Rustling of dry oak leaves. Turn slowly to my left to peer at the ground nearly forty feet below. Big buck? No! Squirrel? No! Hungry armadillo! Deep sigh! I so hoped and prayed for my first whitetail, one I had dreamed of taking since I started hunting deer with my dad at four years old – ten years ago!
A shot sounded in the distance, possibly my dad. I smiled and gripped tightly my maternal grandfather’s single-shot 12 gauge he had called “The Roar,” loaded with “double ought” buckshot. I reached into the pocket of my army surplus wool shirt pocket, pulled out a “double ought buck” shell, put it in my mouth and bit down on it. I would have ready access to it, should I need a quick follow-up shot.
More rustling of oak leaves, sounding like a bounding deer. I looked down. There walked the world record whitetail buck! I nearly bit the shotshell in half!
Think! Oh yeah, raise shotgun to shoulder, cock the hammer, sight the front bead in the little depression in the receiver, aim on the buck’s shoulder. Do not jerk the trigger! Sight aligned. . . Bang!
At the shot the world record buck fell to the ground. Oh, my goodness! I got him!
Then the buck of all bucks stood up and started running away. Reload, reload, reload! I pushed the lever, which opened the “single-barrel.” In my excitement I tugged hard on the shotgun’s forend!
So doing, I pulled a too bit enthusiastically and the forend separated from the barrel. I watched my barrel fall forty feet to the ground below. It landed with a “thud,” stuck in the mud.
There I sat, high up in the oak tree, buttstock and receiver in my right hand, forend in my left hand, buckshot clenched between my teeth. . . barrel forty feet below. And . . .the world record buck was running away!
For a moment I thought about bailing out of the tree to recover the barrel! Thankfully, reason returned and I slid down the tree trunk, ran to my barrel stuck in the mud, gathered forend and buttstock in my left hand, reached down with my right hand, pulled the barrel out of the mud, blew dirt out of the barrel, then reassembled my shotgun finishing by shoving the extra buckshot I had previously held between my teeth into the chamber!
Finding small specks of blood, I followed the trail of the world record buck at a fast trot, scanning way ahead and not watching at my feet.
I stumbled and fell over the world record whitetail. I stood, turned and looked at the buck of all bucks.
I watched in awe as the buck’s monstrous rack shrank rapidly from the world record to near book to having a five-inch spike on the right and four-inch spike on the left!
But still, the greatest hunting memory ever!
A local taxidermist mounted him for me. He made my “trophy” look like a big rat with spike antlers. The short neck mount leaves much to be desired.
Since that first deer, I have hunted big game on six continents. I have been fortunate to take some of the world’s finest game species. If I had to get rid of all my mounts save one, I’d hang on to that first whitetail!