It’s a cool, early November morning in North Central Missouri. I told everyone to stay on stand longer than usual, thinking the neighbors’ movements might push something our way. Around 9:15 a.m., my phone started buzzing with texts from friends saying they weren’t seeing anything and wanted to get down. I told them to hang tight and if nothing stirred in the next two hours, we’d head out for the weekend.
Just like clockwork, at 9:30, our neighbors started driving out of the woods to leave for the weekend. Then, at about 9:42, I saw a flash of movement slipping through the timber toward a bedding thicket. Antlers. Big ones. I knew in my chest this was the one.
I’d ranged this opening before, 37 yards. The buck was moving at a good pace but slowed just enough, lifted his head, and glanced my way, quartered slightly but mostly broadside. I settled in, inhaled through my nose, and let the arrow fly. TAC 2.75” Driver vanes with a Swhacker #261 broadhead leading the way.
The hit felt perfect, and adrenaline flooded through me. After about 10 minutes, I couldn’t take it any longer, so I got down to look for blood. There was good lung blood splattered around, so I called my friends to come help me track. We followed a solid blood trail for about 40 yards. Then the trail thinned, with drops every 5 to 10 yards, and then it disappeared. Something didn’t feel right, so I decided to back out and wait for the next morning.
That afternoon, I called three different people with tracking dogs, but they were all booked up. On one last call, a tracker told me he might be free the next morning at 9:00 a.m. It was now or never, I booked him and prepared for the wait.
The next morning, I met the tracker at the spot where I marked the last blood. The dog worked hard, picking up faint scents from the buck’s interdigital glands. We made a few passes but found nothing. I was beginning to lose faith. We returned to the last blood spot and decided to head north toward a ditch lined with thick brushy cover.
Suddenly, the dog locked on, wagging his tail as he caught the scent. We followed him through briars and low cedar branches, and there he was, buried deep in cover.
The buck scored 19 points, grossing 180 5/8” non-typical, my biggest buck by far!
After analyzing the shot, I learned my arrow hit one lung on entry and exited near the intestines. Fat from the intestines plugged the exit wound, slowing the blood trail. Despite that, the Swhacker #261 broadhead did exactly what it was built to do; this giant only made it 80 yards before dropping.
That hunt was a rollercoaster of emotions and a reminder that patience, precision, and trusting your gear make all the difference in the field. Thanks to FL Outdoors for producing quality products I can rely on every time.
This wasn’t just a trophy; it was a testament to the power of preparation, perseverance, and a little bit of faith.