He'd finally, after years of searching found, found "Big Boy." Could his daughter top that one?

Working as a pediatric nurse practitioner, I often smile when I walk into an examination room and find a father who’s brought in his son for a medical issue, especially if I see a camouflage hat. That’s my cue to break up the tension of whatever situation has befallen them and bring up deer hunting. It works like a charm—after discussing the physical characteristics of a mature whitetail or the ballistics of my 7mm-08, the looks on their faces are always priceless, and the mishap, at least temporarily, forgotten.

That kind of conversation is easy for me, and I think that’s why it works on my patients. I am the middle daughter of three to an avid outdoorsman, and, as such, I spent much of my childhood hunting and fishing with my dad. By the age of nine, I had memorized the “10 Commandments” of gun safety and started deer hunting with him frequently in South Texas.

Although there are many memorable hunts from the last 15 years that will be eternally etched in my mind, none will rival that from the magical 2007-’08 season. Because of the horrible drought the year before, we had let all our trophy bucks go, even though some were old enough to take out of the herd. Knowing many good bucks existed on our property, and with the unbelievable rainfall we experienced in the spring of 2007, I knew that the season had real potential to be special.

My dad was determined to spend his time hunting hard for one particular buck, a deer he’d nicknamed “Big Boy.” That buck was known to be a pretty shy fellow. With the exception of a single sighting of him during the very first year of the helicopter survey we ran, “Big Boy” was never seen from the air—and this despite my dad and Macy Ledbetter, our wildlife biologist, taking the time to specifically try to find him. Except for a fleeting glance during rut, or a nighttime trail cam picture, “Big Boy” didn’t even really seem to exist. We did have sheds, though, as we did for most of the bucks that we also had on the videos that show them growing up over the years. We find that the sheds and the videos are great assets in determining the ages of specific bucks, as well as their habits. Based on finding three years worth of “Big Boy’s” sheds, my dad had the buck’s area down to about 300 acres.

Rotating between three different blinds as the season progressed, my dad finally crossed paths with the buck he wanted just as daylight came one Friday morning. He released an arrow from his Mathews bow, and the years-long hunt for “Big Boy” came to a close.

Now, I had given my dad a hard time about not shooting this buck earlier in the season when he’d had the perfect opportunity to place an arrow in him and just couldn’t close the deal—I think he’d become a little sentimental in his old age! So when I arrived at the lease that night, Dad casually mentioned that I should take a peek inside the walk-in. There I saw “Big Boy,” who had certainly lived up to his name. Indeed, he was bigger than I had imagined, sporting 27-inch main beams. At a well-matured 71⁄2 years, he was gorgeous.
After congratulating the ol’ “Double Nickel” (Dad is getting borderline “post-mature” at 55), I asked him where my trophy was and where we were going to hunt the next morning. I had been hunting for a month or two at this point, and I had seen some bucks that I really liked, but Dad kept redirecting me to one in particular. Dad looked at me and coyly suggested blind No. 2 and said that he thought he would tag along for some father-daughter “bonding!”

Bonding—ha! The real reason he wanted to come was that he had seen and videoed a mature monster buck there. This was the same buck that we had videoed the previous year embattled in a marathon fight in which he had destroyed an older and bigger buck.

Once my dad ’fessed up to what he’d seen at the blind, the next morning could not come fast enough. Eventually, as they all do, morning did show up, and Dad and I headed off towards blind No. 2. This blind is set up in a great spot, but it’s a one-man blind, and not really big enough for both of us and all our equipment. Nonetheless, we crammed in—I think this took the “bonding” experience to a whole new level. Luckily, neither one of us had to wait long to find out how much of this togetherness we could tolerate comfortably.
As daylight broke and the deer around us began to come into focus, I just could not believe my eyes. Walking down the sendero about 200 yards out and coming right at us was the buck from last year’s fight. I punched my dad in the shoulder and told him to look out the window. I swear I actually saw his eyes get bigger behind the binocular.

“He’s all yours!” he whispered to me, and then grabbed the video camera.
For the next five minutes we sat in silence, while I went into a routine of focusing and working to remain calm that I had practiced many times before. And after making sure the buck was clear of all the other deer and perfectly broadsided, I carefully squeezed the trigger.

My heart was pounding! I sat back in my seat, not quite believing that I had just shot the biggest deer of my life and that my dad got to be there with me. What an amazing experience, and I now have a memory I will carry with me my entire life!

This one made me think back on all the hunts, all the memories, that had taken place with my dad. As I opened up the action on my rifle and we prepared to get out of the blind, I told my dad that I had probably just killed the biggest buck I would ever take with a rifle. He laughed and said, “You know, you’re probably right,” and as I handed him my gun, I looked at him and told him that I thought it was time to take up bowhunting, like him! Yes, the learning curve has started again, and my dad’s bow blinds just got a little more crowded. But I doubt he’ll mind.