I have archery hunted for over 25 years and have always shot instinctively: no sights or pins, no stabilizer, and using bare fingers for a better release. I have always lived by the KISS principal (keep it simple stupid), especially where my hunting equipment is concerned. However, last fall, I had broken the cable on my 12-year-old PSE Laser Magnum. Going on the advise of two of my hunting buddies, Pat Kons and Dave O'Baggy, I retired that very productive bow. Again, at their advice, and with much hesitation, I purchased a Matthews Q2. This meant that I was going to have to learn to shoot all over again, using pins and a release. After two-and-a-half months, and an average of 60 arrows a day I felt confident, if not comfortable, with my new bow. My accuracy at longer ranges had greatly improved.

The morning of Aug. 18, 2001, found my hunting partner, Pat Kons, and me in southern Utah for the second time in a month. It was 4:45 a.m., yet I knew I was glad to be back as I pulled on my boots. Who could sleep anyway with Pat's constant snoring. Unlike the first trip, however, this was for real. We were bow hunting mule deer in one of my favorite areas. Although the first scouting trip didn't confirm the presence of large muleys, we knew from past hunts the genetic potential for above average bucks existed. I knew I had a good chance of harvesting a large buck if only I were patient. The first morning, however, was as uneventful as the first scouting trip.

After hunting three days I was starting to question why I had passed up a couple of fairly nice four points earlier in the hunt. Pat assured me that sooner or later my opportunity would come. We had only seen one truly large buck, and he had given me the slip out on a long rocky ledge. As big bucks often do, he just vanished into thin air during what I considered to be a well-conceived stalk with a good breeze in my favor. I glassed this ridge a number of times, but never spotted the buck again.

Pat and I had planned on meeting his two boys for an elk hunt later in the week, so I knew the possibility of connecting with a wall hanger this trip was almost history.

The fourth morning of the hunt found us up at 4:30 a.m., headed for an area that I had hunted years before. As the sun was rising we spotted a group of deer on a hillside. There were a couple of small four points, an average but nicely squared out 24" buck, and a larger buck that remained in the background. After glassing a few minutes, I decided to make a stalk because I felt the buck we couldn't fully see was bigger than average. What did I have to lose?

After working my way up a gully I closed the distance to about 65 yards. It was then that the smaller of the bucks spotted me. At this point I had still not fully seen the largest buck. He was always behind the others, with some portion of his rack hidden. After about two minutes the small buck started to feed again, but would frequently look up. I didn't fall for this trick and remained still. Finally the biggest of the bucks stepped out behind the others, and I knew he was the one.

Normally I don't shoot at 65 yards, especially up hill, but with the practice I had done at longer ranges, I felt very calm and confident as I drew back and anchored my bottom pin just behind the buck's left shoulder. The arrow looked good from what I could see but I lost it in the morning light. There was almost no reaction from any of the deer. The buck I shot at just flinched, stood still a few seconds and then slowly walked into the trees with his head down. I was certain the hit was vital. I heard the definite sound of an arrow hitting home, but I was tempted to try another shot as he walked away. By this time the yardage was too far and if I missed it would only spook him; I held back hoping for the best. I nervously waited about six or eight minutes as the other three bucks moved slowly away in the general direction my buck had taken. Once they had all disappeared I carefully worked my way up to where my buck walked into the timber. The sign was not good. I worked my way back down to where I supposedly hit the buck, looking for any sign of blood. After finding precious little blood, I motioned for Pat to come up. He had watched the whole
scenario in his binoculars. Pat was ecstatic as he told me how large the buck was. In all honesty, I had totally blanked his size out when I decided to take the shot. Only when he was walking directly away did I see how wide his rack was. Now butterflies were setting in.

We searched the area for a few minutes and Pat found my arrow. It had passed entirely through the buck and, except for the dark red blood on the fletching, was unhurt. I knew the hit was lethal; past experience told me this was probably a liver hit. Maybe I had hit him a little in back of where I had aimed. I thought about the shot. He could have been angling away slightly. The blood trail was almost nonexistent. He was probably bleeding almost entirely inside. We tried to follow the blood trail, but because of the early low light and the questionable hit, decided to give the wounded buck a chance to lie down. We waited for what seemed a lifetime, but in reality it was only a few hours. When we resumed the task of trailing, we were able to follow faint blood for about 100 yards. This took almost two hours of crawling on our hands and knees. We felt despair as each pin drop of blood was further apart. After almost three hours of tracking we had only covered about 150 yards. Then the trail ended.

It seemed like this was going to be the darkest day of my hunting life. I had hit the buck of my dreams, with a supposedly lethal shot, and now it looked like we might lose him. At that point we decided to do what ever it took to find the buck. We couldn't give up. We wouldn't give up. Having Pat there was encouraging; he was a proven veteran when it came to tracking. Mentally we were exhausted, but we both understood that the hardest part of bow hunting comes after making the shot. We had circled the surrounding area for another hour when I came upon him. He had done the last thing we expected him to do. He had jumped a barbed wire fence and followed a trail uphill another 80 yards before finally going down. I felt the greatest relief as I approached the fallen buck. A feeling I can only describe as awe set in. In cases like this, I almost wished there was such a thing as catch and release bow hunting.

My buck ended up being a little over 30" wide and almost as tall. His front forks are deep and long. Each side is the mirror image of the other, including the double eye guards. He was green scored at 208 gross typical. We are still awaiting the official Pope and Young score.