agonizing wondering if the buck would take the one more step I needed him to. I’ve been in this position so many times before only to have things not go my way, but maybe this time would be different.
Finally he took one more step forward and his vitals were now visible to me. I slowly drew my bow and tried to settle my pin on his rib cage, but struggled to get focus due to the combination of low light and trying to look through my peep sight. Instinctively I moved the sight away momentarily, refocused on the deer, and brought the peep back to my eye. Now I had a clearer picture and I settled my pin behind his shoulder. I sent my arrow on its way and I could easily follow its path with my lighted nock showing the way. Everything slowed down while I followed the arrow’s trajectory as it appeared to be heading on the perfect course. Upon impact, there was a clearly audible “crack,” and the startled buck whirled around in his tracks and bolted full speed from my right to left.
The giant buck sounded like a freight train as he ran, and I could see a good portion of my arrow sticking out of him as he escaped. Once out of sight, I listened closely trying to determine where he was going, and how far. Eventually the noise faded away and the woods were quiet again, almost as if nothing had ever happened. Stunned, I took a few moments to collect my thoughts before contacting Ron and starting to pack up my gear. I didn’t know how good or bad the hit was, but I knew that I got an arrow into the biggest buck of my life, and that we’d be tracking him under the cover of darkness. I was more concerned than excited given what I observed after the shot, but I also knew there was a chance of recovery.
Ron arrived just as I finished climbing down and packing up my gear. He was excited for me, and listened intently as I explained everything that had happened. With this information in mind, we proceeded to the impact sight to look for the first drops of blood. Doubt started to creep in for me when all we could find for the first several yards was the spots where the buck’s hooves exposed the dirt when bounding away. At one point we had to regroup and start the track over, but Ron being the best woodsman I know somehow found the track and proceeded forward. Finally, after about the first 30 minutes of looking, we found blood.
While it wasn’t a lot of blood, it was enough that we could trail and in some places there was enough to give us hope that maybe the arrow made it into the ribcage. Having the arrow to evaluate would be helpful, but it was still in the deer as we had yet to come across it. We plodded along the trail and as we did I was reminded to only believe half of what you see and hear when you have a hit deer running away. While I provided an accurate description of his initial direction of travel, I was way off on the predicted path I suggested to Ron. In fact, the wounded buck went in exactly the opposite direction I thought. Looking at our tracking path in my onX Hunt app, I could see the deer seemed to be moving in a straight line, obviously to a place he had in mind. What he wasn’t doing was acting like a mortally hit deer, and there was no sign that he ever bedded down.
We eventually tracked over 300 yards, burning out flashlights and phones in the process. When I was just about out of battery on my phone I convinced Ron that the best course of action would be to wait until morning to continue. I did consider hiring a thermal drone recovery contractor to help with the search, but none were available that evening and I’m not sure how truly excited I was about the idea anyway. Disappointed, we left the woods for the evening and discussed our plan of attack for the morning over dinner.
At around 8:00 a.m. we returned to the spot of last blood and picked up the trail. Luckily it was a cold, damp evening and the blood was nicely preserved and easy to see. About 30 yards further ahead on the trail we finally found the arrow. Remarkably it was still fully intact and the Nocturnal lighted nock was brightly glowing. After inspecting the arrow, we determined that it only got about three or four inches of penetration. At this point we realized that we were likely dealing with a scapula hit, and that the buck wasn’t mortally wounded. Still, we had hope that the blood trail would improve now that the arrow was out of the wound. Unfortunately, the opposite turned out to be true and the bleeding stopped.
We grid searched for a while but agreed that the deer, other than having a sore shoulder for a while, was going to be fine. The bigger wound was to my ego now realizing I blew my opportunity at a buck of a lifetime. I was stricken with a combination of sadness, embarrassment, and disappointment as I couldn’t help but continue to replay the events that unfolded the night before. It was a shot distance I was comfortable with. I was calm under pressure. I waited for the right opportunity to shoot. No matter how I looked at it, I determined I did everything right and probably missed my mark by as little as a couple inches.
As disappointed as I was, I was feeling better by the next day, especially knowing with 99% certainty that the deer will be okay. Ron encouraged me to stick with it and told me several times that I didn’t do anything wrong, and that I just didn’t have luck on my side. For good measure, I cleaned up the arrow, put a field point on it, and took a single 33 yard shot at the target by the barn. Naturally, I hit the bullseye almost dead center. What you can’t simulate though is shooting from an elevated stand in low light in cold weather at what was likely a Boone and Crockett class buck. Those factors contributed to me slightly missing my mark, and that’s just something I’m going to have to live with.
This wasn’t the memory I wanted to carry with me all off-season, but it will drive me to work even harder in preparation for next fall. I can’t control what happened, but what I can control is how I approach next season and making sure I’m as prepared as I can be should I find myself in a similar situation. Maybe the hunt isn’t over yet, and this was just chapter one. That’s how I have to approach it.