Rack Magazine

Nobody complains about too many handles, right?

Three years after helping his father, James, wrangle a beefy whitetail out of a woodlot in Highland County, Ohio, Jeremy Cox faced a similar dilemma in neighboring Clinton County. There was simply too much deer for one man to handle, even if there were lots of handles.

Neither father nor son is too proud to ask for help.

James, a veteran of many deer seasons, is accustomed to burning vacation days in the pursuit of whitetails, and he rarely eats a tag. But he didn’t shoot a really big one until 2009.

Relatively new to bowhunting and eager to jumpstart his season, James scheduled some time off during the month of October that year. He spent several days nestled high in a treestand in his favorite location.

The woodlot adjoins a campground, so close that James has to be alert for intruders who often mistake the woods for public property. Despite the frequent human activity, the tract usually holds several deer, and hunts are seldom uneventful.

James and Jeremy had hunted that woodlot for a long time and tagged some nice bucks, including a couple with antlers scoring in the 140s. They’d also seen others that might’ve eclipsed the 150-inch mark.

Nevertheless, James’ October vigils were for naught.

In 2009, the woodlot was surrounded on three sides by CRP set-aside ground. Off in the distance, a large cornfield provided food for the resident deer.

James still possessed his unfilled buck tag when the state’s firearms season opened. He returned to the woodlot with hopes that nearby hunting pressure would funnel deer into his area.

The temperature was unusually warm that week, but James hunted every day. Going into Wednesday evening, he’d seen only two does during his many sits.

As the sun began to approach the horizon, James heard something behind him. Scanning his surroundings, he eventually glanced over his left shoulder and spotted antlers.

The buck to which they were attached was in no hurry; it was just meandering through the woods. The deer eventually circled in front of James. And when it entered an opening between 30 and 40 yards from him, James raised his shotgun.

The slug struck home, but James quickly jacked in another shell and shot again.

Jeremy was hunting the same woodlot that day, not far away, but out of sight. He joined his dad about 30 minutes later and listened to his story.

James told his son how the hunt had unfolded. The buck was big, he said.

James had seen the buck fall, but he chose to regain his composure and to wait for Jeremy before taking up the trail.

When father and son approached the dead deer, they were stunned. The closer they got to it, the farther their chins dropped.

They counted 20-something points (the somethings weren’t an inch long).

After celebrating, James and Jeremy took great care in removing the trophy from the woods. Because of the nearby campground, numerous trespassers and a highly travelled nearby road, they planned their exit carefully. James stayed with the buck, while Jeremy retrieved their four-wheeler.

Once they had the buck loaded and covered, they visited with the woman who owned the land. She was amazed at the size of the deer that had come from her property.

Jeremy’s career-best came three years later.

An abandoned apple orchard in Clinton County has become one of Jeremy’s favorite places to hunt whitetails. A bottleneck adjacent to the orchard provides the perfect location for Jeremy to erect his ground blind.

Harvesting a monstrous buck in the fall of 2012 solidified his infatuation with the property.

During the late summer and early 2011 deer season, Jeremy retrieved trail camera photographs of a dream buck with double drop tines. Throughout the fall, Jeremy continued to get photos of the deer, but he never saw it in the flesh.

The following summer, Jeremy was filled with anticipation each and every time he checked his trail camera. Eventually, the buck that had occupied so many of his thoughts the previous season made an appearance.

Even though the deer no longer carried the double drops, it added a substantial amount of tine length and mass. Plus, a 6-plus-inch kicker protruded from the back of the left P2.

During the course of his two-year pursuit, Jeremy created a mineral station near his blind. That’s where most of the photos were taken, and that’s where Jeremy spent every spare minute when conditions allowed.

Soon into the season, the buck’s visits became less frequent.

The 2012 season was Jeremy’s fourth to hunt the property, so he knew the small parcel held few, if any, resident deer. But the stretch was indeed the main travel corridor between neighboring properties.

That’s why Jeremy continued to have faith in his blind, even if opportunities were limited.

On the cool evening of Nov. 10, with the rut in full swing, Jeremy returned to the blind after a last-minute change of plans. He’d initially set out to go to a different stand.

Forty minutes after settling in, he spotted a deer approaching from directly in front of the blind. The deer was quite a distance out, and Jeremy was unable to determine whether it was a buck or doe, at first.

Jeremy distinctly remembers that the neighboring farmer was spreading manure over one of the adjoining fields. He believes that the farming activity helped mask his scent, but admits he was fearful the deer might spook because of the fuss.

Jeremy watched the deer come closer, saw it was a buck, and then raised his crossbow. The whitetail was heading for the mineral.

When it cleared one of the many apple trees in front of the blind and lowered its head, Jeremy saw the kicker and realized it was the buck he had so badly wanted. Following a couple of deep breaths to settle his nerves, Jeremy squeezed the trigger and watched the bolt disappear into the deer’s side.

Overcome with emotion following the shot, Jeremy sat in the blind for about 45 minute before returning to his truck to change out of his hunting clothes. He then contacted the landowner and asked him to accompany him on the recovery.

The tracking job was short. The buck had traveled only 25 yards.

This article was published in the April 2016 edition of Rack Magazine. Subscribe today to have Rack Magazine delivered to your home.

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