Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Deer Hunting Your Most Memorable Deer

I'm pretty sure I already know yours, but you should post one up anyway.

That is a great picture

An old fallow buck aged at 10- 12 with no teeth and 4 stumps left kn the bottom. Antlers gone way back yet still long and the taxidermist had to open up his largest forme 2" to accommodate the cape.

Saw him at first light with a shooter buck maybe 5-6 years old and a herd of a dozen plus does.

Had to figure out where he would go and hide for the day, stalked the perfect stalk on a mountain a mile south of where we saw him in horrible heavy brush country and shot him as he raised from his bed and looked down his nose at the intruders.

Model 70 Featherweight in .30/06 using the then new, Failsafe 180 grainers at perhaps 30 yards.

My first deer, a muley doe.
I'd hunted for a couple seasons with an old Argentine Mauser but never saw anything and I realized the archery season was longer and I could get more hunting time in so I sold the rifle for $50 and bought a Martin compound on clearance, I was a broke azz kid.
The tag was for the foothills out of town so I could work till 3:30, wash up and run up the hills for a couple hours.
It took several trips up that hill to work out where I needed to be so I wouldn't spook the deer getting in but it worked out.
I made it to a small saddle where several does and fawns fed past me and I followed hoping for a shot on a dry doe when they all turned around and came right back up towards me.
I had to play "stump" for a bit till the deer meandered past and I started to draw on the dry doe, she caught me so I froze and I waited till she looked down, I got half drawn and she caught me again, finally she looked away and I slipped that aluminum arrow right behind her shoulder.
I was sure she'd run for a hundred yards so I eased down the hill and circled, No blood... what to do.
I came back up the hill and found her 35yds from where she'd been shot.
I had to hurry and figure out how to dress her out before dark!

Great story. I love the old bucks.

I hate having to hurry dressing a deer before dark but it is way better than doing it in the dark.

He's not my biggest, but he was the biggest to date.
What makes him memorable is the case of rare buck fever that had me paralyzed. I froze in the treestand and had to talk myself out of it, because had me shaking like a poodle.

Here are the details:

The Savage Spoke. . .

Great buck, story, and pictures.

Great thread, Joe!

Thanks

My most memorable is still probably my first deer at age 13 - a small forked horn black tail which I have no pictures of. I've shot mostly larger deer since, but have never really shot anything I would call large. A few years back, I shot my first white tail so that one was more memorable than most. I've always wanted a nice mature mule deer but always seem to settle for something smaller. This past fall, I shot a decent muley with a Ballard single shot loaded with black powder and cast bullets. It happens to be the largest deer I've shot and first with "old school" technology - this one may become my most memorable...

First white tail:


Black powder muley:

Those are a couple of nice bucks and I love the Ballard.

In my case, my most memorable buck wasn't nearly the best I've ever shot....not even close....but he might have been if the timing was better.

I was blessed to grow up on land that bordered a 9000 acre hunting club my family belonged to. In later years I joined that club. Because of this, from the age of 8 or so I explored and hunted that 9000 acres year round. Even after I was "grown" I was able to spend time exploring and scouting that land probably 200-250 days out of the year.

Because of this, I learned that land like it was my backyard. I knew every creek and drainage, every thicket, every hill or valley and every hidden spot that others (some who had hunted that same land for decades) didn't even know existed. I also learned the deer on that land. I knew where they fed, where they bedded, where they traveled at different times of the year or in different weather. Best of all, I learned where they went and how they traveled when under pressure.

Believe me there was a lot of pressure. The club members killed more than 100 bucks from that land every year. As a result, few bucks ever lived more than 2 or 3 years. That area of East Texas had LOTS of deer, but most were young and never got a chance to grow truly big racks.

This, combined with the fact that East Texas doesn't have the genetics to grow bucks like in South Texas or other "trophy" areas of Texas meant that killing a really big buck was near impossible. Sure occasionally a real trophy was killed in the area, but it was mostly luck when it happened. Even the best hunters couldn't kill those kind of deer with any regularity.

Still....because I knew the land so well (and the deer) I managed to kill a better than average buck each year (sometimes two) for some 25 years . In most years I killed the best buck (some years the best two bucks) taken each year in our club. I have 14 or 15 bucks who's racks are on my wall that score between 125 and 150 inches.....but never a truly BIG one.

Then in 1978 I spotted the buck that was to lead me on a merry chase....and become my most memorable trophy. The first time I saw this buck was about two weeks before the season opened. I was scouting along a creek that was hidden and almost unknown to most members of our club. When I first laid eyes on him he was a very nice buck (for our area) with 8 long points and an inside spread of maybe 14-15 inches. While the spread and point length were good, the thickness of his horns told me this deer was young (I guessed him at 2 1/2 years old at the time). I "knew" he really needed time to grow, but with the pressure the deer got in our club....I'd have shot him dead that year if I'd gotten the chance. He was in the act of making a scrape the first time I saw him and I felt sure I'd get that chance when the season opened so I slipped quietly away.

Two weeks later I slipped slowly toward that scrape. I had foolishly depended on my hunting partner to wake me that morning instead of setting my own alarm. He woke before dark and it was raining like a cow pissing on a flat rock, so he didn't wake anyone in our camp thinking hunting that morning was useless. I woke shortly after and cursing him rushed to the woods, knowing I was "late".

It was just getting light as I approached the bottom where the scrape was. The rain had stopped with just a slow mist coming down. I "should" have been on stand an hour earlier so I was "rushing slowly" along the creek. I should have been more alert, but because of the late start was in a hurry to get to my chosen stand site. I could hear raindrops splattering hard from time to time as I moved along, but just "assumed" it a squirrel knocking drops from the treetops.

I finally got to the spot and as my head cleared the creek bank......there he stood. He was standing about 25 feet from the scrape and was hooking a 4" diameter cedar tree. This was a pretty big tree to hook for such a young buck, but over the next few years it became "his" tree and was worked over each year. The buck saw me and with two jumps was out of sight. If I had been on time that morning he would have been mine....and I'd have missed the adventure that was to follow.

In the scrape I found his hoof prints and noticed something unusual. The inside toe on his right front hoof was blunted and half the length of his other toes. This was to prove very critical to tracking and hunting this particular buck as it was very distinctive. I never saw that deer the rest of the year even though I spent a bit of time trying. This was to become a pattern for the rest of his life. You got one chance and if you blew it....he disappeared. I never was able to learn where he went, but once disturbed, he left that bottom and was not seen again until springtime. Each year, however, he returned to his pattern and came back to the same bottom....but if you spooked him it was all over for the remainder of the season.

Because of that unique footprint I was able to scout this buck and his pattern even in the summertime. I spent a LOT of time following those prints that summer and learned a lot about his habits. His bedding area was a hellishly thick area about 500 yards from where I'd found the scrape. It was an area of grown over clearcut that was so thick you would need a machete to get into it. I never did figure out how he got in and out with his rack but he did....every morning.

Each evening he would leave the thicket after full dark....year round. You could hear him leave and walk down the creek but only after it was full dark. I only knew of once he left early. In the morning he would slip back down the creek just as it was getting light enough to see and go back into his thicket. He never varied this pattern even during the peak of the rut.

I did see him once that year...in July while scouting. During the summer he would occasionally stay out in the mornings a bit later, but by early fall would fall back into the pattern of returning to his thicket at the break of day. About an hour after daylight I saw him hurrying along the creek toward his thicket. He was in velvet and the horns were still growing, but it looked to me like he was going to be REALLY good that year.

I blew that year because I lost patience. After a week of trying to catch him returning to his thicket with no success, I foolishly decided to try to slip into his hide-a-way during the day and catch him napping. I heard him crash away some 50 yards ahead of me, but never got close enough to even see movement much less take a shot ( I couldn't even SEE more that 10-15 yards). He (and his unique tracks) simply disappeared and weren't seen again until the following April.

The third year I hunted this buck (I guessed him to be 4 1/2 at the time) I finally had a good look at him and thought I would have a shot to take him. It was in early October, a full month before regular gun season was to open. I had taken up bow hunting, not because I "loved" bow hunting, but because of the extra time I could hunt.....before anyone else was in the woods. Bow hunting was quite rare in those days and only two other hunters I knew hunted with a bow in our club. My hope was that "my" buck would slip up due to the fact that no one was disturbing the woods at this early date.....and he did....almost.

I had learned to NEVER violate his thicket or travel bottom when hunting him so I only hunted from across the creek. I NEVER entered his travel corridor for fear it would make him disappear like in other years. With a rifle I could cover the corridor from 75 yards away.....but that wouldn't work with a bow. I had to get closer. I de-scented myself as well as I possibly could and entered the woods at about 2 o'clock in the afternoon. I used a portable climbing stand (also a rarity in those days) and climbed some 25 feet up a pine about 15 yards from his fresh scrape (under the same bush as every year).

I sat until the sun was down and darkness was rapidly falling. Then I heard the sound of a deer trotting through the woods towards me (and the scrape). My plan had worked. He had left his thicket about a half hour early and would soon be under my stand. I had practiced until I was sure of making any shot under 40 yards. Then I saw him. He was coming along at a half trot-half walk. Then he froze at about 60 yards and stood stone still.

He was magnificent. 8 points with the longest tines probably 10-12" long. His main beams were heavy and the inside spread was at least 18-19". This buck was far better than any deer I'd ever killed....and I had some pretty good racks on my wall at the time.

I have no idea what spooked him. The wind was from him to me and I was 25 feet above him. He stood for maybe 15 minutes, the began to circle slowly....all the time remaining in the brush and 60-65 yards away. He would circle 15-20 yards and then stand for 10 minutes before moving again. I actually considered trying a shot even though it was beyond my "sure kill" distance and he was in and out of the brush, but I just "knew" that at any minute he would calm down and move on in.

The light was falling fast and I thought I had maybe 10 minutes before I would be unable to see my sights on the bow. By this time he had circled about half-way around me. Then he stopped again and raised his head. I could actually see his nostrils flare. Then I swear he looked up directly at me 25 feet up in my tree and turned back the way he'd come from. He never ran, but moved quickly back toward his thicket and out of sight. That was the last time I saw him or his tracks that year, He pulled his old disappearing act and went where ever it was he went when disturbed.

The following year I never saw him at all. The tracks were there, the scrape was worked and the cedar was hammered, but I never saw him at all before the season. Then, on opening morning, I blew my chances again. I was on stand 2 hours before first light and sat until I could just see. I caught movement through the trees about 50 yards out. At first I thought it was a bird or squirrel, but got ready anyway....just in case. Another movement about 10 yards from where I'd seen the first confirmed something was moving. I had a single "lane" I could see through to where the "something" was moving towards. A gap between the trees maybe 12" wide was the only possibility for a shot if it was "my" buck.

In that bottom I sometimes saw does, but only rarely was a buck seen. I guess the big boy kept them away. I put my scope on the small opening just in time. It happened so fast I didn't have time to even think. As the scope settled I saw something enter the gap between the trees. I remember thinking, "DEER, HORNS, SHOOT" and it was all over.

Then I began to second guess myself. I thought, "Did you really see a deer"? Yes...it was definitely a deer. Then, "But did you really see horns"? Yes....AND THEY WERE BIG!

I immediately had to go see. As I approached the place where the deer had been I saw him laying about 10 feet past the trees I'd shot between....and was sick. He was a really nice buck. 8 points with a 17" inside spread....about a 140 class buck. Really good for our area, but definitely NOT "my" buck. A quick check of his hoof told the tale, I'd just shot the "wrong" buck. Like in years before my buck pulled his disappearing act and went somewhere else for the season.

I will admit I had one chance to take the buck and passed it by. It was the hardest thing I ever did to not take the shot. Before the season, the 5th year I'd been after this buck and guessed him to be 6 1/2, I had him dead to rights. Un fortunately it was a month and a half before the gun season opened and 2 weeks before bow season began. I never knew where he went to feed after he left the creek bottom each night. The tracks were always lost in an overgrown clearcut he entered when leaving each evening.

I was squirrel hunting on another creek drainage about a mile away from "his" bottom one morning. Well before daylight I slipped up toward a HUGE white oak tree that the squirrels and other animals loved to feed in and under. The wind was in my face, although I didn't notice at the time (after all who worries about wind direction when hunting squirrels). I was slipping along an old logging road and there was a heavy dew wetting the ground, so I was totally silent as I approached. I sat on a convenient stump about 30 yards from the tree and waited for daylight.

As the light came I could see there was a big deer feeding under the tree. I could see no details, just the shape. As the light got better I realized this was a HUGE buck. It was MY buck (I later confirmed this from the tracks). I'd never seen a deer like this one. The antlers spread out to over 20" inside spread (I guessed 22-23") with 8 points....each long and heavy. The G2's seemed to be 13-14" and G3's were well over 10" long. Even the brow tines were over 6".

This was a MONSTER. I have a 150 class buck on the wall and have seen a few bucks in the 160 range and this deer made those look small. This may have been one of the rare 8 points that could be near B&C standard. And here I sat....with .22 rifle in my hads...at just 30 yards.

I put the scope on him. I KNEW I could take him easily and almost did. I finally lowered the gun, but put it back up. I had the crosshairs on him three times. I was not really an outlaw, but a man can only take so much temptation. I decided to pass the shot. It wasn't easy, but I did. After all, I reasoned, I had him patterned and this would be the year it all came together. And I could live with myself after the kill much better. It seemed as if this drama had taken hours, but in reality it was probably only a few minutes before he turned and moved off into the brush, undoubtedly to his thicket where he SHOULD have been a half hour ago.

I never got another sighting that year even though I did see his tracks and the scrape and cedar were worked regularly.....probably at night.

The following year I got the scare of my life. I was still scouting / tracking my buck that summer, but in early October all sign disappeared. No tracks, no scraping, no hooked cedar. I never saw a single track all season. I was sure he was dead. Maybe another hunter had killed him, but if they had I'd have heard about it.....no one would keep quiet if they killed a buck like this one. Then I thought that maybe he'd been run over on the highway although this was unlikely as the nearest paved road was over 2 miles away.

Then I had my greatest fear....he'd simply died of old age. In our area the soil has so much sand that a deer's teeth wear away very quickly. It is super rare to see any deer, buck or doe, reach an advanced age. Their teeth wear away so fast that aging by tooth wear is very unreliable past about 6 years. By that time the teeth are worn away completely. When a deer can no longer chew his food....death soon follows. I guessed this deer to be at least 7 1/2 (maybe a year older) so it seemed very possible.

I was sick. Then in May (I continued to scout the bottom even though I had little hope) his tracks showed up again. As fall approached thing were definitely different. His tracks showed up regularly but there was no scrape where it always was and the cedar was unmolested. Maybe he'd quit breeding. He had to be at least 8 1/2 years old so it seemed possible that his body condition was so bad that breeding was too much.

I basically "knew" this was my last chance. In desperation I decided to try a one time, make-or-break tactic. I would try to invade his bedroom. If it didn't work I'd likely never get another chance. I was obsessed with this deer.

I took a climbing stand into his thicket.....but I did it when I knew he wouldn't be there. I entered the thicket at 11 o'clock at night. I had no idea where to place the stand but picked a likely looking tree in the dark and scooted up to about 20 feet. The next 7 hours were a torture. It was black dark and I knew if he saw anything or smelled anything or just sensed something wrong for whatever reason I would fail.

Just at daylight I thought I heard something moving below me but could see nothing......then all was quiet again. For 5 more hours I sat and waited not knowing if he was anywhere close or if he'd sensed something an left or even if I could see him if he was in the thicket. I couldn't see more than 20 yards in any direction. He could be practically under my feet and I might not know it.

Then at 11 o'clock, 12 hours after I'd entered the thicket, he stood up. He had been bedded no more than 10 yards from the base of the tree I was in but completely hidden until he stood. The shot was easy and finally this adventure that had started so many years ago was over. A quick check of his hoof showed that I'd finally won the battle of wits and skill.

His horns, so impressive just a couple of years earlier were a shadow of what they had been. The sweeping main beams were now a stubby 17 inches where before they were 26-28". They were heavy (5"+ at the base, but very short. The 12-14" tines were just 6-8". He was still a "nice" buck (about a 120 class) but nothing like they had once been. Several non-typical points near the bases marred his "perfect" rack. His teeth, as I had suspected, were totally worn away. Not even a nub left, just the bare jaws with tooth bases below the surface. I doubt there was any way he could have lived another year....or even another moth maybe.

Even so I was prouder of that buck than any I had taken before or since.

That's my most memorable buck. I've got bigger, better racks on the wall, but none that I worked harder to take and none I value as highly.

Cool story. Sounds a lot like a similar story somewhat close to Houston years ago called something like Dr Notchtoe Emeritus and a very very similar pursuit of a deer for years IIRC.

I'm so very glad the days of killing 2 bucks just for killing and saying I killed the biggest on the lease etc... are almost over for most folks.

Don't discount E TX... I've chased a couple of big boys there and was lucky enough to speak with a couple of locals that realized I knew what I was doing and shared some pictures and help... they had taken a few deer over 170 and one or two in the upper 190s as I recall...the genetics there are not bad at all... anytime you can produce 170 inch bucks you have decent genetics.

2 great stories there, gg.

Great story and pics. Just found out you have a wonderful hunting girl.

JG, great story also.

This is a re-post from 2009, but still my most memorable.

"It was a cool November morning in the mountains outside Elgin, Oregon. Dad and I cleared the timber and stepped onto a logging road that made a 'U' around a 200-acre clearcut. The morning mist still hung low to the ground and ebbed back and forth with the gentle breeze.

We were elk hunting. I was on leave and stationed at Fairchild AFB in Spokane, WA. Dad took time off from work in Salem, OR and drove over to meet me in Elgin. We both knew this would probably be our last hunt together because I had orders to ship off to Okinawa and Oregon was contemplating going to a tag draw process, eliminating our abiltiy to buy tags over-the-counter. This one was special too, because it was a return to where he taught me all he knew about hunting big game. I grew up in LaGrande and Elgin was our favorite spot for elk.

Dad surveyed the clearcut and froze in his tracks. "There's a bull" he whispered. I strained to see what he was seeing, as the mist shifted I could see the outline of the monster antlers against the white backdrop of mist behind him. He was out a bit over 200 yards and his head turned slightly when he put his nose to the breeze. We both realized at that point that it wasn't a bull elk, but a huge muley (not in season). There was no use trying to do a point count, the big boy was too far away and didn't stay long. But the mass, width and height made him the biggest buck we had ever seen or would see ... large enough for two veteran deer and elk hunters to mistake him for a wapiti. As the mist shifted again, we could make him out performing an about-face and gliding to the trees behind him. Then, miraculously the mist was gone. We had full view of his past position and expected heading ... he was GONE! He simply disappeared like a ghost. We were not surprised how big he had grown with that ability to disappear.

That's what I enjoy the most about hunting, the memories. This one is definitely memorable, because it was the last one dad and I shared and that buck could have gone in the record books. The memory is as vivid today as it was over 30 years ago in 1977."

A medium 3 by about 2 miles off on the Idaho side of Hells Canyon. I decided to work them saying I'd deck the buck if I could do a neck shot. They moved but I found them, made it into about 70 yds, and did the neck shot going between the antlers of a forkie that was in the foreground.

All the drainages had washed out that spring, and the pack down to the river was like walking on a sandy sidewalk all the way. A really fine day.

More great stories folks. Keep them coming.