Anyone who has ever lost a loved one knows these feelings...First comes intense grief, followed by longing/remorse and the thoughts of "what could I have done", immediately removed by deep bowelled anger, which over time subsides into acceptance. The four phases of losing and death.

Friday afternoon ~4:30 pm, legal shooting limit, I have a 150 class long-tined 8 point with 3 or 4 small stickers in my peep sight at 18 yards. The green 20 yard pin is set 3 inches behind the shoulder, right at the heart. I had watched this monster troll a doe for over 30 minutes, eventually walking into the best shooting lane from this stand. He had warded off two other bucks, and I had lost the deer count at 15...

"Have to aim a little low, at the heart, in case he ducks the string..."

I pick out a small dark blotch of fur, no more than the size of a half-dollar...I release, and immediately see that he ducks the string.
I watch as he runs, and see the arrow protruding high up, but back from the shoulder. It appears that at least 10 inches of shaft are buried in the beast, and I'm thinking about holding the monster in my hands within an hour.

I need to wait until 5:30 to climb down, counting 5 bucks running does around my stand...the dominant buck has just run off, time for the younger studs to get their fill.

Tracking has always been "my art, my job". Friends and family call me first when they have a tough tracking job...this is what I do best. Following his path of flight, 65 yards from the shot sight I pick up the broken 2314 shaft, approximately 8 inches shorter than the others in my quiver---8 inches of penetration, or so I thought. A few feet more and I've got blood. The trail is sparse, and it's dark, but the mini-Mag and the size of the deer are my best friends at this point.

I was taught that the best tracker doesn't track by blood, but by tracks and the other "little" nuances, such as overturned leaves, broken/bent limbs and pieces of hair. The blood is a mere bonus in the giant equation.

He jumped a stone wall, and lost a cup of blood. Unfortunately, on the other side of the wall was another piece of arrow shaft, approximately 4.5 inches long---only 3.5 inches of penetration---not good. I followed the trail for another 2 hours on Friday, giving up until Saturday morning due to "spot seeing".

Saturday revealed nothing better, a scant trail for another 75 yards, followed by a non-blood trail to a bed. At this point, he had ran 500 yards, crossed 4 stone walls and a small stream. NO blood in the bed, with fresh pellets. His tracks led me another 50 yards to a crossing, at which point I followed both trails, in the rain, for another 500 yards, with no more sign.

The big one had gotten away. Visualizing the shot, the tracking job of over 3500 feet, the size of the animal with the amount of penetration, I'm certain he's now back to trolling does. I hit the bermuda's triangle of the anatomy---just behind the shoulder, just under the spine, and just above the pleural cavity. And inch lower, and I nick one lung and pierce the other. And inch higher, and he drops in his tracks with a spine hit. I hit the vertebral branching of the ribs, and even the "bad-to-the-bone" Muzzy couldn't penetrate this 200+ pound monster's armor.

Lamenting most of the day on Saturday, feeling like a wounded piece of dog ****, my wife understands that I don't feel like doing much. I recall everything, and tell her I wouldn't do anything different. Even went and shot from my stand, still splitting nocks at 20 yards...

She smiles at me and says, "honey, can't you just chalk this one up to '**** happens'?"

I frown and start to say "no", but realize that yes, she is right. In almost 16 years of hunting, I have never lost one. Not a turkey, not a deer, not a predator. I just sat there and shook my head, looked up at her, and said "yeah, but why did it have to be this time? This was the one trophy animal that I would have finally mounted, would have put on the wall..."

And my wife, the thorn in all (or most) of our sides, the same person who earlier in the week had called me psychotic about huntiing, just smiled and replied, "why not this one? You did everything right, you wouldn't change anything, and you're positive he's still alive...doesn't sound like anything too bad to me honey...maybe someone a little bigger than you has better plans for that deer, huh?! Now, you going out this afternoon or can we take the kid to the mall?"

After an afternoon and a non-Sunday with the family, I'll be back out there this afternoon, hoping I see this monster again before January 01.

And THAT guys, is why we all have wives...

S&R