Eight years ago my best friend Makayla Cobb and I drove deep into the woods to hunt on her family’s 100-acre forested plot. It’s a gorgeous ridge covered in hardwood trees and a sheltered cedar swamp lies below. We sat in different spots and shortly after 8 a.m., a shot rang out off to my left.
Makayla had climbed up into an old oak tree and shot her first buck. It was a nice 8-pointer that she caught chasing does under the oak. While we were celebrating, she told me how she and her father had put up wooden rungs on the old oak tree when she was just a little girl.
The old oak was special to both of us now and whenever we returned to the mountain, we often found ourselves back in that same spot.
Flash forward eight years almost to the day and I would find myself sitting against a small tree, just a few yards from the old oak. I didn’t trust the old wooden rungs, so sitting on the ground would have to suffice.
It was my first time hunting the mountain this season and I was excited to be sitting in one of my favorite spots. I chose the mountain that morning because the wind was in my favor and the rain would quiet my steps as I crept through the leaves to find my spot. The silhouette of the old oak comforted me as I sat in the darkness before legal shooting time.
I had a good feeling and something told me to be ready and to stay alert.
When the clock passed legal time, I waited just a minute or two more before calling. The forest was still quite dark, and I wanted to make sure I could see. Around 6:03 a.m. I let out three doe bleats from my little green can. The sound seemed to be lost in the constant pitter patter of raindrops.
I sat with my knees up, rifle ready and snug in my shoulder. Barely 10 minutes had passed when I heard a weighted step off to my right. Then, I heard a stick break and could see a dark figure coming through the mist.
The deer was about 15 yards away as it walked across from right to left in front of me. I could see a bit of yellow hovering above its head, following along with it as it moved. It was a buck. And not just a spike.
I couldn’t see how big it was, but I knew it was something worth shooting. I gripped my rifle and got ready. The buck passed behind the old oak tree and when it stepped out in front of me, I let out a soft “meh.”
It stopped and looked right at me. I quickly took aim. My scope was foggy and I could just barely see its face and the glow of antler. I moved the crosshairs down its body and hovered over the crease on its shoulder. I squeezed the trigger and shot.
The forest exploded with sound and the buck jumped up and kicked like a mule. It tore off down the mountain and I stood up to watch it go. I listened and just a few moments later, I heard it crash into the brush.
I stood there in shock. From the time I had first seen the deer to when I shot was barely 10 seconds. But it was just enough time to identify my target and make a solid shot.
I began to sob, overcome with happiness, excitement, relief and perhaps a little sadness that I wasn’t with my best friend. I called her. Three times. And no answer. I think I’ll give her a hard time about that for the rest of my life. After all, we all know what an early morning or late evening phone call means during November.
My mom Christine White answered her phone right off. “Guess what?!” I said. “Did you get a deer?” she responded. I told her I’d shot one, but I had to find it. I also told her to go to my friend’s house, wake her up and tell her “Haleigh shot a buck under your tree on the mountain.” She would know exactly where I was.
I waited about 20 minutes, although it felt like an eternity. I walked to where the buck had been standing when I shot and although there was no blood, a very clear trail of kicked up leaves led downhill. Soon, there were splatters of bright red blood. I knew I had smoked it but seeing good blood is always such a relief.
I continued down the hill and then I saw the deer. It had only gone about 40 yards. I could see a white belly, legs and the head was tucked under some brush. When I got a little closer, I could see a big, palmed beam with a split G2 (secondary tines) rack. My heart started pounding even more.
I was already on cloud 9 because I had a buck down, but when I pulled its head up and started to count the points, I couldn’t believe it. A 14-point brute lay at my feet.
Both brow tines and G2s were split, and the big thick beams full of unique character. I looked over the body and realized, not only was its rack impressive, but it’s the biggest deer I had ever seen. Its neck and chest were enormous, and it was so long.
I called my mom back and when she answered I said, “I found him! And mom, he’s a tank!” I was overwhelmed with happiness. My cheeks still hurt from how hard I was smiling. She told me that she and Makayla were on their way with help.
I set my gun down and sat with the buck for a long time. I am always so grateful for any animal that I harvest, and this one was a dream come true.
I admired the buck for a long time, just shaking my head in shock. I have never been so overcome with happiness and such a strong sense of accomplishment. It was gorgeous, and I was so happy that it was a quick clean shot, and the deer didn’t go far. It was perfect.
After taking some pictures and calling friends, I covered the animal with my orange vest and met the recovery crew back at my truck. I excitedly retold the story as we walked back to the buck, and when it came into view, we all stopped and stood in amazement.
I field-dressed the buck and we hauled it uphill about 100 yards, somehow heaving it into the back of the truck. It was certainly a tailgate down kind of deer.
My whole body was buzzing with adrenaline, as Makayla and I drove to the tagging station in my hometown. People started to congratulate me and even the Budweiser semi-truck pulled over to have a gander at the buck. Once it was tagged, we headed north to the Waite General store to get the animal weighed. As it was slowly hoisted into the air, it hit me as to how big it really was. The red numbers on the scale climbed higher and higher until they finally settled.
He weighed 226 pounds. He was the heaviest buck weighed there so far this season, and I was beaming from ear to ear. We filled out the patch paperwork and left to go show him off. We spent the next few hours driving him around town, visiting friends and family.
It wasn’t a terribly cool day, so I knew I had limited time with him. My phone was going nuts with notifications and incoming messages because the buck was the talk of the town.
But we had to get the buck into the cooler. We took a few photos, skinned it and got it ready to hang. I butchered it myself over the next two days and dropped the rack off at the taxidermist’s.
I am a first-generation hunter, and this buck was only my second with a rifle. I am beyond proud of myself and so grateful to the land and the people who helped me, including Adrian Arsenault who helped drag out the buck, Makayla and her family for letting me hunt that magical place and my mom for always supporting me.
Haleigh White lives in Princeton and is the recreational safety coordinator for Washington County for the Maine Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife.
