Tale of Two Bucks

Larry Weishuhn

Velvet encased antlers accentuated the buck’s massive beams and tines. Even so, I knew at first glance he was a buck I planned to pursue.

I saw him again two days later, in the company of the most massive antlered bucks I have ever seen. Years of experience measuring many whitetail racks, I knew the ear-wide, ten point’s beams above his browtines would measure at least 7-inches in circumference, the measurement below was ever greater. No doubt his antlers would likely exceed the Boone and Crockett record book’s minimum score of 170.

The initial big buck’s antlers were even higher scoring though not as massive.

Either would be worthy of investing the entire hunting season in an effort to take.

Opening morning of the Kentucky rifle season, first light I sat on the ground overlooking two trails along the edge of the Tradewater River, very near the bridge that provided access to the small town of Sturgis, Kentucky, on a large chunk of country we leased where the wide Ohio River separated the states of Illinois, Indiana and Kentucky.

Just as the sun was about to appear I spotted movement, a big-bodied buck with massive antlers. My .280 Remington rifle, loaded with Hornady ammo automatically leapt to my shoulder. I swept the scope across the buck’s head on the way to his vitals. No doubt it was the extremely massive antlered buck I had seen earlier. But there was something wrong. My scope stopped on his antlers.  His right main beam was missing, snapped off just above the browtine.

He was safe from me. I watched him, hoping two things. One, I could see the buck he had fought with that had snapped that massive main beam. Two, he would survive the hunting season and I would have a second chance at him next year.

Knowing the two bucks I had seen earlier likely traveled together I hope the higher scoring buck was following, or close by. A couple of hours later, I came to suspect the two bucks, as the rut approached, were no longer buddies.

As the season progressed I regularly saw the one-sided massive buck numerous times. But only caught a quick glimpse of the massive, wide ten-point.

With only a day left in the hunting season, I shot a really nice typical 11-point.

The following summer I spent what time I could on the lease and watched numerous bucks grow their antlers, including the extremely massive antlered buck. Only occasionally did I see the other big buck.

When it came time for velvet to be shed, I was on the lease watching from afar. The massive antlered buck’s beams were every bit as “heavy”, and, his tines were at least an inch longer. With the additional tine length, there was no doubt he would make the Boone and Crockett Record book. The other big buck, which I only saw a couple of times, had added mass and tine length as well, antlers scoring in the mid-180s Boone and Crockett.

At the time I was working with Thompson/Center Arms doing their media and helping with the marketing program, as such we hired Tom Miranda to produce our “Game Trails” television show. Previously I had converted my personal “Hunting The World” television show to “T/C’s Outdoor Adventures” which after a couple of years became “Game Trails”. I knew I would once again be followed by a cameraman on all my hunts.

As the Kentucky rifle season approached I knew exactly where I planned to hunt. Well before first light I had secreted myself behind an ancient log, cameraman just behind me over my right shoulder. With the coming of day, temperature well below freezing. Several does and small bucks passed in front of us. The sun shone brightly. I heard scurrying to my left, then watched in awe as a 180-class 10-point stopped in open patch of sun. Obviously he had been running, “steam” came off of his back and out of his nostrils.

My T/C Encore rifle rested on the log, I cocked the hammer and steadied the crosshairs on his vitals. Just then he started snorting, blowing steam from his nostrils, truly an awe-inspiring sight. I was about to pull the trigger. “Don’t shoot!  I’m not on him!” whispered the cameraman. What? The buck of a lifetime was less than forty steps away. He would not remain long. I uttered a few choice words under my breath.

The buck took three steps to my right, then stopped. Crosshairs were locked on his vitals. “Don’t shoot! I’ve yet to get him on camera!” The buck of a lifetime, several lifetimes snorted. Thinking back, I cannot believe I did not shoot. The buck and the setting were truly “epic”. In retrospect I foolishly did not pull the trigger. He took a few more steps and “blew smoke”. Over my right shoulder, “Don’t shoot!”

Then before another heart beat, the buck bolted, disappeared into the jungle river bottom. He was gone! I was heart sick, but. “Well, I guess that’s hunting with a cameraman!”

Still, I could not understand how the veteran cameraman had missed getting footage. The buck had stood in front of us at least two-minutes. When I questioned him what had happened he simply shrugged his shoulders.

Two weeks later I got a call from Tom Miranda, “Larry, what in the world is wrong with you? That buck in Kentucky was huge. We’ve got nearly two minutes of footage with standing there backlit, steam coming from his antlers and body and looking a near fire-breathing dragon each time he snorted. I can’t believe you didn’t shoot him!” The cameraman had gotten him “on camera” the entire time and was simply “milking footage”.  It would be a really good idea, never to send that particular cameraman on a hunt with me again!

I did not again see “the book buck” that season. I did see the extremely massive antlered buck numerous times. Guess what, he again was missing the majority of one side of his rack, snapped off just about the browtine!

The following late summer I scouted the same area where the two big bucks lived. I found both. The massive buck was every bit as big as the year before. The big buck I had “passed, thanks to the cameraman” rack was nearly as large as before, but had shorter front tines and his back tines had split.

Two days before the hunting season opened, I scouted the area previously hunted. Thankfully, I spotted both making scrapes. The massive-antlered buck was missing his right antler, just above the browtine, convincing me he purposely each year broke off one side of his rack as the approach of hunting season.

There were no permanent “deer stands” in the area I hunted. I sat on the ground and still-hunted. Second morning of the hunt I passed the broken-horn buck at a grand distance of ten yards. No doubt with a full compliment of antlers he would have scored in the high 170s B&C.

Part of the area I hunted was annually planted in soybeans which for the most part had recently been harvested. But there were standing beans along the edge of the woods. Each fall I paid the farmer not to harvest several rows along the treeline to provide winter food for deer. I also had him plant soybeans in a powerline right-of-way leading to the huge field.

Just before noon, I found my targeted buck. He was feeding on soybeans in the right-of-way food plot, easily a half-mile away. Moving to where he could not see me, I ran toward my buck. I soon closed the distance to 400-yards. There took a peak he to be sure he was still there. He was. My intention was to close the distance to about 200 yards, then take a few steps to my right where I could see the buck, set up shooting sticks and kill the buck!

My plan was working. But, then I heard and spotted a helicopter flying the powerline right-of-way. It was headed directly toward the buck. I watched in desperation as the buck ran into the woods to my left. I could not believe my bad luck as I stood watching the helicopter. When the pilot saw me, he waved and continued on his way. I stood there shaking my head. Then wonders of wonders I saw a deer run out of the woods and head to a big island of woods in the soybean field 500-yards away. I raised my binoculars. It was the buck I was after. He disappeared into the10-acre hardwoods and underbrush island.

I walked toward the island to approach it wind in my face.

Twenty minutes later I stepped into the woods. Whispering prayers, I moved at a snail’s pace, stopping every few steps to carefully glass for any sign of the buck.

I was about half way into the island of trees when I approached an old home site, now simply a native stone fireplace overgrown with greenbriar and Japanese honeysuckle. I glassed the area thoroughly, I was about to move forward when I spotted legs of a deer. Instantly, I knew it was a mature buck because of his darkly stained hocks, tarsal glands, though I could not see his head. When he took two steps forward my heart nearly leaped out my throat when I saw the antlers. I quickly set up shooting sticks, cocked the single-shot Encore’s hammer and found the buck. A couple of steps more and he stepped across an open shooting lane. When he stopped his vitals were again obscured by thick limbs.

Rome was created, flourished, and fell.

Finally, he again moved forward exposing vitals. I pulled the trigger. He turned, looked my way, but did not run. I quickly reloaded and sent another round his way. This time he flinched just the slightest, then slowly turned to walk away. I reloaded and sent a third Hornady round his way, simply put a bullet into “minutes of deer”. The buck slumped a bit on his left rear leg, then then disappeared into heavy underbrush.

I reloaded and ran toward where the buck had stood. I spotted a heavy blood trail before I got there. For twenty yards I followed the blood into what had once been an ancient stock pen next to a fallen down barn. There he lay. Huge! Body and rack! I let out a “Whoop!” heard for miles.  Said a prayer of thanks, then reached down to grab his magnificent rack, twelve massive points, which I would later gross-score 180 B&C. Gorgeous! His huge body would provide many great meals for my family and those of others.

My quest for the big buck that lived near the Tradewater bridge had come to an end. The quest had been “interesting” but also fraught with a few disappointments. I was elated and thrilled. But, I was also a little sad. I would have to now hunt another buck. I loved the challenge, which had ended without a cameraman. Unfortunately, he had gotten sick the night before and could not accompany me on my hunt.

That night around the campfire I told the story of my buck many times, till the last embers turned to ashes. After everyone had turned in for the evening, I raised a wee dram of local moonshine in his honor. I fell asleep in my tent dreaming of the buck I had taken, but also about the massive buck that each fall had broken off a main beam.