November 4 was a cool, frosty morning in Area 34 at Fort Knox, Kentucky. I settled into my stand hoping for a good hunt, unaware that it would become a morning I would never forget.
Before daylight, two bucks started fighting about 30 yards away. Their antlers clashed while trees and branches cracked around them. I couldn’t see anything, but the noise had my adrenaline pumping.
When daylight arrived, the woods grew quiet. Squirrels played nearby, and a couple of does fed beneath an oak. Then I noticed movement behind me.
About 50 yards away, the biggest buck I had ever seen was slipping through the timber. My heart pounded as I slowly reached for my bow.
When he passed behind a big oak at roughly 30 yards, I drew my Mathews MQ1 and waited for him to enter the opening I had picked.
At about 22 steps, I released my XX75 arrow. Everything happened so quickly that I never saw exactly where it hit, but I heard that unmistakable thump.
The buck ran about ten fast steps, stopped, and began stumbling. Within a couple of minutes, he was down. Despite wanting to climb down immediately, I waited another hour to be sure.
After we got him out and had him scored, he measured 132 2/8 inches. Maybe he wasn’t a monster by everyone’s standards, but he was my best buck at the time, and I couldn’t have been prouder.
We hunted Area 34 successfully for years. Some reflective tape hunters noticed on nearby trees and branches might have been ours.
Looking at this picture brings back the frost, the crashing antlers before daylight, and the excitement of that unforgettable encounter. That Fort Knox buck gave me more than a trophy; he gave me a memory I will always treasure.