Target Bucks

Posted On November 18, 2024

A Deer Hunting Story

If you asked five different deer hunters their primary reason for hunting, you’d likely get five different answers, each and every one of them valid. One hunter might respond, “To enjoy time outdoors.” Another will say, “Putting venison in the freezer.” A third common reason offered, “For the camaraderie of spending time with good friends.” Some might explain, “Hunting is part of my family’s heritage.” Still others will say “For the challenge of mounting a trophy rack on the wall.” Truth be told, I suspect that for the vast majority of deer hunters, the true reason does not involve one single source motivation, but instead some combination of several.

One of the most frequent conversations in my hunting group, which consists of my best friend Chuck, my son RJ and myself, revolves around goals and plans for deer hunting each season. It’s an ongoing discussion, with each of us having different individual hunting goals, plans and perspectives on what we are looking for when we share time afield hunting.

Chuck and RJ live near each other down near Elmira in NY State’s Southern Tier, where Chuck owns a good-sized chunk of prime hunting land. Chuck and RJ have evolved a strong bond through the years. They put in endless hours together, investing huge quantities of time, effort and money, all with a focus on supporting and expanding the area’s healthy deer herd. I make the trek down from Watertown occasionally, pitching in to help as need arises and life’s busy schedules permit.

This year, unfortunately, for a variety of scheduling reasons, I was not able to get down to lend Chuck & RJ a hand with trail/hunting stand maintenance and planting food plots. Instead, my primary contribution was going in halves with Chuck on a major investment in the form of our new “Koola Buck”.

This allows us to enjoy a full weekend long hunt without having to be worried about outside air temperatures or interrupting our hunt in order to get a deer processed.

Chuck and RJ both bow hunt the early season, but I don’t. Each fall our first joint hunt is the opening of muzzleloader/crossbow season, which this year opened November 2nd. After I arrived for the weekend’s hunt and unloaded my gear, RJ briefed me on this season’s deer population status, which included his professionally arranged big buck photo array. RJ updated me on recent sightings of each buck, which blinds and food plots they had been frequenting, and what time of day/night they were most frequently spotted on trail cameras. He had even bestowed upon each one of them a unique rack configuration-based nickname. This list comprised what RJ and Chuck referred to as 2024’s “Target Bucks.”

In preparation for our annual father/son bow/crossbow hunt weekend, RJ had taken great pains to professionally set up a ground blind specifically tailored to my crossbow hunting preferences, giving me maximum exposure to recent deer movement, and the best chance to experience crossbow hunting success.

RJ had the blind set up to provide me a good twenty-yard shot to a four-wheeler trail the deer had been frequenting, with good visibility all around and several clear shooting lanes. Though my crossbow is good out to at least forty yards, RJ knew that I’ve for some reason had a hard time making a good shot the past couple of seasons and as a result would want to be set up for a nice clear tight shot, which I greatly appreciated.

On Saturday morning I saw several small does and bucks, but nothing that presented a shot that I particularly liked and none of them one of RJ & Chuck’s “target bucks”. Then, at about 9 a.m., I could hear a deer approaching from behind me on the right. I peeked through a non-shooting side window. He was right there beside me! He continued walking around until he stood in front of my blind, broadside, facing left, at under three yards, a nice just outside the ears six point. I had my crossbow bipod mounted, but never clicked off my safety or put him in my scope. It was the first morning of my season’s first hunt. He simply was not at that point a buck I wanted. He was not my weekend hunt’s “target buck”.

I hunted the rest of that morning, then again in the same hunting blind that afternoon. I saw several more deer, including several running does being chased by a small four-point buck that I very easily could have shot. However, none of the does gave me a shot that I wanted, and that little four point was not in any way, shape or form my hunt’s “target buck”.

Sunday morning came, bright, brisk and clear. This would be my final hunt of the weekend, as well as of my crossbow season. No one had filled a tag the previous day. Our hunting crew’s “Koola Buck” was still deerless.

I watched a couple of does running back and forth through the woods up the hill to my left. They finally crossed down past me on the far side of the trail, none of them presenting a shot. At about 9 a.m. I spotted an antlered deer through one of my viewing windows above the trail to my left. It looked to be nice young four- or five-point buck, likely the one that had been chasing the does around earlier. Still undecided, I readied my crossbow on my center window.

I studied that buck as he dropped down onto the trail to my left and slowly made his approach. I counted five or six antler tines; I wasn’t quite certain. But as that buck walked into my crosshairs, I made my decision.

There was no wind or breeze. I had a good clear broadside shot. If I did not shoot now, I would not get another crossbow chance this season. This was the right moment in time. I clicked off my safety. I held the crossbow stock tight to my shoulder, squeezed the trigger, and let fly a bolt. My target buck jumped to his left, crossed the trail into some brambles and fell dead under a big white pine tree, not forty yards from my post.

He was not the biggest buck on the hill. He was not a buck on anyone else’s “target buck” list. In terms of rack width and body size, he was slightly smaller than the six point I had passed up at three yards just the morning before. But on that Sunday morning, none of that figured into my decision on what I was hunting for. He was the first crossbow deer of either sex that I had made a good shot on in quite a while. He was my first crossbow buck in two years, and our first deer of the season. He validated all of the hard work RJ had so painstakingly put in setting up my crossbow hunting blind.

On that Sunday morning, he was exactly the nice young buck I was hunting for. He was the season’s first venison in the freezer. He was another successful hunt with my best friend Chuck.

He was a special moment in time shared forever forward with my son.

On that Sunday morning in early November, he was my 2024 weekend crossbow hunt’s “Target Buck”.

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Flash forward two weeks, to the NY State’s Southern Tier opening weekend of deer rifle season. Since my crossbow hunt, Chuck had taken one ten point “target buck” off the board with his crossbow. A hunter on an adjacent hill unfortunately wounded and lost another big buck on the list, which was presumably now lying in the woods somewhere, dead. RJ missed a shot at yet another. He told me he saw the arrow fly and knew immediately he’d shot over the deer’s back. We agreed, better a clean miss than a wounded deer and another lost target buck rack.

So, as Chuck and RJ dropped me off at “The Alamo”, my elevated rifle hunting blind, shortly before 6 a.m. on the first day of 2024’s rifle season, November 16th, there were several big “target bucks” from RJ’s target buck list still roaming Chuck’s woods.

Legal shooting time was half hour before sunrise, which, according to the sunrise/sunset chart on the back page of my 2024-2025 NYSDEC Official Hunting & Trapping Regulations Guide, on November 2, 2024, was exactly 6:30 a.m.

LEGAL shooting time may have been 6:30, but, as far as my 61-year-old’s eyes were concerned, SAFE pre-sunrise shooting wasn’t viable until about 15 minutes after that. Regardless, I sat, bipod ready, my bolt action .308 loaded with a single round in the chamber, resting, safety on, against the blind wall beside me as I sat watch.

At 7:50 a.m., my son RJ texted me: “I think that was Chuck.”

I responded: “I didn’t hear anything.”

RJ Texted me back. “Chuck shot a target buck.”

Shortly after that, RJ climbed down out of his tree stand and drove down the hill to begin the process of helping Chuck track his buck. At 8:34 I got another text message from RJ.

“We found him. He’s a beast!”

Since at that point they assured me that they did not need me, I stayed put. I had come prepared to stay on watch in my blind for the day. By 9:26 Chuck & RJ had his deer field dressed and out of the woods. Chuck opted for a break. RJ returned to the hunt.

I sat watching diligently until 1pm. I had seen absolutely nothing at that point, so I got out my tube feeding supplies & medications, stirred myself up a quick canteen cup rocket coffee enhanced lunch, and syringe pushed it through my feeding tube, all the while keeping one eye keenly on watch.

At shortly after 1pm, I finally glimpsed what I thought was a whitetail flag. No deer materialized from it though. So, I sat until 4 p.m. without seeing anything. Then, at 4p.m., my earlier suspicions were confirmed. Three does bolted from left to right, barely visible, out of range, through the woods. I sat wondering what spooked them. Shortly after sunset, right at last light, my answer, in the form of a small four-point buck, appeared from the brambles below me at about forty-five yards, facing to the left, briefly giving me what I considered to be a makeable shot. However, I never once considered raising my rifle. Even after sitting all day and seeing almost nothing, that little four point was not my hunt’s target buck.

So, with three bucks thus far tallied to our three-man hunting team’s effort and Chuck target buck tagged out, Sunday’s early pre-dawn darkness greeted RJ & me with a thick blanket of fog.

Despite having seen nothing noteworthy the previous day, I returned to the Alamo, because that’s where our team’s trail cam intel insisted some of the heaviest action was. I set up as the day before, opened my windows and sat. I only unzip and open the front and front side windows, hunting the wooded down sloping 180-degree terrain in front of me, cutting down on the possibility of a target buck detecting me by keeping all of my rear windows closed.

As with the day before, legal shooting time’s arrival was irrelevant. Not only was it still too dark, but the fog was so thick that at first, I couldn’t even see the ground from my blind. So, I sat with my eyes closed, saving my vision. I opened them every five minutes or so to check visibility and the fog’s status. As sunrise approached, the fog slowly began to burn off. Finally, by about 7 a.m., the fog had burned off just enough that I could viably see to hunt out to 35 yards or so.

I sat closing and opening my eyes, doing a 180-degree visual sweep every couple of minutes. Suddenly, at just after 7:05 a.m. a big antlered visage emerged from the mist, materializing as if out of nowhere, to the left of the big oak tree, twenty yards out, directly below me. I did a silent double take before my brain fully clicked into gear. “Oh! that’s what I’m out here looking for! Better pick up my rifle. NOW THAT’s a big target buck!”

I slowly and silently mounted my .308 on my bipod, drawing it snugly into my shoulder. My target buck’s antlers disappeared as I peered through the scope.

The buck’s antlers slowly reappeared, to right of the oak. He was nose to the ground, walking slowly from left to right, broadside to me, at about twenty yards out. I clicked off my safety and slowly exhaled. As his right shoulder passed my crosshairs, I squeezed off one round.

The buck flinched slightly, sort of ducking, then started uphill towards me, crossing the trail slightly to my right at a brisk trot. I glimpsed him momentarily out of my right-side window as I ejected the spent round from my chamber. As I reached for another round, I peered out my right window. I could see the buck continue uphill, then stop and turn, looking back downhill towards me, at about thirty yards out. I chambered the second round and slowly unzipped my rear window, but by the time I had done so, my hunt’s target buck had disappeared out of sight.

At that moment, 7:13 a.m. RJ texted me. “Did you shoot?”

I texted him back, “Yes. Big buck. He was right in front of me. Circled up right behind me and stopped. Big!”

RJ: “Awesome! Good shot? Do you want me to come?”

Me: “Felt good. I want to take a quick look.”

After a quick verbal cellphone consult with RJ, I slowly and quietly descended my stand, rifle at the ready, safety on, with one round in the chamber. I crossed the trail to take a look to the right of the big oak hoping to see some blood/hair sign of my shot. My hunter’s prayers were quickly answered. There was blood everywhere, bright red, indicating to me that my target buck was not going too far and that I had made a good fatal lung shot.

I followed the blood trail uphill across the trail, past my blind. It was easy enough to follow. It was bright red, and wide. I followed it up to almost the point where I had last seen the buck, when I glanced to my left and realized why he had disappeared from sight. While I was unzipping my rear window, he hadn’t kept running uphill, as I feared, but had made a small circle and turned, facing back downhill. He fell right there, dead. He was right there near where I last saw him, lying beside a big stump.

I called RJ. “Got him. He’s a big nine point. BIG!”

RJ’s voice sounded excited. “Oh! I think I know what exactly which buck it is. We had a big nine point we’ve never seen before show up on the trail cameras for the first time last night.” He and Chuck drove right up.

I was packing my gear and closing up my blind as they arrived. I handed down my gun & gear, then took them to where I first shot the deer and talked them through the hunt as we followed the blood trail back up to my buck.

Much celebration and photography followed.

Then we got down to the serious business of field dressing and loading my target buck back into the Polaris for transport down the hill to Chuck’s shop.

Once at the shop, we gave it a good final rinse, tagged it (Those new paper tags NYS has chosen to issue are ridiculous. I used more plastic and tape protecting that flimsy paper tag than they’ll save for the next hundred years’ worth of my target bucks. Whoever came up with this notion is a completely clueless non-hunter friendly enviro-moron.)

My target buck weighed in at 152 pounds, dressed. I cut out the tenderloins and baggied them. Then RJ & Chuck Boone & Crockett scored it. Their final scoring tally was 127 & 6/8, which was very interesting, but all Greek to me. It seemed important to them, though. Apparently, my opening rifle weekend hunt’s target buck was one of the biggest bucks taken off of the hill in a while, which validated for them all of the hard work they put in managing the hill’s deer herd.

Finally, when all of our preparatory work was complete, we loaded him into our new Koola Buck. He fit in there like that Koola Buck had been made for him.

Hunters have many different motivations and reasons for going afield. every one of them valid.

Mine is to create shared moments and memories.

That’s my true hunter’s hart’s “Target Buck”.

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Until Our Trails Cross Again:

ADKO