My son Matthew came to visit his old dad in Challis, Idaho for his first out-of-state hunting trip. He bought both elk and deer tags, hoping to bag some trophies like his dad’s. At age 24, Matthew stands 6’2” and weighs about 185 pounds. He is a handsome, younger version of his dad, Tracker, and he is as strong as an ox from his job as a finish carpenter, working out, and motocross racing.

     For his birthday, I had given him a 300 Winchester Mag Model 70, pre-64 with a variable scope, my favorite weapon which I have had since I was 17, and I wanted it to stay in the family. It has lots of experience and memories, but it still shoots straight as an arrow, and Matthew built up his confidence at the rifle range, shooting half inch groups with 10 shots.

     It was October 15, opening day of elk season. Before daylight, after a hearty breakfast, we headed off to Table Top Mountain, one of my favorite hangouts. I like it there because of the variety of the terrain and abundance of game; it’s easy hunting for an old timer like me because we can get to high ground to scout from the truck. Our timing was perfect, we arrived just before shooting light, and there was two inches of new snow, which meant every track we would see would be a new one. When we reached the end of the road, we parked the truck and headed off down a game trail.

     As we are hiking along the game trail, Matthew pointed out a track in the snow. “Dad, is that an elk?”

     “Holy Hannah!” I replied. “That’s the biggest mule deer track I have ever seen in my life!” It had to be eight inches long from the tip of the toe to its due claw.

     “Dad, are you sure that isn’t an elk track?”

     “Son, they don’t call me Tracker for nothin’, and I’m telling you that’s a deer track.”

     “OK, Dad, what do we do now?”

     We decided to alter our course. We were not going after elk anymore as planned. We’re going mule deer hunting. Knowing the terrain very well, I took the lead and decided we’d track him down, right to his bed. The wind was in our favor, and the snow helped muffle our steps.

     It seemed as if we were tracking for hours. It was almost ten o’clock, and I needed to stop to take care of business. I ducked into a grove of trees. While squatting with my drawers around my ankles and my gun leaning against a tree, I could hear a buck snort. What bad timing! Then all of a sudden, I heard “KABOOM! KABOOM! KABOOM!”

     “I got him, dad!”

     I stumbled out of the trees trying to get my gun to my shoulder in case Matt needed back up. Matt ran over to me, panting. “I got him, dad, I got him! And he’s a big one, a real big one! You won’t believe what a monster he is, dad! I knocked him down on the third shot, and then he ran over the hill.”

     I didn’t want to burst his bubble, but it was probably some four pointer that grew in his excitement. I responded, “OK, son, calm down. We have to find him now. It’s probably a good idea to wait a few minutes to let him bleed out before we track him down. It will be easy in the fresh snow.”

     Matthew did not want to sit still. He wanted to get him now. But I explained that if we moved too quickly, before the buck died, he might have enough strength to run far enough away that we would never find him.

     While we sat waiting, Matthew explained what had happened in my absence. He said, “A minute after you went behind the tree, I heard a buck snort. At first I thought it was you, but it was coming from the wrong direction. This giant buck walked out from behind a tree with a non-typical rack about 45 inches wide and double drops. He looked straight at me. I thought I had him on the first shot, but I forgot to put one in the chamber. I pulled the trigger and all I heard was a click. The buck heard it, too and then he started running. I blew my broadside shot. As he crossed the clearing I had enough time to fire three shots and just before he went out of sight at timber line, he looked back over his shoulder at me, giving me another chance. I think he was saying, ‘Good bye. I got away.’ That was all the time I needed to get off a good shot, and I knocked him down. I wish you had seen it, dad. It was great!”

     Through my binoculars, I could see where the buck had fallen and the blood on the snow covered ground. I knew Matt had hit pay dirt. The buck had doubled back behind us. He was now heading down the trail the way we had come.

     I checked my watch and decided enough time had passed that we could pursue Matt’s trophy. The blood trail in the snow made it very easy to follow the buck’s path. We didn’t even have to go 300 yards from the edge of the timber line, and there he was lying in the snow. By the size of his antlers, at first glance, I was amazed. It wasn’t a four point, after all. It had at least 17 points on each side and double drops. I was thrilled, but, at the same time, disappointed that I didn’t get to see Matthew shoot it.

     “Great shot, son, right through the shoulders. I can’t believe that 180 grain bullet didn’t drop him in his tracks. He must weigh 350 pounds. That’s the biggest deer I have ever seen in my life on the hoof. I will be really proud to display this in my museum.”

     “Display him! It’s my trophy! He’s going home with me! You can come and visit him any time you want, dad, but he is going on my wall! Wait until I show Grandpa!”

     “OK! OK! OK! You’re right, son, but don’t forget who did the tracking for you.”