Big bucks are exceedingly skilled at evading hunters.
When they’re three and half years of age, they become almost totally nocturnal and expert at staying alive. They’ve learned a trick or two, and it doesn’t take long for hunters to realize they’re up against a skilled opponent.
The great majority of monster bucks are taken from tree stands during the rut. But, a few hunters dare to challenge such bucks one-on-one. True, your chances of success are low and you’ll put in long hours and miles of walking, but if you’re persistent and smart, lady luck might smile on you.
My good friend Steve Colley is such an individual. He stays in shape, is a great shot and, over many years of hunting and sharing experiences with other serious hunters, has accumulated a storehouse of knowledge on big buck behavior. None of which means you’re assured success, but it does improve your odds.
Three years ago, he found a huge buck track, three or four times the normal size and unmistakable when seen. Steve named him Big Foot, naturally enough. A buck that size had to have a large set of horns, and so the quest began.
Snow was scarce in 2019, but for the three days it lingered, he and his son-in-law tracked the big fellow. They averaged seven long miles a day without success.
When the temperatures warmed the last day, the buck simply dropped down low where the snow had melted off first, leaving them a long walk back to the truck.
2020 was much colder with good snowfall, and they hunted the buck five days straight, daylight to dark, averaging eight miles a day. The buck seemed to enjoy making things difficult.
He particularly loved terrain cut by parallel, steep-sided ravines. With near vertical sides, they’re very difficult for humans to cross.
You slide down the near side grasping at branches to slow your decent, came to a shuddering and abrupt stop at the bottom, then had to claw your way up the far side grabbing at roots, limbs, rocks, anything to help. Ten of those in a row is very tiring. The buck, being four-legged and equipped with sharp hooves, crossed these little tank traps with ease.
Very aware it was his tracks the hunters were following, Big Foot also liked to cross as many creeks as possible. Once in the water, he turned left or right and followed the stream as far as 100 yards before exiting. Then, he’d walk to a far-off vantage point to watch.
If these little shenanigans weren’t working, he’d join up with several does, using their tracks to help obscure his. When they hit a creek, he’d go up or down sometimes, sometimes not.
This type of skullduggery usually took at least 30 minutes to figure out. When the week was up, they’d walked over 40 miles and the buck was still running. Big Foot was laughing at them.
This year, the first week was slow for Steve, but his son-in-law, Matt, did kill a respectable buck on the 21st. Looked like Steve would be hunting alone.
He located Big Foots tracks on Friday and tracked him all day, but the cagey buck was always a step ahead. Home, a big dinner and to bed. All those weary miles make for sound sleeping.
Saturday, he took up the track where he’d left it. The buck had bedded several times during the night, but the big bruiser seemed to know the exact location every group of does would be found.
He’d climb a hillside, hit a bench and follow it unerringly to the does, check them out, then move on directly to the next group. He hit five different groups of does that night.
When Steve finally jumped him, he ran some distance, but his tracks always seemed to lead to other tracks. He wasn’t so concerned with Steve that he was letting him interrupt his search for a hot doe. Ah, the opposite sex, so difficult to resist.
After 3.5 miles of steep hillsides, deep valleys, beech brush and fallen trees, the oversized tracks crossed yet another 30-foot deep, vertically sided ravine. Steve cascaded down to the bottom and, grasping at roots and saplings, hauled himself, slipping and sliding to the top. Then, unexpectedly, the buck turned 90 degrees to the left.
When Steve turned to follow, the wind hit him in the face. A very good sign: Did the buck smell does, or have yet another trick up his sleeve?
Sneaking carefully forward until he was able to see up the hillside some 150 yards, he immediately saw several does running and stopping erratically. Behind them, head low, antlers laid back, nose in the air chased Big Foot.
The does ran closer, milling around. Big foot closed the distance, his breath-taking antlers flashing, and crossed a small opening 125 yards away.
Steve was ready.
His rifle cracked and the does bolted past him, the buck following. At 40 yards, he fell.
Steve ran to him in disbelief. The buck was huge, well over 200 pounds, with a wide, massive 8-point rack which later scored 135 — 5/8ths.
Steve fell to his knees, tears in his eyes and uttered a heartfelt prayer to the man above. This precious trophy, so exceptional, deserved a special kind of respect.
