By Cody Hawes

-- "Thanks, old man."

I wasn't talking to my father, but to the gray-muzzled buck that I had just harvested. As I knelt next to the massive and remarkable animal, I couldn't believe that my quest for it had ended.

Two years earlier, I'd noticed some wooden fence posts that were almost rubbed in two. I knew that only a hoss could do that much damage to them. During the next several weeks, however, I never saw a deer big enough to have reduced a fence post to a toothpick.

Photo: Cody Hawes, left, shared the experience with his buddy, Trevor. The author missed this buck the previous year with an open-sighted .30-30 lever-action. He was better prepared the following season, using a bolted .243 for the 320-yard shot.

The next season, I noticed fresh rubs along the same fence line. From the looks of it, they'd been visited frequently. Once again, the excitement came back to me.

During the last weekend of the 2004 hunting season, I was out doing some chores, checking the fence and such with my father, Lee, and our good friend, Mike. We called ourselves the three amigos, jokingly, all dressed to match in our blaze orange, in case we stumbled across a good buck.

We had just pulled into the edge of a field where a pasture, milo circle and CRP all met. Suddenly, a huge buck jumped up right under the front end of our old work truck. Caught off guard, I tried getting out the door of the 20-year-old Chevy. But by the time I got out, the deer was more than 100 yards away and on a dead run.

I was shooting a Winchester lever-action .30-30 with open sights. The magazine held seven rounds, and as I levered them through, one by one, each somehow missing its mark, I was astounded. When the hammer fell for the last time, I watched the dandy buck hightail it over a ridge. How could I have missed?

The sight of that monstrous whitetail had taken a toll on me from the beginning; buck fever was to blame.

Another hunting season had come and gone. I kept kicking myself for missing the big rascal and replayed that scene over and over in my mind. Any hunter who has missed a trophy buck can understand how I felt. I was going to have to wait another year for a chance to redeem myself.

The summer that followed was a long one. I couldn't wait for deer season. As the fall months neared, I noticed many bucks in velvet. Some were shooters, but none of them was the fence shredder.

Work kept me busy for the first half of the hunting season. My chance finally came during the last week.

On Dec. 10, I rolled out of bed around 9:30 and made the mile-and-a-half drive to my buddy Trevor's house. We both piled into my truck, rifles in tow, and orange on our backs. This time, I was carrying a bolt-action .243. I figured that it would be good out to at least 300 yards.

The first place we headed for was the spot where I had missed the big buck the previous year. We looked around for a while, but saw nothing. As we made our way down the trail, exiting the CRP that we were in, Trevor suddenly threw up his hand, pointing to my left.

"That is a huge buck!" he exclaimed.

He was right. The buck was a monster. Bypassing the binoculars that I had been using all season to size up the deer I saw, I went straight for my rifle. As I tried to get a good bead on it, the buck took off running. It went from 200 yards away to a quarter-mile pretty quickly. I watched the deer go over the hill, cross the road and veer back into my pasture on the other side.

Trevor and I made our way down the trail to the road, walking right past my pickup. As we made our way to the draw into which the buck had disappeared, I suddenly noticed a doe running up the hill just in front of me. And right behind her was the monster that had haunted my dreams for many nights. I raised my rifle and sighted down the barrell.

The gun went off, but the buck was still running, showing no sign of being hit. Now the buck was over 300 yards away and on a dead run. Once more, I drew a bead on him and pulled the trigger. After the resounding whump, the buck collapsed.

"I got him, I got him!" Trevor heard me yelling. It was a 320-yard shot, and Trevor and I made it across the pasture at an Olympian's pace. My heart was racing uncontrollably, and I had to stop at least once to catch my breath.

As we approached the magnificent animal, Trevor and I shook hands, knowing that I had finally bagged the deer I had been hunting since 2003.

After taking pictures and field-dressing the animal, we headed back to get the pickup. As we made our way back to the ranch headquarters, I couldn't help but look in the rearview mirror. All I could see was the buck's antlers towering over the bed of the truck.

I will always think of it as the buck that almost got away!

BTR Score: 164 2/8

 -- Cody Hawes