Inches from full draw, the hunter was stunned to see the big bruiser head for the hills. Would he ever see him again?

The hunt for the buck my hunting buddies and I dubbed “Big Nasty” started a year ago, when I had seen what looked like a 10-point buck at my bowhunting lease in South Texas. The first time I saw this buck, I wasn’t sure what to make of him. He had a really beautiful rack on the left side, but the right side wasn’t quite developed. We guessed the deer had experienced some sort of injury during the growing season. Yet despite the weaknesses on the right side, we believed the deer to be close to 22 inches wide and possibly have 10 points, hence the name, “Big Nasty”—he was big on one side and nasty on the other. I never had a shooting opportunity at “Big Nasty,” but two other hunting friends had seen the deer and decided to pass in hopes that the next year his rack would be fully developed.

After an unusually wet spring in 2007, we all had hopes of a phenomenal season for antler growth and great expectations for “Big Nasty.” The season began early, with multiple trips to the ranch in late spring to set up feeders and trail cameras. There was no luck, however, throughout the summer in seeing the oddly antlered buck, but other photos of young bucks with nice headgear seemed promising. After long hours in the field and many questions from my wife about why I was spending so much time chasing deer, I finally got the picture I was after. Front and center, there was “Big Nasty” in a picture taken from my trail cam in mid-November. My heart pounded with excitement, seeing the photograph of this big, heavy, wide-horned Pope & Young (P&Y) prospect.

With great anticipation I began my quest, spending countless hours sitting in my hand-built treestand. The stand was perched in an old oak tree near a trail I believed “Big Nasty” was using. Something just told me his home was nearby and he would stay close.

I finally got my opportunity at him one cool, early morning, when I heard cautious, hesitant footsteps approaching my stand. The stealth-like hoofbeats of a deer definitely caught my attention, and I turned my head in the sound’s direction, finally seeing the deer I coveted. My heart began to race uncontrollably, and I actually had to look away to control my overwhelming anticipation of getting the shot opportunity I had been waiting so long for.

As the brute entered into my shooting lane, I knew this was it. I raised my bow and began to draw, and that’s when the unfortunate happened. “Big Nasty” looked right at me, his wide rack at 14 yards looking like a satellite dish pointed at me. I eased my bowstring back down, praying not to alarm him. After a few seconds the deer relaxed and began to eat and I was able to come to full draw on him, but just as I did, he blasted into the brush like lighting at my slight movement. A dreadful feeling came over my body, one that went from sheer excitement to huge disappointment, with the buck’s premature departure. I had just blown the opportunity of a lifetime, and a thousand questions ran through my head. Would he return? Would I get another chance? Should I have waited longer for him to settle in? What did I do wrong? Why am I not tracking this deer right now?

I’ve always known that anything worth having takes lots of time and patience, so I did not give up on this magnificent deer. I decided to let the area rest one day before I returned, attending a high school sporting event with my buddy Ernest Treviño to get my mind off the buck, but it was no use. After much conversation he mostly convinced me the buck was probably two counties over and probably with the arrow from some other hunter sticking out of him. But deep down I didn’t want to believe that, so that night I told Ernest I would be at his house the next day with my trophy and that he had better get his camera ready.

The weather had turned cold and rainy when I returned to the hunting area, something I hadn’t expect. As I sat in the cold, wet, wooded stand 30 minutes before daylight, I asked myself how I would handle the situation if “Big Nasty” decided to return, issuing many heartfelt prayers that he would due just that. Ten minutes before daylight, I saw the figure of a large deer approaching my stand. Could this be him? It just had to be.

I watched the large-bodied deer move in closer, then quickly realized he was looking directly at me. This was definitely my deer, I could just tell by his demeanor—and I knew I would have to remain perfectly still to convince him it was safe to enter. This would not be an easy task, with my heart pounding like a jackhammer through my layers of camo.

How long will I have to watch him? When will my heart slow down? These were the questions that raced through my head. I knew it could not possibly be good for my body or my heart for it to be beating that hard for that long, but after 20 minutes of pure adrenaline coursing through me, I was still alive, and “Big Nasty” finally relaxed and gave me the angle and shot opportunity I needed.

I came to full draw without the buck becoming aware and tucked my 15-yard pin tight behind his elbow. A split second later I heard the crack of my arrow penetrating his rib cage. As if Brett Favre had just thrown another winning touchdown pass, I raised my arms in victory, my “Lombardi Trophy” just moments away from being in my hands.

After the required waiting period, which seemed like an eternity, Dwight and Ross Nieschwitz and I tracked the deer to its final resting place not far from where the excitement had started. He measured out at 158 P&Y, had 11 countable points with a 23-inch outside spread, and won the bow division of the local deer contest. And that’s when it finally struck me, what all those long hours and years of practicing had been for—an opportunity to take a buck like this, a buck like “Big Nasty.”