The Consolation Buck
Sometimes it's the guide's fault
In 2011 my son Bat was 11 and could finally shoot a rifle with reasonable accuracy without additional support. I’d handloaded some 150-grain Nosler Combined Technology Silver Tip bullets for my less than five-pound NULA in 30 Remington AR and they were running at about 2670 fps out of the rifle’s 20-inch barrel. This was a round nose bullet developed for the 30-30 Winchester. I’d tested it with the higher impact velocity of the 30 Remington AR and it had performed well. Bat had a light rifle he could hold up, and he had a good load, and just like every other hunter all he needed was a big whitetail buck to cooperate.
They rarely do.
We arrived at camp early enough for an evening hunt and we headed to a laurel covered spot on public land where I knew the deer—especially bucks—like to hang out after a week of hard hunting pressure. Passing through some big open timber we spooked some deer, and I saw was two doe and a flash of antler on another deer. They were not in a terrible hurry, so we sort of paralleled their southward path on a run, soon finding concealment in the laurels too. It had recently rained so we could move with relative quietness through the woods, and I thought we might be able to head them off.
After about 150 yards of running through the laurel we reached a shallow hollow that fed down the mountain from the west. We turned up the draw and headed to a spot on the ridge where there was a little rock outcropping where I thought we might get a look at the deer. Just as we slipped into location, I caught glimpse of a deer standing in the head high laurel about 80 yards out. I got Bat positioned where I thought he would have a good view and got on the binocular to see if I could locate the buck.
It happened quicker than I thought, and the buck was a hell of a lot bigger than I expected. In fact, as I watched him nosing a doe’s backside as they weaved around the laurels, his antlers were very impressive. I whispered, “Do you see the buck?” Bat was seated with the rifle shouldered and looking through the riflescope and he confirmed he could see him. “Wait until I tell you to shoot.”
The buck and two does continued to rut around the laurels and on a few occasions the buck offered a brief shot opportunity but not one I wanted Bat to risk. After what seemed like an hour—but was likely only maybe 30 seconds—I lost sight of the buck. I did not want to move our risk discovery, so I just kept prying into the tangle of green laurel hoping to find him. A minute later I caught a glimpse of his antlers slipping deeper in the laurels to the north.
Thinking the opportunity was gone, I tried a few grunts, and after a bit we even tried to retrace our steps to cut the deer off again, back near where we had first seen them. It didn’t work. With darkness closing in we headed back to camp with our heads hung low. Up until that point we’d not talked about what had happened, we’d been focused on trying to get another opportunity, and with the camp lights now in view Bat said, “Dad, that was a big buck. Why didn’t you let me shoot him?”
I replied that it was indeed a hell of a big buck, and I said, “He never stopped and offered a good shot.”
Bat, voice now raised, said, “What do you mean? Before he walked off, I had him in the riflescope with the crosshairs right on his shoulder for a long time!”
“You’re kidding? I said, “I never saw the buck stand still for more than just a second.”
Bat stopped, turned a looked at me, and with a very serious face he said, “Dad, I could have killed him, easy. I couldn’t understand why you never told me to shoot.”
Clearly, from out separate vantage points on our little rocky knoll we had a different view of the deer. I felt a bit foolish—I should have positioned myself over Bat’s shoulder as opposed to about 10 feet off to his side. My mistake cost him a shot at one of the biggest racked bucks I’d ever seen while hunting at our camp. On the other hand, I was proud him for following instructions and not shooting until I told him to. I don’t think that made him feel any better, and like me I bet Bat was wishing he’d just shot the damned buck.
A few days later we jumped a young seven point that ran across a small clearing at about 50 yards. I was not going to make the same mistake, and when the deer bolted I told Bat, “If you have a shot, take it.” He did but he didn’t make a great shot—running shots are not easy even for experienced hunters—the 150-grain round nose hit the buck low in the hind quarter and some tracking was involved. Still, it was his best buck, but every time I look at the rack, or we remember that hunt, it is mostly a stark reminder of what could have been. And Bat reminds me it was my fault.
The next day my cousin who’d been hunting with us headed for home. When we got back a few days later he called to ask about the rest of our hunt. He also said when he was leaving camp, he saw a massive 10 point bedded with two does feeding nearby, just across the properly line in a neighbor’s grown up field. After he described the buck, I was sure it was the one we’d tangled with in the laurels up above that field a few days ago.
That buck did not know how lucky he was that an 11 year old boy followed instructions. Had that boy been 11 year old me hunting with my father, I would have shot the buck and took the ass chewing that would have followed.
Great story. I remember working hard to get my youngest son on a buck... It was quite a thing over several years of hunting together. He is of course now, quite an accomplished hunter. Congrats to Bat, and to you as well.