Late in October, I branched out to
cover ground outside of my normal ar-
eas. I spotted a large-bodied mule deer
that demanded a closer look. The buck
was with a small group of does and
acting rut-stricken already. I evaluated
him and snapped a few photos through
my Zeiss spotting scope before his does
got nervous and ran over the hill, act-
ing more like skittish whitetails than
mule deer. His body was huge, which
typically makes the antlers look smaller
than they actually are. Our encounter
was brief, but I knew this buck needed
my attention.
The next morning, I located the deer
immediately. They were in the same vi-
cinity, but the does remained skittish and
ran wild again. I hoped the buck would
leave the does, but I wasn’t optimistic. I
couldn’t believe my luck when he lagged
behind as the does disappeared into a
standing cornfield. The buck headed in
the opposite direction, eventually bed-
ding down in a large CRP field. This
was perfect! After obtaining permission
to enter the field, I devised a plan and
started the stalk, going into stealth mode
as I neared where he was bedded. Crawl-
ing to the top of a terrace, I located him
again and he was already in range. Can it
really be this easy? I thought.
Using the backside of the terrace to
close the gap, I tried to ping a distance
with my rangefinder but it didn’t look
like I could get a read on the buck with-
out exposing myself. So I ranged some
weeds around him and estimated he was
at 40 yards — well within my effective
range. I planned to wait him out rather
than push my luck to get closer. After
about an hour, the buck stood to stretch
but quickly bedded back down. Focused
on getting a shot, I missed an opportu-
nity to range him.
The wind was blowing hard that day,
and I contemplated closing the distance
but held fast. After another hour, the
buck stood again, but this time he was
perfectly quartered-away. I was sur-
prisingly calm as I drew my bow, going
through my shot sequence. I told my-
self to aim back to adjust for the wind
and account for his stance. I settled my
pin, triggered my release, and watched
my arrow impact squarely in the buck ’s
shoulder! He sprinted 100 yards before
stopping, and I swore he stumbled. I
thought I could see blood around my ar-
row, but in hindsight, who knows? The
buck didn’t stand long, and I watched
him trot into a wooded draw hundreds
of yards away.
I sat there cussing and feeling sorry
for myself, yet I still felt confident I’d
get the buck. I thought the buck would
bed down in the draw, allowing a stalk
to put another arrow in him. I held tight,
watching for the buck to emerge, which
he never did. I paced off the shot and it
was 37 to 38 yards, so I was comfortable
with my yardage, yet my arrow had im-
pacted higher than I wanted. I am un-
sure if the wind was crossing more than
I thought, affecting my arrow flight, or if
I’d dropped my bow arm, but I’d hit the
buck considerably farther left than I’d
been aiming.I left the field and gave the buck lots
of time before sneaking in late that af-
ternoon. I cautiously stalked into the
drainage, relentlessly glassing for the
buck, but he never turned up. I looked
for blood at the shot and along his es-
cape route, but found nothing. I scoured
the draw until dark and never bumped
the deer, nor found my arrow or a single
drop of blood. I couldn’t believe it!
The next day, I spent time looking for
him alive before I grid-searched the large
CRP field with no luck. I spent the next
40-plus days, religiously looking for the
buck. I was sure he was still alive, but I