Rack Magazine

This Tennessean mothballs his rods and reels when the oaks begin dropping acorns.

I am an avid Mississippi River catfisherman for most of the year, but I swap my fishing stuff for deer hunting gear between September and December.

A few years ago, my fishing partner, Josh Doyle of Marion, Arkansas, invited me to hunt with him in St. Francis County. Josh has a profound appreciation for quality whitetail management. He has harvested a number of 160- and 170-class deer, a result of frequently passing up 150-plus-inchers, knowing they will mature into true trophy bucks.

Josh is a true sportsman, and I owe him for much of my success.

We have had trail cameras out for several years, but it wasn’t until 2014 that we retrieved a photo of a huge buck that really lit our fires. It had tall tines, was very symmetrical, and the third points on both sides were split. Lacking creativity, we nicknamed him Split G3.

We got only nighttime photos of him that season.

We were thankful to discover Split G3 was still around in 2015, but he remained very elusive. We collected quite a few night photos and two daytime images, but we never saw him. He was definitely a trophy at that point.

When 2016 rolled around, we wondered if Split G3 had made it through the previous season. We were excited when we started getting a few photos, but all, again, were taken at night. We could not discern his core territory, but we did learn adjoining landowners had also seen him.

Apparently, he wasn’t merely on our “most wanted” list.

On a warm Friday morning, Oct. 29, I made my way to a lock-on stand overlooking a pinch-point near a couple of large oaks that were dropping lots of acorns.

While climbing into the stand, a little sweat was rolling down my face. And as I tried to settle in, a couple of mosquitoes began buzzing my ears.

Knowing I couldn’t stay still for swatting at the pesky mosquitoes, I reached in my pack and pulled out my Thermacell. Seconds after I fired it up, I heard a couple of steps in the leaves directly beneath me.

Having heard some raccoons earlier, I thought it was probably one of them. But when I looked straight down through the branches still loaded with leaves, trying to figure out the source of the sound, I thought I saw a flash of antler.

My mind began playing tricks on me at that point. Was it a spike, a 2-year-old 8-pointer, or was it a really good buck? I focused hard, but I could see only pieces of antler here and there.

I was not prepared for a shot. I was sitting down, and my bow was resting on a hanger. Also, with the buck directly below me, I knew any movement might cause the stand to creak and give away my position.

The deer was in no hurry.

I kept looking through the branches, trying to see the deer beneath me. It was so close that I could hear it eating acorns and actually licking its lips. It stayed right there.

After several minutes, I heard it take a few steps, so I took the opportunity to try to stand and ease my quivering hand out to grab my bow. For all I knew, it could have been a spike, but I was shaking nonetheless.

I heard the deer take a few steps to the right, but I still couldn’t see it. Being a right-handed shooter, that put him on my off-side position. I would have to swivel around for a tough shot.

When the animal stopped, I froze and hoped with all my heart it would change directions. After several more seconds, which felt like hours, I heard it take a few more steps.

It sounded like it was moving back to the left. I had a clear shot in that direction.

As the deer very slowly ambled left, there was enough space between the limbs and leaves for me to realize it was a good, wide-racked buck. A shooter, for sure.

Its head was down, and I was looking almost straight down at it when I drew my bow. When the deer stepped into the clear, it was only 7 yards from the base of my tree.

Trying to control my shaking, I rested my only pin just behind the buck’s shoulders, hoping the downward arrow would penetrate vitals.

The arrow hit with a solid thump, and the deer bucked and ran into the thicket behind me.

I listened intently and thought I heard it crash. Then I thought I heard its last few breaths. It happened so fast, though, and my mind was pretty ramped.

As I sat there waiting, I thought Man, did I see a split G3 when I released? Maybe.

I decided to wait a full 30 minutes, and my head was filled with doubts the whole time. If I can’t find him, I am telling no one, I decided. And then I thought Maybe it wasn’t that great of a hit.

A half-hour is a lot of time to think of what could go wrong. I was eager to get down, but also very apprehensive of what I might NOT find. When time was up, I descended slowly.

With an arrow nocked, I headed into the thicket where I’d last seen the deer. Almost immediately, I saw its white belly … only 20 yards from my stand.

As I eased forward, I worried it might jump up and run.

When I first took note of the rack, I thought the buck’s head must’ve come to rest on a log, which was propping up the antlers. But that wasn’t the case. The tall antlers didn’t need a prop.

When I saw the rack had matching split G3s, I realized he was the deer we’d been hunting so diligently.

I texted Josh, and he immediately drove over to help drag and celebrate. I think he was more excited than I was!

Bottom line: I am not a great deer hunter. I am just lucky enough to be able to hunt in a great state with good genetics and to be surrounded by other sportsmen who appreciate and make a concerted effort to produce trophy deer.

I am very grateful I was able to harvest such a magnificent deer in a humane way. But the true heroes are my buddies and the adjoining landowners who manage their properties to allow trophies like this to mature.

This article was published in the March 2018 edition of Rack Magazine. Subscribe today to have Rack Magazine delivered to your home.

• A Different Kind of Crown: Step right up, folks, and behold the St. Francisville monster.

• Two Miles In: It’s funny how counting a few points can stoke a man’s furnace.