Save the Best for last!

"The Big Eight" on a Snow Day

Summer pics of the "Big Eight"

Moments after he expired in the brush pile I first encountered him in.

Dream hunting weather!

Jesse thinking: "dang this should be mine"

Him as a 3 1/2, in 2010

shed matches up perfect!

 The Buck Jesse had right in front of his stand while we were registering my deer. Deano's buddy shot this one opening day of gun season.

 Jesse walking back in noticing some big fresh tracks!

 Another summer pic of my buck

 Scrape action where Deano was sitting.

The buck Deano was hunting on the next ridge when I shot mine.

The Story on a deer I dubbed "The Big Eight" played out like something from a whitetail magazine, too perfect to be true: I have been extremely fortunate to make great friends throughout my life and when I took a temporary job out of college removing piers and boatlifts, I wound up making a friend that might be crazier about hunting than myself, The owner of the company (Deano) I quickly found out was a hunting fanatic, needless to say we got a long pretty well, but I was still shocked when he offered to take me to his parents farm to hunt the big whitetails they had running around. Deano's hopsitality caught me off gaurd considering I have lived my life in a hunting area where its generally an "every man for himself mentality" and I have witnessed grown men:  complaining, making excuses,  actually shedding tears and lying to landowners to try and eliminate the competition on properties these deer live on, rather than share the joy and pass on the tradition with others while pursuing them, its turning into a dog eat dog and rich mans sport. All of this drama can really suck the fun right out of the sport, so it was very refreshing to find someone that still cared about other hunters besides themselves. Deano's only stipulations: don't shoot a buck smaller than one you have already killed and no doe's; if you can follow these rules you won't be asked to pull your stands and leave, but he told me he had many friends who could not help themselves, but shoot whatever deer came in range. I knew if anyone was determined to be disciplined enough to pass on deer and retain rights to such trophy property it was me. 

I caught a glimse of "The Big Eight" in 2010, when I guesstimated him as a 3 1/2 year old 135 class deer that I could not pass on, he was so symmetrical and his G2 length was outstanding; I watched him cruising a ridge staying tight to brush piles from 40 yards away, I vowed to hang a stand on that ridge for the following season. That spring I went shed hunting through that valley and on that ridge in the exact spot I watched him walk five months earlier I found his shed, 11" G2's, 9" G3's roughly 60" of horn on his right side, I showed Deano the shed and he pulled up a trail cam pic of him cruising that same area on October 27th midday. I don't think I deserve much credit for being able to figure out this deer's home turf and decide on a stand location, all these clue's "The. Big Eight" was leaving me, I probably should have retired from the sport if I would not have hung a stand on that ridge for the fall hunt. I got the stand up and brushed in during the month of June and told my cousins I was going to kill that buck there. August 26th he showed up on the camera's showing off the growth, I figured it was game on come rut. The first weekend in November we went down to hunt I fell into bad, rookie habits and second guessed myself and sat different stands both days; second guessing myself and making up my mind on a whim that a different stand site will be better than what my gut is telling me has been my problem since I was 12, my brother always preached to me then "pick your stand and go to it and stay put, dont always feel some other spot would be better". I don't want to give him credit for teaching me too many things growing up besides how to take a punch, but he was right at times... ha ha. I got what I deserved that first weekend with no big buck sightings, that week I started thinking to myself "hey bozo get in the stand you picked and set for a specific reason and your gut instincts are telling you is the honey hole and quit making stupid choices." I vowed I would be on that ridge all day the next time we went to hunt. It rained and snowed hard for two days with high winds, Jesse actually tryed hunting in that weather and caught a glimpse of him on the evening of the 9th, sending me a text saying he managed to keep brush in the way of his vitals and out of range, I told Jesse no worries hopefully he beds in the woods with a doe and tomorrow when the weather breaks one of us will get  a crack at him. The next morning was cold and light snow absolutely a hunters dream, I got to my stand on that ridge, dressed like a polar bear and ready to sit it out as long as needed, if it was a battle of wills between the Big Eight and myself I was ready, it didn't take long though and a doe came feeding along the hill right to me and low and behold Mr. Eight Pointer was tagging along. The doe took her sweet time feeding on shrubs as she slowly walked to my stand with her boyfriend in tow dead downwind, he seemed to sense something was not right or as I am finding out these mature whitetails are such intelligent creatures they just rarely let their gaurd down for a second; he would move from brush pile to brush pile staying 20 yards behind the doe focused on her, when she would move he would walk to the next thick brush pile and stand in the middle of it offering no shot! The doe was oblivious to me and walked up to my tree finally and bedded close enough to be spit on! At this point my nerves about had it, I had been holding my bow up ready to draw worrying about spooking either deer and wondering if my worthy adversary was ever going to come into the open, my arms shook and I needed to calm down and focus since he was at 30  yards buried in the branches like a cottontail rabbit and contemplating his next move, he finally decided he was in love and broke free of the brush and hit my opening at 25 yards and made the mistake of glancing down the hill giving me ample time to draw and send an arrow on the way, he fittingly died in the exact brush pile I first encountered him in, it was quick and efficient, but for me never easy to watch; Such a magnifecent animal in my eyes: displaying his intelligence time and time again he just found out what most men do...women are gauranteed trouble! It was celebration and elation turned  slightly bittersweet, I really cannot explain it. I called Jesse and left him a voicemail saying I got the Big Eight he is on the ground, and then called Deano who was a ridge over sitting a hot scrape to thank him, he was happy and congratulating me one minute to saying "you lucky SOB!" the next.. ha ha! Jesse called me back after getting my voicemail and told me he would be down in a half hour to help with the drag, I told him he may want to sit longer, but this was too great to not share together. He came down around 8:30 am we took some pic's, registered the deer, ate lunch and celebrated a little and got back in the stands around 1pm only to find Jesse's stand had big tracks right in front of it, we later checked the card on the camera and saw a 145 class ten (see photo's above) walked within 15 yards of where Jesse was sitting that morning at 11:20 am. At this point Jesse was probably sick of me and I was worried he might loosen the ratchet on my stand, I will be double checking that now before I climb in.

The buck now has 12" G2's, 10" G3's not signigicantly longer than last year, but his main beam length, mass and spread (19") were significantly better than last year. This deer is going to be a pedestal mount on a fence post from my Grandpa's farm, with a laser engraved picture of Jesse and I posing with him. The scenery that morning in the snow just added to the great memories. North Dakota Mulies next. Special thanks to the Tydrich family, truly giving not taking type people.