A Missouri Giant

           

     I had been consistently hunting this small property for five or six seasons with decent success. I experienced several cool encounters caught on film, hundreds of trail camera photos, and put some meat in the freezer during that time. The property was a perfect bottleneck: a 17-acre creek bottom where two large blocks of timber pinched together, surrounded by wide-open pasture and agricultural fields to the east and west. It was a textbook setup, the kind that made my heart race with anticipation every time I walked in. Initially, I placed a stand near the middle and hunted it religiously. Over time, the deer wised up. It was a slow and frustrating process. The resident doe groups shifted their pattern just outside of bow range, a constant reminder that I was being outsmarted. I felt a familiar frustration bubbling up, and I knew I had to adapt or fail. 

In the fall of 2020, saddle hunting was quite popular, and I had watched many YouTube channels where they were used successfully.  The idea of hanging in a different tree each hunt was interesting, but I was most intrigued by the way a saddle set-up. Placing the tree between me and the deer’s approach seemed like a no-brainer for stealth and concealment. I decided to order a saddle and sticks and give the tactic a try. Figuring out the saddle was a clumsy, loud process. The first few hunts were a comedy of errors—tangled straps, rattling sticks, and a general feeling of incompetence as I fumbled with the new gear, probably sending every deer within a half-mile running for cover. But with each hunt, I got a little quieter, a little faster, and a little more confident. 

For whitetail hunters, November is a magical time to be in the woods. Bucks become unpredictable, and in the blink of an eye, a quiet creek bottom can erupt into a chaotic mess of rut activity.  I couldn’t help but wonder, “Would today be that day?” The weather was picture-perfect for Missouri’s firearms season. Morning temperatures were in the mid twenties with a minimal south-westerly wind. We were to experience a mix of cloudy and partly cloudy conditions throughout the day. At mid-morning, the wind was expected to shift to a northerly direction and increase in speed for the evening. High temperatures would only reach the low forties and drop off quickly after sunset.

After loading the truck, I made the twenty-minute drive to my hunting location. I parked, donned my orange, and stepped into my saddle. With my sticks and platform on my back and 30-30 over my shoulder, I dropped into the dry creekbed and worked my way toward a large elm tree about twenty yards from the bank. I tied my haul rope to my rifle and, stick by stick, slowly made my way up the tree. Every move was deliberate, and I stopped between sticks to scan the area before proceeding to the next. After setting my platform and tethering in, I took a good look around, doing my best to anticipate what the evening would bring. Was my walk-in quiet enough? Did I bump any deer on my way in? Time would tell.

If you’ve spent any time in the deer woods, you know when things just “feel right.” This evening was one of those. The air was crisp and still, and the overcast sky made it easy to see. With the trees being nearly bare with just a few nearby hickories holding leaves, I could see quite a way in all directions. My tree was thirty yards from a creek crossing where several trails came together. One trail followed the creek bank directly below me while another meandered through the heart of the bottom. A few others came from the hillside field where I had frequently seen deer pass. 

It didn’t take long to see the first tail flick in the distance. Just as I had expected, a few does came into view on the field edge, traveling from a small patch of oaks. The oaks surrounded a pond, and I assumed the brushy bank would be a preferred bedding area in the fall. From one hundred yards away, I watched as they followed the tree line and disappeared over the hill and out of sight. While they were headed away from me, the early movement was a good sign of what could be an exciting evening. 

As I hung from my tree, I could feel the wind shift and start rustling what leaves remained in the trees. The temperature began to drop, and the sky was now a complete grey overcast. I tossed milkweed into the air and watched it float away behind me toward my approach. “This is perfect!” I thought to myself. My rifle, an old 30-30 I had gotten from my dad, hung directly in front of me to my left. I was using iron sights and had spent the last month practicing with it out to 100 yards. Confident in my skills and set-up, I anxiously ranged a few shot options.

Slipping my rangefinder back into the pouch, I caught more movement along the field edge. At first, I couldn’t make out what it was, but something had hopped the fence. With my binoculars in hand, I finally spotted the small buck heading right toward me. His pace was deliberate but relaxed. He had someplace he wanted to be, though there wasn’t a rush to get there. He closed the distance and dropped into the creek just thirty yards from me. When he emerged, he strode up the hill, crossed the road, and trotted into a picked corn field. He was a young buck, but he did exactly what I wanted him to do, which added to my confidence for the evening. 

I remember texting my son, “They are moving tonight!” shortly after seeing the buck. I put my phone back into my binocular harness and slipped my hands into my pockets, as it had gotten a bit chilly. My mind wandered, and I thought about a hunt a few years prior where I watched a young buck run a doe back and forth through this bottom for about twenty minutes. She would run away, and he would sprint the distance of the bottleneck, grunting like a lovesick fool. Soon, she’d run the other direction, and here he would come. It was pretty entertaining. 

My reminiscing was quickly interrupted by a faint yet deep grunt, a noise that wasn’t unusual; it definitely got my attention. I began to look around for the source of the grunt, and a doe emerged from a thicket to my right. She looked to be a bit bothered when I watched her disappear behind a blowdown and then, “bruup!” another grunt. There he was! I had never seen a buck this big on the hoof. His body was massive, and his antlers were wide and tall, the kind I had only seen on television. I remember thinking to myself, “That's the biggest deer I’ve ever seen!” My hands shook as I reached for my rifle and tried to get it to my shoulder without being busted. 

Luckily, the buck was preoccupied with the doe that had led him to within thirty yards of where I hung in a tree. He circled the blowdown where she had bedded while I nervously watched, attempting to stay calm. My whole body shook as the massive, typical 10-pointer made his way between me and the blowdown, finally offering a shot. Buck fever is a real thing! Bracing the rifle against the tree, I settled my irons just behind the crease of his shoulder and eased the hammer back with my thumb. “CLICK” was the only thing I heard as the buck came to a stop and looked back toward the doe. My heart pounded, I took a deep breath, and squeezed the trigger. The buck’s mule kick sent dirt and debris flying through the air when he lunged forward a few feet. I racked another round into the chamber and watched him stand there motionless. Worried my first shot hadn’t connected, I sent another into his shoulder, dropping him in his tracks.

After clumsily hanging my rifle, I documented my success with a short video on my phone before dialing my son, who was working at the time. He knew I was fired up, but my description over the phone didn’t do the deer justice, and I typically got excited over any deer I shot. After a brief conversation and a promise to send pictures, I packed my gear and began my descent. The base of my tree seemed to be miles away. There was a giant on the ground, and I couldn’t wait to get my hands on him. That evening was one of the most memorable hunts I’ve experienced. The feeling of approaching such a magnificent animal is indescribable and something I will never forget. Reality set in when I held the antlers in my hands and took the time to admire the old, mature whitetail buck. My success can be attributed to adapting to the changes in deer behavior and remaining open to new tactics. Being flexible and scouting for a travel corridor put me in the right place at the right time. Mixed with the unpredictability of the November woods and some luck, it was a season I won’t soon forget.