"What have you got me into?" his father's deep voice cracked.
Fighting a giggle, Dave Wachtel feigned innocence. "What do you mean, Dad?"
"This deer you killed ... Now the state wants to run tests on my land. I got a letter today. What are they looking for anyway?"
"I don't know, Dad. I guess they want to determine why his antlers are so weird. It must be something bad, though. Something in the dirt there, or maybe the water?"
The official-looking letter was a fake - Dave's attempt to get his father's goat. And the practical joke worked beautifully. To anyone unfamiliar with the sometimes strange configuration of whitetail antlers, an environmental agency's concern would certainly seem plausible.
If his father had visited instead of called, however, Dave's face would have betrayed the prank.
If you look at photos of the Tennessee buck, it's easy to see how Dave fooled his father. Some might say the antlers are freakish - 51 points going every which way, not counting those that fail to measure an inch long. A non-hunter could easily believe that an environmental disaster of some proportion is to blame, whereas the credit really goes to Mother Nature.
At 246 inches, the Wachtel Buck is not only Tennessee's No. 1 irregular, among all weapons classes, but it's also the top irregular in the BTR's entire blackpowder category (among all states and provinces). In other words, Buckmasters recognizes it as a world record!
The rack has a 5x7 typical mainframe and 39 additional abnormal points. Irregular growth accounts for 96 2/8 inches - or 39 percent - of the antlers' score. And if the left antler's broken (missing) brow tine had been equal to the one on the right, the buck might once have been carrying another 11 3/8 inches.
Dave had no idea that this buck inhabited the family farm northeast of Nashville. Theirs was a chance encounter, helped by both luck and the hunter's prowess with his gear.
The Hunt
Not even a drizzling rain could keep Dave from venturing afield last Nov. 6, opening day of the Volunteer State's blackpowder season. Visions of a spectacular 12-pointer that had eluded him during bow season were inspiration enough to send him to the farm in Sumner County.
In addition, the rut was kicking into high gear.
He was hunting that rainy day with a friend, Matt Buerger, who was stationed on the opposite side of the 800-acre tract.
Dave carried his rattling bag with him, one that he'd bought the previous year. He didn't have as much confidence in it as he had in real antlers, but he had to admit that the bag was a lot easier to carry and handle. It sounded pretty realistic, too.
Since he had no intention of spending a cold wet day in a treestand, Dave moved slowly through the woods that morning, stopping every 600 to 800 yards to rattle and blow his grunt call. Twice, his rattling summoned a buck. But both were basket racked 8-pointers, and he wasn't interested in shooting a young deer.
Around 8:30, after he'd gone back to his truck to shed a wet layer of clothing, Dave reached a power line that cut through a thicket of thorny saplings.
"I don't know what kind of trees they are," he admitted, "but some of the thorns are three inches long. We call it the Texas area because cactus grows there, too. It's always a great place to hunt. There's always food and water, even during the worst droughts."
Visiting the power line held even more appeal because he'd seen an impressive 12-pointer in the area while bowhunting. Dave prefers hunting with his bow, and he usually takes his muzzleloader afield only once or twice a year.
After choosing his vantage point, Dave waited a few minutes before twisting his rattling bag. When he did, he followed up with a few grunts.
As soon as he began a second sequence, a doe popped out of the thicket to his right about 120 yards down the power line. She had been in a hurry, running straight in the wind, but she stopped before dashing into the opposite side. The lane was about 80 yards wide.
Dave's first thought was that a buck must be behind her, so he dropped his rattling bag and slowly raised his rifle. A second later, another doe burst out of the bushes and, just as he'd hoped, a buck was bringing up the rear.
Dave is convinced that the three deer were bedded right beside the power line. He thinks the rattling and grunting probably caused the buck to get up, and the does took off when they realized the "time out" was finished.
"At first, I thought he was the 12-pointer I'd been hunting," Dave said, "and that maybe his rack had some grass or moss in it or something. I didn't have time to really study it.
"I'd been trying to get on that 12-pointer for a while; so had Matt. And when the buck popped out, I thought 'THERE HE IS!'" the hunter continued.
Only seconds had elapsed when Dave's crosshairs settled on the buck's shoulder and he touched the trigger. Fortunately, the deer dropped immediately. Had a second shot been required, the deer would have vanished into a tangle of thorny bushes.
Even if there had been enough time for Dave to reload, he couldn't have done it. He'd left all of his speed-loaders back at his truck when he'd shed his wet outer layer before coming to the power line. His lone bullet was stuffed into the barrel of his Knight muzzleloader!
Dave eased up to his prize, ready to ruin Matt's day with news that the big 12-pointer they'd both been hunting was now out of the picture. When he saw the deer's gnarly antlers, however, he almost couldn't believe it.
Before he even started counting points, he whipped out his cell phone and used the two-way radio function to summon his friend.
"I was thinking that he was a 160- to 170-class deer. I don't know anything about scoring antlers," he said. "I was more impressed with his body size (it weighed 250 pounds, field-dressed). But when Matt showed up about 25 minutes later, he said that it was well over 200 inches and probably a state record."
The friends counted 55 points, though not all of them were an inch long and scoreable.
At first, Dave and Matt thought about keeping the location a secret. So afraid that the publicity might attract poachers, they didn't want to mention the farm. That notion was shattered, however, when rumors started flying that he'd paid top dollar to shoot it out of state at a high-fenced property.
"That's a load of crap," he said. "I don't know why people do that!"
Despite their efforts to keep a low profile (except among friends), word quickly spread. The taxidermist eventually called and asked him to pick up the antlers and keep them until he was ready to mount the rack.
"Fifteen or 20 people were stopping by his place every day to see the rack," Dave said. "It got to where be couldn't get any work done. And he was also worried that something might happen to the antlers."