We've seen the giant bucks and we've seen the dinks. Now let's see the deer that holds a lasting place in your hunter's heart.


This is the one for me. He is an old 7 point (4x3 for those westerners that can only count one side at a time. ) I killed in Mid-November 2007 on my great grandfather's old farmstead in Ashe County NC.

I had originally planned to walk to a big cut over where you can see a lot of country and have shots out to 500 + yards so I was carrying my heavy barrel .30/06 topped with a 4.5-14 Nikon with target knobs and a mil-dot reticle. It was loaded with a super accurate load of VV N140 and the 155 grain AMAX.

My plan got thrown off when I discovered that a timber cutting crew had decided to work that day on the backside of the mountain across from the cut over and they drove two trucks and a skidder right thru the middle of where I was going to hunt to get to the cutting ground.


Undaunted, I went to my fall back position. I walked up the ridge behind my great grandfather's old house and took up a position at the base of a big white oak that jutted out of a mountain overhang.

What the overhang created was essentially a natural tree stand like position. From the base of that white oak you could watch the convergence of five well used deer trails.

I had no more than got settled and caught my breath from climbing the near 10% grade up the ridge when six does came boiling out of a laurel thicket at the head of the holler. They were running nose to tail with their ears laid back like a pack of greyhounds. No chance of a shot on that bunch.

About 15 minutes later I heard something snuffling around in the acorns just over top of a small draw about 60 yards above and to the front of me.

The snuffling kept getting louder and I heard a buck start grunting so I double checked the scope to make sure it was turned down to low power and brought the rifle up to the port arms position.

A few seconds later the buck just seemed to materialize at the head of the draw 60 or so yards away. He was staring straight at me.

I immediately froze and tried my best to stay absolutely motionless. After what seemed like 15 minutes (actually more like 30-45 seconds) he turned back to the left and put his head down to look for acorns.

I began slowly moving the rifle into firing position. About halfway through the process the buck looked back around and started staring me down again. I had to freeze again. Holding a 10 lb rifle completely still 3/4 of the way to your shoulder is a chore I do not care to repeat.

After staring my way for what seemed like another 15 minutes, the buck again went back to looking for his breakfast acorns.

I finished shouldering the rifle and started to bring the crosshairs into position when the critter looked my way again so I was forced to do the freeze one more time. This time it felt like he stared me down for 45 minutes before going back to his acorns.

Once his head was down and away I settled the scope behind his onside shoulder, clicked the safety off and squeezed the trigger.

At the crack of the gun he lurched forward and went down on his knees in front and his hind end started to sag toward the ground. I expected him to just roll over and die but amazingly the buck caught himself and went lurching up the hill with the off side shoulder freely flailing and his tail down.

I was just mesmerized by the way he caught himself and took off and it never occurred to me at the time to shoot again.

Just as he crossed the ridge out of sight I heard a crash like a 57 Buick hitting a concrete wall. I found him tangled in the remains of an old fence about 30 yards down the backside of the ridge.

There was a blood trail Ray Charles could have followed.

The shot had been perfectly placed. All the deer plumbing was wrecked in the chest cavity and the 155 AMax had still had enough integrity and steam to break the off shoulder and exit. The buck probably weighed 175-180 lbs on the hoof.

I mounted his rack to one of the Cabela's horn mounting plaques and hung it over my bedroom closet door.

His antlers are one of the last things I see before going to sleep at night and I will always remember the day our trails crossed.

My most memorable deer hunt was a deer that I took while deer hunting with my 7 year old daughter for the first time. I shot a nice doe right at the end of shooting hours, across a BIG field. The doe ran into the tree line and disappeared. At that point I am concerned that the deer may be hard to find, and or the experience will shock my little girl and turn her off to hunting. Well, she helped me track the doe and she held the flashlight while I dragged it out of the woods. What was funny was her comment after the shot from my .270 WSM in near dark conditions. She said, "Daddy, fire came out of that thing!" We still laugh about it today and I knew at the time that a hunter was born. I am very grateful for that hunt.

I guess my most memorable was my first buck.

I had been so sick I hadn't left the house in three days. I finally felt human again on Sunday so even though it was 15 degrees and spitting snow - bitter cold down here in MS - I decided to go sit in my shoot house overlooking our bean fields. I remember a good friend called while I was hunting to invite me to come eat with the group. She said she'd let me get off the phone because she knew a big one was going to walk out for me. Well, about 5 minutes later he did, I just didn't realize he was big.

I had only been hunting a couple years and had never seen anything but does and spikes in this area. I saw this one step out at the far corner of the field at almost 400yds and I saw antlers. I thought "Great.. now I have to try to figure out if he's big enough to be legal". As he got closer I saw the antlers were outside his ears so I figured he was legal and I ignored the antlers from that point on. I figured he was probably no more than a 6 point but I was just wanting meat anyway. When he got within about 150yds, I hit him with my 300WSM. He ran about 35yds and fell.

I wasn't excited enough about his size to go check him first, instead I walked back to the truck and drove across the field to go load him up. It was only when I got to him that I realized what I had done. I counted 10 points and while making a fist I could put my entire forearm across the inside spread of his rack! Needless to say, he is mounted and hanging on the wall above my gun safe for the world to see.

Great Story. She will never forget that hunt with dad.

Great story and a beautiful buck.

First one I killed with a bow, a fork horn. Nothing special but it was the 1st bow kill.

Early years and watching Dad kill one running in the wood around 30 yards out. Deer hit an opening and just seemed to lose stride at the shot, then it was chest down in the snow. Over and done.

It was similar to watching a snake strike prey.

I have a bunch and can remember them all. All the "firsts" are special to me. First buck, first big one, first WI buck, yada, yada, yada...

But the most memorable to me is the first time I was allowed to go to deer camp on opening weekend. I was in 4th grade. I got to miss Friday school, so I was floating on air just from that!

Opening morning came fast. It was a crisp, frosty November morning and I followed my dad and uncle as they walked along the trail to their stands. We popped out of the spruces into the power-line opening to where we could see dad's stand and I heard my uncle Rick say "deer." I heard my dad say "it's a buck" and up came the Rem 742, 30-06. I heard the shot, and watched the deer run a tight circle and tip over.

That's it... I was hooked and have been ever since. I can't stop thinking about it. I think about deer hunting EVERY single day.

My first deer, a little spiker that fell to my dad's Mauser on the second Tuesday of the Pa. gun season. It was very special to me, as this was the last chance I got to hunt with Dad. He died the next spring. I got it right at dark about a mile from camp. It was pretty late by the time I got back in with it. Dad was so excited. I'll never forget that moment.

I'll add one more story here. I was hunting with my son when he was about 13. We were sitting along the edge of a big clear cut where it dumped into the woods. The deer would come out of that cut and go into the woods. I saw a doe sneek out of the cut, a long ways out. Try as I may, I couldn't get my son in a position where he could see the deer. We were going to lose the opprtunity, so I asked him if he wanted me to take the shot. He said, "I can't see it! Shoot it Dad." I made a clean one shot kill at about 350 yards. My longest shot to date.

My most memorable one was 43 years ago, when I was 11. The previous Summer I told my dad I wanted my own deer rifle. When he said "I think that's great", I was stunned. So he got me a job at an ice house bagging 10-20lb bags of ice for the owner friend of his. I worked all Summer and saved enough to buy a Marlin 336 30-30. Since I did work for it, dad put a Weaver K4 on it for me. The following November he took me mule deer hunting for the first time. We eventually came upon an old knurly buck laying in a low wash at a distance of no more than 75 yards. I got that sucker in my scope after kneeling down, gun rested on one knee, fired the shot, and missed that buck by 3 feet! To say I had buck fever was an understatement. I shot again as the buck stood up and whiffed again. As the buck turned to leave I fired again and clipped him high in the neck, breaking the spine. I had to finish him off when I got to within a range I could stay steady......5 yards! I was one nervous boy, and to this day I've been absolutely hooked on hunting mule deer. Thanks Dad!

Bunch of great stories folks. Keep 'em coming.

the buck my wife shot 2 years ago. it was the peak of the rut, bucks were running everywhere. we were going to put a stalk on one we'd seen run into a stand of trees when I spotted this buck peaking around a tree at 110 yards. she leveled her 6x45 mini mauser custom lefthand rifle I had built for her birthday that year. seemed like she aimed forever before pulling the trigger. the buck bolted after the 70 grain NBT entered just above the brisket. we searched for about 5 minutes before we saw hum sprawled behind a juniper, he had only gone 50'. it was the worst drag I've ever had, but I was so proud of her!



best of all I had pics of him in velvet
he had lost 2 tines fighting that week, but it's still him.

I haven't been at this too long, so I am sure that my most memorable deer is still out there, but my most memorable deer so far went down just this last season. An 8 point of decent size.

I had seen him before, fleeting glimpses in the thickest part of my Father-in-Law's 80 acres. I hunted the area during BP season, but never got a shot. Only tracks and scrapes.

Opening morning of rifle season was not exceptionally cold, but I woke to the sound of rain. My wife and I were staying in her parents travel trailer to take advantage of the season. Undaunted, I got dressed and, not wanting to get my first rained on, grabbed my second rifle, a Savage 99 in 300 sav. Once I had enough light to see I headed for the south side of the 80, my FiL went to the North side.

I had intended to stalk the south side. I love hunting in the rain, slowly moving in complete silence, every step masked by the slow rhythm of a fall shower. Still, I thought I might be able to see more if I went and sat in my FiL's tripod situated in the middle of the southern 40, open for 100-200 yards all around, where several trails intersected.

I had not been in stand for long when I heard the first rumble. My shower had turned into a thunder shower. A few minutes later I saw the first flash and started counting, 1, 2, 3, ... 24, 25, and then a low rumble. Five miles away. I thought perhaps the heavier weather would bypass me. I did not want to give up my opening morning hunt in the rain. I waited a few minute, then another flash, brighter than before... 12, 13..BOOM! "Thats not good" I thought. It was moving quick in my direction and I was suddenly feeling very vulnerable in this metal, uncovered tripod in the middle of this field.

Meanwhile, my Father-in-Law had walked in on the North side, probably about the time I decided to hijack his stand, and sat a game trail along the creek. I would learn that he had jumped my buck, who then headed South before he could get a shot. He would later curse me for killing (another) deer out of his stand, but I can live with that.

So after counting in the lightning to about 2 1/2 miles I decided that I didn't want to be in that stand anymore. Besides the lightning, I had been having trouble keeping my rifle down out of the better part of the rain. I took one more look around before I climbed down, and there he was. Somehow he had gotten within 75 yards without being seen. The rain had darkened his hide which blended beautifully with the scrub and grass behind him. I scoped him, checked for antlers, they were there so that was all I needed. He was quartering hard towards me to left, I aimed for his chest and squeezed the trigger, down he went.

I took a moment to catch my breath. The day I don't have to calm down after making a kill will be the day I hang it up. As I sat there looking off into the field I could see him laying in the trail with the tall grass waving on either side. In a heartbeat he MOVED! plowing himself suddenly into the grass to the right of the trail and out of sight. It was at that moment I realized I had pulled the shot. I hit him in the right shoulder, completely missing the vitals, but delivering enough force to knock him unconscious for a few moments and break the shoulder.

It was time to get out of the stand. Aside from the encroaching lightning, I now had a wounded deer on the ground that I needed to take care of. I started towards the last place I had seen him, but he was up before I had gone 20 feet, running hard on three legs. I know many hunters like high power scopes, but this is one reason I am a fan of low fixed power: running game. The rifle pulled up with ease, scope settled over his running form, the shot took him in the neck, dropping him at the next trail over.

By this time, I am fairly soaked. He had been running toward a ring of trees on the crest of a long, sloping hill before the land heads back down into a creek. So I decided to drag him the extra 20 feet under a tall oak for field dressing out of the better part of the rain. I had just set my pack and rifle down and made the first cut, when I heard a sound like an electric razor turning on, then off,..ZZZZZZT, and not a moment later, CRACK, BOOM!! I suddenly felt very uncomfortable underneath this tree on the highest point (not by a lot) in a quarter mile. Nothing to do but drag this deer back out into the rain to finish the job at hand.

Almost on queue, my shower turned into a deluge. Water pouring down my neck and around into my eyes and off my nose as I worked away at his innards. Water pooled on my glasses as I stood bent over, making the matter more difficult. I started feel the slightest bit of annoyance at my situation.

I then had a serendipitous moment. I looked up and around, and saw the beauty in the rain falling on grassy fields and trees all around, and at that moment knew that no matter how I felt or what I did the rain would fall and this deer needed to be gutted and it was my job to do. I then noticed my FiL had come up behind me and was standing under the tree snickering at me. Oh well. I finished it up and we walked back to the house to get the truck and hang my deer before we went to find dry clothing.

The cherry on top of all of this? The crest of that hill is the spot where, the year before, my wife and I had been married. That's mine. Nothing real special, just some things that can't be bought.

First backpacking trip for blacktail with a good friend. We were poorly prepared as far as gear, backpacks did not even have frames. Of course after a few miles in we pop over a ridge and he kills a good blacktail on the far side of a canyon. With no easy way to get it we simply drop into the canyon and promptly jump an even bigger buck which I dropped with a .35 Whelen.

Now we have two deer down at a little after noon and between 90 deg heat and plenty of bear in the area we have to get them both out in one trip. We quartered both and made several trips from the bottom of the canyon to the top ridge where the terrain was much easier to walk on. Took us till almost 5pm to get everything to the top. Once everything was at the top we loaded our packs to max, full camping gear for 3 days and a full load of deer. We began walking out and our gear was not helping at all. We got back to camp about 2am and I could not feel my arms or thighs.

We got everything on ice and crashed out. When I woke up the next day I felt horrid with bruises on both shoulders from the straps. When we got home it took less than a few hours to have some real packs ordered and we vowed to never double up on deer again when that far back. That vow lasted for a whole two years before we stumbled on a good herd of bucks and repeated the process but with far more efficiency getting them out.

I hunted hard in Northern California for almost 20 years and took a total of 4 deer, all mature blacktails and they represent the hardest/best deer hunting I have ever done. Probably 20-30 days in the field between punching tags and I would not change a bit of it.

Great buck and I love the rifle.

Great Story

it's about 4/5ths the size of my ruger 243. it fits her perfectly and she can put them in a silver dollar at 200 yards all day long.
light little gun with a burris compact scope 2-7.
stock was a richards microfit I had to really work on to slim it down and fit the action/barrel.
Mcgowen screwed the barrel on and the bluing work. it's a purty lil gun. the sling was a mothers day gift from the kids.

Great story. That makes my legs and arms hurt just reading about it.

Dad has a Mini Mauser that could use the same treatment. Course its a first year production gun with the first OEM synthetic stock on it so he would probably shoot me if I did commandeer it for a 6x45 project.

In May of 2010, my Wife & Son both completed their hunter safety course. Deb did it, basically just to help Doug through the learning process.

Fast forward to November 2010 !





I was sitting in the double tree stand with both of them, for their first hunt & first kill !

AWESOME feeling.

Very Nice.

Long story short since I"m in a hurry.

By far my most memorable is doe that hangs on our wall.

She would come to my wifes stand, and snort and run all the deer off. Wife tried for 2 weeks to figure out how to put an arrow in her. No luck.

I told her to hunt my stand and for the next 3 weeks we played cat and mouse until I finally quit hunting and started watching from a distance with glass... on the right day, went in with a dummy, she watched the stand something horrible. Went in mid day, put the dummy in the stand,think it was only a stuffed sweatshirt or such... not full on... and put a stand on the offside.... Left and came back a few days later on the right wind and hunted in the evening.

Deer came in like normal, she did too, ran em all off and snuck back watching the "stand" and "hunter" and staying out of bow range and in the brush.... which happened to be about 10 yards in front of me. When the time was right, and I figured she was smart and old enough... I drew and barely made it to anchor when she figured it all out, and her head and eyes turned and got saucer big... about the time I let the string slide from my fingers....

Unfortunately she was so good, she lurched forward a LOT, but not enough... it was a paunch hit and I hated that, but I let her go a bit and bed up like they all do. Had to sit for 2 more hours until dark. She watched the stand the whole time about 60 -70 yards away. 30 minutes or so after dark I started down the ladder as stealthy as I could. Made it to the ground, left the bow and all there and snuck away... even though it was the wrong way to camp... and made it out, checked her every few hours with a spotlight until a storm came in. After that checked again, no eyes. Laying dead in the first bed.

I've shot bucks. Large enough to make most folks around here look anyway, but they were all easy.

This was by far the most challenging, and as such had her mounted as an honor. The back cape is still in the loading room too, tanned. Means more to me than the biggest few bucks I've ever taken with a bow. Or gun. Period.

Neat story. An old doe can be a real challenge to hunt.

Here is another very memorable hunt. This time it was the day dad declared war on the whitetail deer.

It was the first day of season and we were hunting on a dear friend's property in Ashe County NC. We arrived just before daylight and hiked in slowly just as the gray dawn was breaking.


We arrived at my hunting spot first so I dropped off and got into position while dad went on up the ridge toward his back of the Holler haunt. I remember looking at my watch and it was 7:20 AM.

Dad had no more than passed out of sight near the top of the ridge when all Hell broke loose.

One shot went off then another followed by a third. I was beginning to wonder if he had walked up on some redneck's moonshine operation and a firefight had broken out.

I waited about ten minutes and then started up to where dad was at.

When I got there I found this:







Dad had bumped into these two does on the way up to his hunting spot. His first shot had hit a limb and the second one killed the bigger doe. Shot three took the smaller one.

After the picture taking session I told dad to relax while I went back to the truck for the big meat pack. Its about a mile down off the ridge and when I was about 250 yards from the truck a big BOOOM! echoed down from the Holler.

I retrieved the meat pack, stowed my rifle, strapped on my Browning HP and hiked back up the 8% grade to where dad was.

This is what I found when I got back:



Dad had caught this rascal slipping around the far side of the Holler across from where he had killed the does and put him down with a 175 yard shot into the neck area.

By the time we got all the deer dressed and packed out I had made four trips up and down that steep ridge and had got to hunt all of ten minutes. That was rough on a fat man like me.


Oh, the rifle he used was a SIG SHR 970 topped with a B&L 3000 3-9 x40 slinging the Federal Premium factory load with the 130 grain Sierra BTSP.

I was in my Junior year of high school and we had finished up picking corn just before the start of the Wisconsin November gun season. Granddad, Dad, his brothers and my brother and I were all prepared to make the trip to northern Wisconsin to hunt out of Granddad's cabin. A neighbor was going to milk and do chores while we were gone, but slipped and fell on a patch of ice and broke his leg.

Dad didn't trust anyone else to work so said he would stay home. Dad was a hard worker and always put the family first. He loved that time in the north woods hunting with family members. I slept on that decision and it didn't set right with me.

After I finished up my chores I went to the house for breakfast. I told Mom how I felt about Dad's bad luck and said I wanted to stay home so he could go. Mom said she couldn't take time off from her job, but would help the best she could. Brother said he would stay home, too and Lil' Sis said she would help. I told my brother to go because he might not get many more chances to hunt with Granddad.

Dad came in the kitchen door, saw us sitting there with big smiles on our faces, paused for a moment and then asked what was going on. To this day I will never forget the look on Dad's face.

I hunted with some high school buddies for a couple days, but didn't have any luck. Friday after Thanksgiving day there was no school so had plans to meet up with some buddies after morning chores to hunt. While milking our dog was barking so I looked out the barn door and saw 4 deer off in the distance moving across a picked corn field between two wood lots.

Finished milking, turned the cows out, scraped the aisle and stanchion platform, backed the manure spreader in place and ran the barn cleaner. I had deer on my mind now, pulled the tractor and spreader into the door yard and grabbed my Savage 99 250-3000.

Spread the manure load, stopped and began banging on something with pry bar, (don't remember, the tines or apron chain)looked up to see a 10 point buck standing at the edge of the woods with three does. Slowly, moved to the tractor, uncased the gun, went around to the front of the tractor, deer were still staring at me, knelt down and placed a hand hold on the suitcase weights, sent a 87 grain Hornady down the tube. Deer disappeared.

Found the buck about 25 paces inside of the woods. Wrestled the buck onto the spreader tongue and tied him down with some baler twine.

Had a great story to tell the returning deer hunters.

Easily my favorite - my boy's first buck years ago with a ML! Crazy snow storm buck!

Great story

That is a heck of a nice first buck.

Cool story Roundoak!

I've got 2 that kind of stick out. The first was a doe. I got up on opener to see that it was snowing sideways. There was a field of standing corn that usually had deer going into one of the corners of it. I went to that corner and got far enough into it so that I could still see the ditch at the end of the field and leaned up against some corn stalks. It wasn't too long before I saw movement. I waited for the deer to pass behind some willows to shoulder my gun (12 gage 870 with a vent rib). Dropped the hammer at 14 paces. Don't think that the deer knew I was there.

The second was the biggest 3X3 I've ever seen. I set up on a river bank about 100 yards from where I got the aforementioned doe. It's never been a great hunting spot, but I've sat there a lot because you can see out into a neighbor's CRP that used to be the site of numerous deer soap operas before it came out. I was watching 3 does that looked like they might be heading towards our property, but in no hurry. They stopped for a while and appeared to be looking at something. A small bush in the direction that they were staring turned into a huge rack. I never got a count, but I'm pretty sure that it was at least 5X5. The does backed off as 2 smaller bucks approached. The bucks moved into a low spot where I could no longer see them, and I could hear a fight ensue. The large buck headed away from our fence line. More antlerless deer joined the group, or more likely they had been there the whole time and I hadn't seen them. One of the smaller bucks and 5 slicks jumped the fence and hit the afterburners. I didn't have good shot. I knew that there was at least one buck left, but not where he was, so I backed out had lunch and cut a couple of pickup loads of firewood. I came back later, and started working the willow choked ditch on our side of the fence line. I saw the buck at about 10 yards. I didn't have a shot because of the tall grass and willows. I froze; he didn't seem too concerned, but got up after a while to get a better look. I shot him at the base of the neck.

The ol man really put you to work that day, huh? He sounds a lot like my own Dad. I hope he gave you a tenderloin or two!

Hillbilly- mine was one I saw killed but not by me... but my Dad. First, let me say, he is undoubtably the greatest man I know or likely ever will know. I started tagging along with an old long bow when I was 8 yrs old. Dad is 85 now and in all his life I doubt he has killed more than 5 or 6 deer. Always a good hunter, he just never seemed to be able to "close the deal" on game. He did back in 1966, though. Our group of about 8 guys hunted out of a tent camp a few miles west of Hayward, Wis. It was the end of our 9 day gun season that we pushed a large tract of land to the East of a little lake called Sugarbush. This nice heavy eight pointer escaped the drivers and tore across a wide open marsh and went through the ice in a tiny slough. There he was swimming in circles but he couldn't pull himself out to solid ground. That's where Dad enters the story. A few of us gathered on the rim of this frozen swampy opening in time to see Dad hiking- sometimes breaking through ice in knee deep water. Dad and the buck were a few hundred yards from us as we watched the drama unfold. Later, we found out Dad didn't have a rope so he sloshed back to one of our guys…borrowed a length of tow rope and made his way back to the struggling buck. I am not fibbing when I tell you he made a lasso and tossed the loop around the bucks antlers and hauled him up on the solid ground- thereby saving the beasts life. When Dad dropped the tow rope he expected the buck to highball it out of there but the buck just stood there, a few feet from Dad- apparently exhausted or in shock. This would be a good time to tell you that Dad never had much of a rifle of his own but that year he was able to purchase a new Remington 700 in .270 Win. He topped it with what was then a state of the art 3X9 scope ready for a shot way out yonder. When the deer didn't run, Dad figured he better do something so shot him from inside 10 feet! I can still remember watching the whole thing as a "kid". I asked one of the older guys observing the show, "Dad isn't going to shoot him is he….?" and before I could finish the question the buck dropped and the sound reached us a split second later. The work began for all of us getting that big boy out but what a treat to have been there. I wish I had pictures to share but the only ones I have are in my memory of that day…mine and the rest of the camp that watched it with me.

I got plenty of meat out that deal but I sure had to earn it.

Great stories.

Now, that is a terrific adventure.

Has to be my first. The day was November 7th 1987. I was 18. My dad and I were members of a dog club and even though we had been members for a couple years, I had never gotten a shot. I don't think I had ever even seen a buck in that club before that day. On the first drive of the morning we went way back into the swamp and I was dropped off in a beautiful spot, nice open woods. I set up my dove stool and sat down for the long wait. The other standers couldn't have been gone for more than 5 min when I heard leaves crunching to my left. I turned and there was a beautiful 8 point strolling straight towards me maybe 50 yards away without a care in the world. I was dumbfounded, the dogs hadn't been let out yet and I doubt if the next stander had even been dropped off yet. I tried to slowly raise my shotgun and pivot towards the buck but he either saw me, heard me or smelled me. Without warning he spun around, blew and hauled ass back where he came from. That was that. I was sick. I didn't see another deer during the morning drive. When the drive ended the other hunters razzed me to no end when they heard my story.
For the 2nd drive, we again went deep into the woods on another tract of land. I was dropped off in a spot so thick I couldn't see 20 yards. I heard several shots during that drive and right towards the end, a deer came bounding by me. I thought I saw spikes but it was moving so fast and it was so thick I couldn't swear to it. There were no does shot in this club at that time so I just held my fire. Within a few seconds two shots rang out just down the line. After the drive was over, it was clear that the next stander had clearly seen the spikes and killed him. I was REALLY bummed now! The only two bucks I had had opportunities at and I blew it both times.
Normally that would have been the end of it for the day. Very rarely was there enough time left in the day for a 3rd drive. We got back to the club shed a little earlier than usual and there was about an hour of daylight left. Somebody suggested going down the road a little bit past the skinning shed and turning the dogs loose to see what would happen. I really wasn't interested. I was tired and frustrated and I really didn't see us getting any action that close to the club shed where so much activity went on. My dad said "Come on, we might as well go with them. Big boy might be hiding back there." I gave in and we strolled down the road, maybe 200 yards past the shed. As we walked, Dad said a verbal prayer. He said "Lord, please let Mark kill a big one so he can redeem himself and get those other fellows off his back." He laughed and I just grinned. We stepped into the woods maybe 40 yards off the road and stood by a creek. We didn't even carry our stools and I had only the 5 shells in my gun whereas normally I would have a pocket full of shells and a 9mm S&W 659 strapped on my side. They turned the dogs loose and they didn't seem to be too hot on any trails for the first 30 min. Dad and I just stood there talking about my two previous encounters. All of a sudden the dogs got pretty excited and it sounded like they had jumped something. A minute or two later 5 shots rang out deeper into the swamp. Then 2 or 3 more shots a little closer. The dogs were going insane. Dad said "You stay here and I'll go down the creek aways and maybe one of us will get a shot." A few minutes later I heard splashing in the creek and Dad yelled out "He's coming to you, get ready!" Within seconds a big buck jumped out of the thick stuff along the creek and nearly ran me over! At a range of feet rather than yards I threw my Benelli 121 SL 80 up and popped off three shots as fast as I could jerk the trigger before he was swallowed by the thick stuff. In my youth, I thought it a neat idea to load my gun with a load of #4 buckshot for the first shot followed by a load of #1 buck, then a #0 buck for the 3rd shot, a #00 for the 4th and a #000 for the final shot. The deer hadn't even flinched to my first three shots, so I didn't know what to expect as I plowed into the thick brush. I went maybe 40 yards until I came out into a little open area and there was the buck, standing about 25 yards away, staggering and lunging to try to stay on his feet. I threw the Benelli up and let go my last two shots. The buck went down but was so adrenalized he was still trying to get back up. I was now without ammo and my 9mm that I had religiously carried for a coup de grace was back in the truck. I yelled out to my Dad, "Dad! Come here! I got him but I'm out of shells and he's still alive!" A few seconds later the buck gave up the ghost and my Dad came to where I was. He slapped me on the back and said "Always remember, the Lord DOES answer prayers!" My Dad was a minister so maybe his prayers carried a little extra weight that day! The buck was above and beyond anything I had hoped for for my first deer. I'd have been thrilled with a doe or spike but my first was a hefty 10 point, 6 on one side, 4 on the other. The side with 6 points had a prominent palmation, somewhat like a moose or fallow antler. The spread was a about 16" and he weighed 165 pounds, which is considered pretty big around here. Turns out he was one of the best bucks killed on the club that entire season.

Beautiful buck and a great story.

First deer my seven years old son ever shot. He punched him behind the front shoulder with his 223 and 50 grain TTSX. I never thought I would be so excited over a deer.

[img:center]http://[URL=http://s1329.photobucket.com/user/Dink753/media/DSC00187_zpsefb02e50.jpg.html][/http://s1329.photobucket.com/URL][/img]

Great story, Wayne. Thanks for sharing.

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.