Mountain Top Buck
By Thomas K. Remington

Tom Remington is an outdoor writer, published author and managing editor for U.S. Hunting Today.

 

Moving slowly through the mixed hard and softwood forest, I occasionally passed a bog hole or two. The woods in Maine can be unpredictable and this area around hunting camp was not only unpredictable but at times was confusing and downright scary. I often times avoided those areas even knowing that’s probably where the big guys hung out.

I knew where I wanted to go but the big question was, could I get there. In my younger days the thoughts of time and distance were mired somewhere deep in my brain but now with “age creeping up on me”, as the saying goes and a back that can leave me non-functional, it was directly in the forefront of my thought processes.
 

Sliding between the beech whips I tormented over how high up on the side of the mountain I wanted to go. I had been in this area many times before. Several years ago on a day very similar to this particular day, I spotted a mother black bear and her two cubs moving in slow fashion uphill, more than likely headed up into the ledges. The two cubs played for what seemed an eternity. Not wanting to rile anybody up, I sat very still and just observed but you can be sure my right index finger wasn’t too far from the trigger of my .308 – just in case.

I was tiring quickly and had decided that I was going to cut my journey shorter than planned and at the first opportunity I was going to head downhill, hit the big log landing near the big beaver pond and head for camp.

That’s when it happened. From out of nowhere, a big buck busted out through the beech whip thicket and was gone – just like that. The woods and the deer bested me one more time. If I was keeping score……well, I’m glad I’m not.

It took me only a few minutes to learn where this big fella was headed – high up on top of the mountain, a place I wasn’t willing or physically able to make the trek up. It was back to camp for me. Time for a rest, some nourishment and to regroup.

 

Left to right, Gregg Inman, Gary Inman, Dennis Doyon - showing us his IQ - and me. - Photo by Milt Inman.

Back at camp, we shared war stories. This is often the process we go through to determine what the plan of attack will be after lunch. I guess it’s one of those, best story wins the right to make the plan.

I’m not much of a planner when it comes to laying out hunting strategies. I’m a pretty good theorizer based on hunting knowledge and past experiences, so I can “guess” what I think a deer will do under certain circumstances.

Looking back at the buck I’d jumped that morning, I knew if I didn’t pursue him, he would more than likely head for the top of the mountain and hide out in the black-growth thickets.

Everyone offered a plan or added to an existing one and before long all members were headed someplace. It seemed that one way or another, Peabody Mountain was going to see some hunting activity.

I wasn’t interested in hiking up the south side of the mountain. I’d done that before and even though it’s the shortest route up to the top, it’s quite steep.

Camp came equipped this fall with two ATVs. Gregg and I decided we would each take a vehicle and drive to the cabin located near the south end of the mountain. We had permission from the owners of the cabin and the land to get there. This would put us within a few hundred yards of the top.

Dennis and Gary were assaulting the steep face I had refused to hike. But they are more up to the task. Both are a bit younger than I. I’ve also traveled with them in the woods before. Dennis towers around 6-foot and 7-inches and Gary is probably 6-foot and 3 or 4-inches. I stride 3 times to their one.

 

Once we met up with the weary "draggers", the deer was loaded onto an awaiting ATV for the journey back to camp. - Photo by Milt Inman

Once we reached the top Gregg headed down a hiking trail that leads to the far end of the mountain. The top is shaped like a dogleg and if you aren’t paying attention it’s easy to find yourself heading off the backside of the mountain thinking your heading down the front. Trust me when I say you don’t want to wander off the backside very far without a good compass, a lot of ambition and time on your hands.

I admit I was tired from the morning hunt and didn’t have the energy to strike off too far too fast. As I ambled along, I was refreshing my mind of the area and terrain and painting a picture how Dennis and Gary would be coming up over from the other side. I calculated where I wanted to take up a stand at least until I knew they had reached the summit.

I found a nice rock, opened my little padded seat hanging from the rear of my pants and sat down where I could scan a very large ravine. This ravine was the only way up over the top on that end of the mountain. I thought it would be a good place to hang out.

It was a good spot but not good enough on this day. I hadn’t been sitting more than 20 minutes when I heard a gun shot. Within 5 seconds I heard two more shots quite closely together.

I gathered the shots came from where Dennis and Gary were. Dennis was hunting with a muzzleloader. Even though he was using speed loaders, I knew he couldn’t reload that quickly. Gary was carrying a Ruger Super Blackhawk .44 magnum single action revolver. This very likely was him, I figured.

I remained where I was because I still believed it was a strategic place to be. It wasn’t too long before Dennis caught up with Gary and shortly thereafter Gregg was there ready to offer assistance.

Gary began tracking the blood trail. The deer only traveled about 150 yards to where Gary found him dead. It was beginning to get dark and we were on top of the mountain.

They all put their heads together while I remained near where I had sat that afternoon waiting for a call on the radio. Finally the call came. They were going to drag the deer down over the far end of the mountain, cross a beaver dam and come out near a trail that enters from a logging road. I contacted Travis, one of our camp hunters who wasn’t too far from me at that time and he and I drove the ATVs back to camp. Our instructions were to bring rope and flashlights, along with as much help as we could and drive the ATVs up the logging road to a specified place. Once there, I was to call them on the radio for further directions.

 

Gary being congratulated by camp friend and local game warden Norm Lewis - Photo by Milt Inman

Once Travis and I reached camp, it was dark. Hunters were still out. As we gathered gear as instructed, good friend and local game warden Norm stopped in to see what kind of success we were having. It was mid-week and time for a check.

He was excited to hear the news and eagerly assisted us in helping get the deer out of the woods. It was a long drag the direction they took and not an easy one by any stretch. It was after 8 p.m. by the time we got back to camp with the deer.

This wasn’t Gary’s first deer by any means but it was his biggest, weighing in at 190 pounds and sporting a nice rack of nine points. It was for sure the first deer he had taken with a pistol.

As I said, he was shooting a Ruger Super Blackhawk, single action revolver with open sites. His load was 240-grain soft-point reloads. He estimates the deer was 40 yards away.

When I decided to write this story, I e-mailed Gary to get some specifics so I’d make sure some of the finer details was accurate. He e-mailed me back so instead of rewording what he wrote, I have decided to print exactly his e-mail to me.

“Here it is as I remember...........

As I was approaching the crest of Peabody Mountain, I thought I heard something walking above me. I stopped and it stopped. There were many squirrels in this area making noise in the leaves. So having a wicked urge come over me at that moment seemed to offer a chance to test the unknown critter above. I dribbled a little here, a dribble there and before I knew it the sound of a walking animal started again. I took two quiet steps up onto a hummock of moss and there appeared a set of white antlers in a very open slot ahead. I must have raised and cocked my pistol by magic, for when the buck took that next step into the open my gun had fired. As the deer jumped I fired two more shots as taught by some old veterans to take advantage of a possible miss. Well, the first shot did the trick. The 190-pound, nine pointer folded up within one hundred fifty yards. Then in time the "Gut master" arrived and the drag out began.”

I wanted to make sure I got the account exactly how it happened when he opted to relieve himself.