Free: Contests & Raffles.
I never actually fired on my haunt story..... My dad has never been much of a hunter, but was very strict with gun handling and ingraining that I be sure of my target(s) especially in regards to not shooting a doe. It was late October my first year deer hunting. I was doing lawn work after school and the one of the jobs was raking and bagging leaves for a homeowner with several large maples. It happened to be close to a good hunting spot. I had asked my dad if we could go for an evening hunt and he agreed to get off work early which was extremely rare for him to do. The area we were going had rumors of a giant buck roaming the area. My best friends dad who was an avid hunter and worked swing shift had seen a buck crossing the county road in the dark and said he initially thought a steer was loose until he saw the ghost white face and giant rack. I am sure I was visibly excited as we pulled up to the parking area. Not only was this an opportunity to hunt, but in the discussion on the way my dad had mentioned we should split up to cover more portions of the areas large cut. This would be my first time carrying a rifle solo. As I gathered my gear I realized I had overlooked one piece of equipment in my hurry loading the truck before dad left for work that morning, I had rifle, orange, ammo, and tags. But had forgot binoculars. To this day I'm not sure why my dad didn't insist I hunt with him. Perhaps he figured there was no chance of me "scoping" anyone with an open sighted 30-30, maybe because the binos were only for antler confirmation and he trusted me to not shoot if not sure. Maybe he simply didn't want to dampen the evening by disappointing me. Regardless, after walking to the first split in the road he reiterated his usual wisdom of " as soon as you don't respect that gun it will kill you" followed by "and make sure it has horns." and we went separate directions. I moved down the road slowly for few hundred yards. There was a large flat bench below me about 40 yards across ( i figured this all out a few years later) that dropped into a small creek drainage. On the other side of the creek drainage was a fairly steep hill for 40 yards or so before going into the timber. The timber was 80ish yards away. The cut was about 3 years old. As I snuck to the stump I was going to sit next to, I noticed a deer bedded down on the bench near the creek. The deer had noticed me as well and stood up, along with 4 friends. One of those friends sure looked like a forked horn buck but without my confirmation binos I held off shooting. The deer all disappeared into the creek draw and one by one emerged on the other side. Doe, doe, doe, the "maybe a buck", another doe, nothing for minute then another deer appeared. This one seemed to soak up all the real estate on the opposite side of the creek draw, his rack was unmistakable with 4 heavy points per side set atop a ghost white face, shiny black nose and thick neck. There was no doubt this was a buck, he walked in front of the doe and she disappeared behind his giant body as he stiff legged a couple more steps and as she reappeared he stopped. I raised my rifle and sighted on his massive chest looking back a mere 70 yards away. But I couldn't squeeze the trigger. I lowered the gun and stared at the giant rack again. Then raised the gun again as the buck turned and looked seemingly right thru me. Still I couldn't squeeze the trigger. On top of my weak knees and rubber elbows were dads words ringing in my head "make sure it has horns". Somehow the loop between brain and finger wouldn't close and let me squeeze the trigger without raising a pair of binoculars to "make sure". The buck took several more slow steps along with the other deer and melted slowly into the timber, vine maple, and ferns. After the shaking stopped and I calmed down, I berated myself for why I hadn't shot. I KNEW that buck had antlers. Although a short distance, it was a long walk back to meet dad. After relaying the story he first questioned me why I didn't shoot, but after further discussion he assured me I had done the right thing in not shooting. I did manage to kill a buck that first year a fork horn and that first buck took the sting away. But the haunting remained strong as I wondered after that day if I had seen that buck or simply wished him into being. As I continued my hunters journey I also became very aware how rare sightings on truly big bucks can be and the haunting became even worse. To this day I might be wondering if I truly saw a ghost buck, if not for an event a few years later. I was working for a homeowner that lived not far from this particular area. The old man had dozens of nice blacktail racks hanging from rafters and draped over wood piles, but while walking past a large living room window i noticed one shoulder mount on the wall above the recliner. He was everything I remembered. The four thick long points per side along with eyeguards dark and heavy set atop the brilliant white face with 2 bright patches on the neck. The old man smiled when I blurted out " where did you kill that monster" and relayed my story along with exact location. He was as excited to tell the tale as I was to hear it. As near as we could figure he had harvested the buck the same year and within a couple days in the same timber I saw him disappear into. He had been watching the buck for a several years and had multiple sheds from him, at a time when that wasn't a "thing" and before trailcams became the norm. He knew the bucks movements, haunts, trails, beds and had nearly given up ever connecting due to declining health and because in three years he had not seen the buck in daylight. He stated he didn't want the buck entered, but his son had insisted on scoring it and it was high 140s. My dad still chuckles at the story and chalks it up to buck fever. He gets a kick out of it every time he tells it, and I swear he adds flavor about me coming back pale white and being sick for several days after. The old man was a wealth of stories and intel that he shared with me and have led to the taking of some nice blacktails of my own. I would be lying if I said the thought of that buck doesn't haunt me on occasion, a missed opportunity at a monster buck is so rare and even more so on lowland BT bucks. But I like to think that the Almighty Maker of big bucks saw fit to give an old man a gift, by making a dream he had spent years chasing come true. And giving a young man an even better one by letting that dream live on.
I,m sure we all have that one hunt, or that one buck or bull that you seen and never got a shot at or just couldn't close the deal, or maybe you did get a shot at and missed.What ever the issue, its an animal that haunts you and always will, for whatever reason, or it may not haunt you but its one you will never forget and you just had to tip your hat to it and move on.It was the mid 1980,s for me in the Methow. I was out with a buddy and we were taking it easy one day, it was warm and sunny. We had been hiking into several areas every day for 5 days prior(6-8 mile round trips) and decided to kick back a little. The areas we had been going into were excellent areas but the weather and moon were not cooperating and we were seeing mostly does and tiny bucks. The kick back day was about a 2 mile hike in that was nice and easy and any deer killed would be all downhill to a main road, easy peasy although our plans were mostly to just spread out and nap in the sun . It was about 2 in the afternoon when we headed out and it was about 60 degrees with beautiful blue skies. We crested a small ridge about halfway there when across a huge draw out in the wide open something caught my eye, I knew it was a buck without even putting my binos on it, the buck was 480 yards away(my son and I rangefinded the spot about 8 years ago)and its antlers stuck out like a sore thumb. I remember telling my buddy "HOLY SMOKES, look at the size of that guy!" I put my binos on it and everything was confirmed, it was a MONSTER, he was by himself and kind of quartered from me, leisurely walking towards a saddle about 50 yards above him and to the right. I didn't have my pack that day, heck all I was wearing was a t-shirt, a pair of Wranglers and some Pony tennis shoes, we were on a bald ass hill that didn't have anything on it to use as a rest. Well, I didn't have a lot of time before he went into and through the saddle and disappeared when my buddy said "use my back" and he got down on all 4,s and while on his elbows crammed his fingers in both ears. The buck was almost to the saddle and I had him figured at about 500-550 yards away, I had shot on the range at that distance but had never shot at a buck at that distance and have not again til this day. There was just no way to get closer, no time and I was young and confident. I held the 270 at about 3 1/2 ft above his back, let a breath out and gently squeezed the trigger. The buck dropped in its tracks, never took another step, never flinched, just dropped! I watched him through the scope for a few seconds, my buddy stood up and asked"is he down", I said yep and we high fives each other, about 20-30 seconds of celebratory hugs and conversation later I put my binos on him to get a feel of where he was and to plan a route to get to him when through my glasses I seen him standing on all 4,s shaking his body and head like a dog that just got out of the tub, he took about 5 steps and disappeared through the saddle, we were both stunned. We went to the area and searched tin dark, no blood, not a drop. While looking we heard a shot down low by the road but sounded aways off and muffled, we didn't think anything of it. We went back to camp and came up with a plan to go into the north side of the ridge 1st thing in the A.M with 4 other guys and hopefully find him wounded or bedded in the heavy jungle on the other side. We went in the next day and spread out searching the heavy jack pines, 6 of us total, 10 hours not a trace, I was sick, I had never lost a buck before and it was a horrible feeling and as big as he was didn't help, I guessed him at 30'' give or take with the look I had of him with a kicker on his right side. Well, the season ended we all went home to our lives and the grind. About 2 weeks later while out on my route one of my customers asked how the season went, we talked for awhile but I did not mention "the buck", he knew the area where we hunted but not specifics. He said he had a friend that killed a huge buck over by the area we hunt, he said he was hunting way north or our area but was on his way to town to get gas when this buck crossed the road in front of him. He chased it into a field and killed it at about 75 yards with one shot, he told me it was a dandy, 36 1/4 inches wide outside spread, he told me he would get a picture of it from his friend and bring it in and show me the next time I was in. Two weeks later I was there again, he had the picture, 7 on one side 6 on the other, 36 1/4 inches wide outside spread, 32 inches wide not using the 4 1/4 inch kicker, a beautiful buck. I looked at the 4 pictures of the deer when on one of the pictures I noticed a notch gouged out of the base of its left antler, about an inch or so above his skull. It caught my attention, a lot about the buck had already reminded me of the buck I seen and shot at that day and now my mind was working, I asked him if I could have his friends phone number, he said sure and I called him that evening. He said it was a bullet gouge in the horn(a game guy told him that) and it was moving pretty fast when it came down the hill and crossed the road. I asked him where he was on the road when it crossed and about what time he got it, he told me where it was and he killed it at about 3.30 in the afternoon. All the stars lined up and the t,s were crossed and the I,s dotted, I told him my story and told him that gouge was from a shot I had taken about 30 minutes prior, I had rung his bell and knocked him out, he shook it off like a prize fighter and went on to the next round. I still see that buck standing there "shaking it off" til this day.
Heres one from my dad from about 25 years ago, he passed a few years ago but loved telling this story and I guess its up to me and my brother to tell it now. Just a little about my dad that will help add to the story. He had been hunting the Methow since he was 9 years old( late 1930,s), killed his 1st buck that year and went on to kill 74 more of them, all Methow bucks. He hunted moose and caribou in Alaska(grandparents had some interests in some fishing operations up there), elk out of Camp Grisdale on the Peninsula(back when every garage in that town had a huge bull hanging on opening day) and he was well respected by the old guard of the Game dept back in the day, he was asked his opinion on certain road closers and his thoughts and opinions were picked and requested when it came to migration trends, timing and routes. He hunted hard, he took no shortcuts and respected all animals he pursued, especially his beloved Methow herd. He would get up at 1 in the AM and hike 7 miles out of camp to get into certain areas, he would hike into areas that only a big buck would go into let alone another human or even a doe for that matter, he killed bucks in places no one had never seen any deer before, he would go in from different angles and come out with a big non-typical or in one case, a 31 inch perfect 4 by 4 the day after another fella had hunted it for 6 days straight(which he did ). The guy was the one that taught us that "you need to know what a buck is gonna do before HE KNOWS what he's gonna do", many joked for years he was a "deer whisperer". He killed 6 bucks that I know of that were over 30"(one was 37), he killed 4 non typicals that each had over 20 total points . He was not a bragger or a "look at me" kind of guy, he never had a deer scored, all his horns were given away(they hung in my great grandparents shop for years), in fact there are very few pictures of him, he was just a very humble guy who quietly and respectfully went about hunting his Methow mule deer, thats it.....Now heres the story.Back in the mid 90,s my dad was suggesting for some of us to go into an area he had "a feeling" about, we were all seeing deer in the areas we were already concentrating on and he couldn't talk any of us young whipper-snappers to go into it. Well one day he got fed up and he took another guy from camp(that already had killed his buck) and off they went, he jokingly said "I,ll show you jack a@#,s". They jumped in the rig about 5 o'clock in the morning and said they would be back a little after dark. The spot they were going to was about a 10 mile drive and then about a 4 mile hike in, most of us had been in there many times and just wasn't that impressed, seen deer but a very few of us had ever seen many or seen bucks, kind of a weird spot for some reason. My dad had his rifle and a buddy for an extra set of eyes, I remember him saying "to keep a spot open on the pole" when they left. They got to the spot, hiked in, glassed and glassed and then glassed again, nothing, I remember my dad saying they "didn't even see a bird or a chipmunk". They started walking out after spending most of the day in there, they got back to the truck about an hour before dark. They got everything into the truck, my dad unloaded his rifle and put his bullets in the front chest pocket of his flannel shirt. Walking out he had taken off his coat and a hickory shirt he had on over the flannel to keep from sweating, when they got to the truck after unloading and BS,ing for a bit he put the hickory shirt back on and put his coat back on(it was about 20 degrees). After talking for a bit they got in the truck and took off. They drove maybe 20 feet and rounded a corner in the dirt road, when they went around, standing in the road was the biggest buck my dad said he had ever seen, his buddy confirmed, It was "a buck you only see in your dreams, it was perfect and pretty". They stopped, the buck stopped right in the middle of the road, not more than 30 feet from the truck, everyone concerned just frozen, starring at each other. My dad finally, SLOWLY opened the door, SLOWLY stepped onto the road, he was SLOWLY reaching for his bullets that were in his front pocket, he fumbled and fumbled trying to get them out of the pocket, he could feel them but everytime he dipped into the pocket they weren't there. This went on for about 10-15 seconds when the monster SLOWLY walked to the side of the road, looked back at my dad and SLOWLY stepped off the road and SLOWLY started walking down the hill. My dad kept his eyes on the deer while still trying to get his dang bullets out of his pocket, my dad SLOWLY walked to the side and looked down, the buck was SLOWLY moving away, almost like he thought no one had seen him and he was just sneaking away. My dad made his way down the hill, STILL fumbling for his bullets that were IN HIS FRONT POCKET while keeping the big buck in focus. The buck walked through a couple thickets and my dad followed, the whole ordeal lasted for about 2-3 minutes although my dad said it seemed like forever. The buck, dropped into a jack pine thicket and bolted, my dad said you could here small trees and limbs breaking for 5 minutes as he tore through there, now it was dark. Dad got back to the truck, his buddy asked "what the hell happened", my dad said "he couldn't get the bullets out of his pocket", he reached into the pocket, still a little baffled by the whole ordeal and said "for crying out loud", the bullits were in the flannel shirt pocket not the hickory shirt, he kept trying to get the bullets out of the hickory shirt, he could feel the dang things but couldn't get ahold of them! They got back to camp, my dad put his rifle in the case and fished for the next 3 days . They said that buck was a perfect 3 by 3 with at least 5-6 inch eye guards and was at least 35 inches wide and 2 feet tall, the horns were black and the bases were as big around as a mans wrist. They figured him at between 400lbs-425. For years he claimed HE MAY even have had a "little bit of the buck fever with that guy" ....A few of us went back into that turf and spread out over the last 3 days to see if we would get another glimpse of the "slowpoke", we should have went fishing
Awesome thread and Great story! Any chance you’ve got a copy of a pic of that corker?Quote from: bigmacc on October 30, 2019, 12:00:59 PMI,m sure we all have that one hunt, or that one buck or bull that you seen and never got a shot at or just couldn't close the deal, or maybe you did get a shot at and missed.What ever the issue, its an animal that haunts you and always will, for whatever reason, or it may not haunt you but its one you will never forget and you just had to tip your hat to it and move on.It was the mid 1980,s for me in the Methow. I was out with a buddy and we were taking it easy one day, it was warm and sunny. We had been hiking into several areas every day for 5 days prior(6-8 mile round trips) and decided to kick back a little. The areas we had been going into were excellent areas but the weather and moon were not cooperating and we were seeing mostly does and tiny bucks. The kick back day was about a 2 mile hike in that was nice and easy and any deer killed would be all downhill to a main road, easy peasy although our plans were mostly to just spread out and nap in the sun . It was about 2 in the afternoon when we headed out and it was about 60 degrees with beautiful blue skies. We crested a small ridge about halfway there when across a huge draw out in the wide open something caught my eye, I knew it was a buck without even putting my binos on it, the buck was 480 yards away(my son and I rangefinded the spot about 8 years ago)and its antlers stuck out like a sore thumb. I remember telling my buddy "HOLY SMOKES, look at the size of that guy!" I put my binos on it and everything was confirmed, it was a MONSTER, he was by himself and kind of quartered from me, leisurely walking towards a saddle about 50 yards above him and to the right. I didn't have my pack that day, heck all I was wearing was a t-shirt, a pair of Wranglers and some Pony tennis shoes, we were on a bald ass hill that didn't have anything on it to use as a rest. Well, I didn't have a lot of time before he went into and through the saddle and disappeared when my buddy said "use my back" and he got down on all 4,s and while on his elbows crammed his fingers in both ears. The buck was almost to the saddle and I had him figured at about 500-550 yards away, I had shot on the range at that distance but had never shot at a buck at that distance and have not again til this day. There was just no way to get closer, no time and I was young and confident. I held the 270 at about 3 1/2 ft above his back, let a breath out and gently squeezed the trigger. The buck dropped in its tracks, never took another step, never flinched, just dropped! I watched him through the scope for a few seconds, my buddy stood up and asked"is he down", I said yep and we high fives each other, about 20-30 seconds of celebratory hugs and conversation later I put my binos on him to get a feel of where he was and to plan a route to get to him when through my glasses I seen him standing on all 4,s shaking his body and head like a dog that just got out of the tub, he took about 5 steps and disappeared through the saddle, we were both stunned. We went to the area and searched tin dark, no blood, not a drop. While looking we heard a shot down low by the road but sounded aways off and muffled, we didn't think anything of it. We went back to camp and came up with a plan to go into the north side of the ridge 1st thing in the A.M with 4 other guys and hopefully find him wounded or bedded in the heavy jungle on the other side. We went in the next day and spread out searching the heavy jack pines, 6 of us total, 10 hours not a trace, I was sick, I had never lost a buck before and it was a horrible feeling and as big as he was didn't help, I guessed him at 30'' give or take with the look I had of him with a kicker on his right side. Well, the season ended we all went home to our lives and the grind. About 2 weeks later while out on my route one of my customers asked how the season went, we talked for awhile but I did not mention "the buck", he knew the area where we hunted but not specifics. He said he had a friend that killed a huge buck over by the area we hunt, he said he was hunting way north or our area but was on his way to town to get gas when this buck crossed the road in front of him. He chased it into a field and killed it at about 75 yards with one shot, he told me it was a dandy, 36 1/4 inches wide outside spread, he told me he would get a picture of it from his friend and bring it in and show me the next time I was in. Two weeks later I was there again, he had the picture, 7 on one side 6 on the other, 36 1/4 inches wide outside spread, 32 inches wide not using the 4 1/4 inch kicker, a beautiful buck. I looked at the 4 pictures of the deer when on one of the pictures I noticed a notch gouged out of the base of its left antler, about an inch or so above his skull. It caught my attention, a lot about the buck had already reminded me of the buck I seen and shot at that day and now my mind was working, I asked him if I could have his friends phone number, he said sure and I called him that evening. He said it was a bullet gouge in the horn(a game guy told him that) and it was moving pretty fast when it came down the hill and crossed the road. I asked him where he was on the road when it crossed and about what time he got it, he told me where it was and he killed it at about 3.30 in the afternoon. All the stars lined up and the t,s were crossed and the I,s dotted, I told him my story and told him that gouge was from a shot I had taken about 30 minutes prior, I had rung his bell and knocked him out, he shook it off like a prize fighter and went on to the next round. I still see that buck standing there "shaking it off" til this day.
I have another that I actually have photos of.Hunting Sitka Blacktails on Hawkins Island in Prince William Sound out of Cordova with me best hunting buddy. We were traveling around the island in my gillnetter, stopping in different locations to hunt. We spent a night at a friend's cabin in Canoe Pass (normally we sleep where ever we are on the boat) and at first light we ran a short distance to a cove known locally as "The Goose Coop". There is a nice trail up the mountain there and we planned on spending the day hunting as far up the mountain as we got. I dropped Tony off on the beach, then anchored the boat and paddled to shore in my kayak. We'd gone up the trail about a mile when we spotted some deer including a fair buck so I made a sneak on the buck, only to be busted by a doe. So we continued up until we were about 2/3 of the way up the mt. There was a nice area for glassing so we split up and did some solo glassing. After a bit, I spotted a very nice fork horn bedded down on a ridge. For the area, he was on the large size. Being about 400 yards off, I decided I could get much closer, probably 75-100 yards from him if I made my approach right. I glassed the area over and picked my route. As I got closer, I decided to take before photos to go with the after photos I'd take later. I got to the bottom of the small ridge that was going to take me up near the buck. It was really dry at the time so I decided to leave everything unnecessary for the final approach by a log at the bottom of the ridge. I dropped my day pack and binos and even took off my boots after deciding I could be more quiet with just my wool socks on my feet. I then started up the ridge, doing my best Indian sneak. As I started to crest the ridge I kept looking, but couldn't see him so kept moving very slowly. Then suddenly he stood up about 30 yards from me and stood there broadside staring me down. I raised my gun and....... click. "Oh no, I forgot to jack a shell in the chamber!" He stood there looking at me as I jacked the bolt. Aim....... CLICK! I open the bolt........ Crap, I'd been hunting all day with an empty gun! He's still standing there looking at me. I reach in my pocket for the bullets I always carry there...... Nothing. Everything was down in my pack at the bottom of the ridge. I started backing up, hoping I could somehow get to my pack and back up the ridge in time to find him. But he finally whirled around and dropped off the end of the ridge. When I returned he was nowhere to be seen. I went and got Tony and we hunted back down to the boat in the direction he'd gone, but we never did see him again. We each got a couple deer that trip, but he was the nicest buck we saw.
