Hunting late season in Iowa isn’t for the faint of heart. The temperatures drop, the winds bite, and the deer grow wary after months of pressure. But this year, the cold didn’t deter me. I was after a legend – the oldest buck on the farm, a ghostly giant that had eluded hunters for years.
Trail cameras had captured glimpses of him throughout the season. His body was heavy, his face gray with age, and his antlers were massive yet gnarled from years of battles. We estimated him to be at least 8 years old, a true monarch of the woods. He was smart, cautious, and only moved after dark. But with the late season cold front rolling in, I knew his need to feed would get the best of him.
I set up overlooking a picked cornfield bordered by dense timber. The wind was perfect, and the snow on the ground made visibility ideal. As the evening shadows stretched across the field, deer began to appear, cautiously emerging from the tree line to feed on the leftover corn. I scanned each one, my heart racing with anticipation.
Then, just as the sun dipped below the horizon, he appeared. He moved slowly, his body powerful and his posture dominant. Even among the younger bucks, he commanded respect. He stood at the edge of the timber, scanning the field before stepping out. It was him – the oldest deer on the farm.
My bow was ready, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it. He was at 40 yards, broadside, the snow glowing softly around him. I drew back my bow, anchored, and steadied my aim. The shot felt perfect, the arrow flying true and striking him behind the shoulder.
He bolted, his powerful legs churning snow as he ran back into the woods. I watched him disappear, my hands shaking from the rush of adrenaline. After giving him time, I followed the blood trail, crisp and clear against the snow. He didn’t go far. Just inside the timber, he lay peacefully beneath a towering oak, his massive body still and his antlers rising like ancient branches.
Kneeling beside him, I was filled with respect and awe. This wasn’t just any buck – this was the oldest deer on the farm, a legend whose story was now part of mine. The late season had delivered, and I felt honored to have experienced the final chapter of such a majestic animal.
