“I hate cows!” That’s the nice version of the profound statement I made to my husband after two cows ran the buck I was watching out of the field and out of my view. I had every intention of shooting that buck and knew that it would be only a matter of minutes before he followed the four does which were already within my shooting range. However, when he stopped to work a licking
branch, the cows just couldn’t resist the opportunity to show him who was bigger. The cows won and the last I saw of the nice buck, was a flash of his antlers as he flew across a fence and down the hill. I was heartbroken, angry, and disappointed. It was the first day of Arkansas’ muzzleloader season and I had high hopes of serving fresh backstrap later that night to my family. My husband Tommy tried to smooth things over , telling me, “You’ll kill one tomorrow.”
“Yeah, right.” I thought. The following morning was dreary and cold. I seriously considered just staying in bed but knew Tommy would be disappointed if I didn‘t join him in the woods, so I drug myself out of bed, wishing for a few more hours of sleep.
Upon arriving at my fiberglass shooting house, I again wished I had remained at home in my warm bed. It didn’t look like a very promising day for hunting whitetails or anything else for that matter. The fog was heavy and everything was wet. Visibility was going to be an issue. I snuggled down in my Heater Body Suit and decided to catnap until daylight or the fog lifted. Leaning back in my chair I closed my eyes and yearned for sleep. Every so often I would lean forward and glance out of the tinted windows looking for the first sign of daylight. At 7:00 a.m. I decided to lower my south window for a better look. There was still fog and lots of it… However… there was also a nice buck standing only a few yards from my stand.
To say I nearly had a panic attack would be an understatement. “Dang!” I said to myself. I watched as the 8 point proceeded to walk downhill away from my blind, as I grabbed the binoculars. “No!” I heard myself whisper. About that time, I spotted another deer some distance to the buck’s right. It was a doe and apparently she had this buck’s attention. She was enjoying the early morning, taking her time browsing in the dense fog. I watched as the shadowy figure of the buck returned to the doe’s side and back into shooting possibilities. I found the buck in my binoculars and hoped that I would be able to find him in my scope as well in the fog. Raising my muzzleloader to the window, I searched for the antlered creature. Nothing. “Dang!” I heard 
myself whisper again. I reached for the dial on my scope and realized it was cranked all the way up. Turning the dial quickly, the buck came into view. Hope returned and I found myself clicking off the safety.
I almost jerked the trigger. “Stop that!” I told myself. I was shaking uncontrollably by this time. “Take your time. Breathe. Get a good rest. Aim carefully and squeeze the trigger.” With my crosshairs behind the big boy’s shoulder I squeezed the trigger. Then there was silence. I saw nothing but white smoke. I heard no running, no crashing, no limbs breaking... all the things I normally listen for. It was silent and there was no buck laying on the ground. Did I even hit him?
My cellphone vibrating brought me back to reality. I knew it would be Tommy who was hunting not far away. “That had better been you!” I heard him say. “I’m not even sure I hit him,” I told Tommy. “I’m coming,” was his reply. It wasn’t long before Tommy appeared at my blind and together we went in search for blood. Tommy found the first sign… two drops of blood. Seeing no more blood in the immediate area, we guessed at the direction of the buck’s travel and took off on foot in pursuit of the whitetail, with no luck and no more blood.
Deciding that maybe we were searching in the wrong direction, I headed back to the area where we’d found the first blood, making a large circle. Before I reached it though, I came across blood… and lots of it. He had gone West instead of South. I called Tommy on h
is cellphone and gave him directions to my location. When he arrived I showed him my find. “Interesting… he’s either bleeding out both sides, or we have two blood trails,” I told Tommy. Studying the blood, Tommy replied, “That’s heart blood and he’s bleeding good.”
80 yards from where I shot the buck, we found him and emotion overtook us both. He was absolutely beautiful. We hugged, we cried, and we thanked God for this beautiful creature which would feed our family for several days. We wasn’t a monster buck, won’t win any awards for biggest buck killed this season, and definitely won’t break any records, but he’s a dandy in my book. What a wonderful way to start a beautiful day, hunting whitetails in the mist.