Michelle's Buck

So I was helping load an 18-foot Crestliner bobbing at a dock on Lake of the Woods in Ontario, preparing to leave for a long boat ride and a few days of duck hunting and fishing on a remote island 30 miles from anywhere. I'd told my wife, Michelle, that cell phone service would be pretty limited or non-existent where I was going, so not to expect to hear from me for a few days.

I did have service at the boat dock, however. And, it was Sunday morning, the second morning of Kentucky's early muzzleloader season. I knew Michelle was in her stand all alone down in Kentucky, hunting hard for her first-ever "decent" buck. She's taken a bunch of does, and a few small bucks in the past. But for five long seasons, she's let bucks walk in hopes of shooting something a little bigger. She wanted a giant, of course, but she's long said that a decent 8-pointer, something with a 15-inch or larger spread, would make her a happy gal.

About an hour before take-off, I phoned Michelle when I knew she was still in her stand to wish her luck. It was a cool morning down there, and deer activity had been good the day before. But she said she'd yet to see anything this particular morning. It was maybe 9 a.m.

After saying our good-byes and hanging up, I carried another armload of stuff down to the boat. When I stepped back into the cabin, my phone was ringing. Michelle was on the other end, and I could tell she was pretty excited. "Just shot a buck. Biggest I've ever had in range. He ran off !" Her sentences were, at least to an English major, a little jumbled. But I understood the reasoning.

"Relax," I said, trying to examine the situation from 1,000 miles away. "How did he react at the shot? Did you pick out a bush or something to mark where he went into the woods?"

She had picked out a bush. And she said the buck was no more than 30 yards from her stand. She was, to the best of her knowledge, "on him" before she pulled the trigger, and she thought she saw him buckle in the middle before taking off. I told her to give him time before going to look. And that was it. I had to get on the boat, knowing I may not get to find out what happened for a full week.

You guys all know how anxious you get when you've shot a deer and have to wait an hour before looking for answers. I had no idea how big this buck was (Michelle said it looked like a nice, solid 8-pointer, perhaps a 10), or how well or if it was hit. I knew Michelle wanted to kill a nice deer, especially while hunting by herself, as badly as anyone I've ever met, and I knew I wanted her to find it more than I've ever wanted to find a deer I'd shot myself. So I had this anxious feeling, and to compound it, I had a boat ride of a few hours and an entire week of hunting ahead of me when I knew I might not be able to talk to her.

The boat ride was tense. When we docked a few hours later, I eagerly checked my phone. No signal. But the headquarters to the cabins where we were staying did have a radio telephone. I paid little attention to the rates, plopped a few Canadian Loonies down on the desk and dialed Michelle's phone. No answer. So I hung up and tried her parents' place. My mother-in-law, Mary Adams, who is one of the best deer-camp-breakfast cooks in the South, answered the phone, and seemed a little concerned. Michelle and her daddy, Larry Adams, had started tracking about two hours after the shot. They found blood, but not much. And soon, they jumped Michelle's buck, obviously hurt, but still alive. They backed off to give the animal some more time, which proved to be a wise move.

Michelle was certain she'd made a good shot on the buck, but things didn't appear that way, and Mary said Michelle had been pretty upset. I had a fishing arrangement for the afternoon, and had to delay knowing the outcome of the story for a few hours longer. But finally, late that night, I tried calling Michelle on her cell phone. Turns out, she couldn't answer because she was en route back to Memphis with a fine 9-pointer quartered out and in the coolers behind her seat. Her victory music of choice, Metallica and Pantera, drowned out the sound of my cell phone. I eventually got her to answer, and have never listened to a better deer-hunting story from anyone. Her shot had been good, but the bullet failed to exit, resulting in a pretty light blood trail. But, they found the buck not far from where it had been jumped.

Michelle hasn't quit grinning all week, I don't believe. I know she hasn't quit grinning since I got home a few hours ago. And she's been eager to tell the story, judging by the fact that all my hunting buddies have heard it already, and have been calling to tell me that "apparently, she doesn't need the great whitetail expert's guiding experience to shoot a nice deer." I couldn't agree more.

So, Michelle, from me and the Rack Report, congrats on your first decent blackpowder buck.

Will in Tennessee

p.s.-I know there were some big bucks taken last weekend during the Kentucky muzzleloader season. Send us a picture and a story so we can share it here.