Issue link: http://www.e-digitaleditions.com/i/433799
S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S 1 3 9 at 140 yards, quartering sharply away as the crosshairs settle just ahead of his last rib, and I touch the trigger. He staggers, runs raggedly on, gushing blood onto the glistening snow, and collapses. One day and done. My buck, but for two broken tines, would be an eleven-pointer, a bruiser with a rut-swollen neck who won't score near so high as Mike's but is by far the biggest deer I've ever killed . . . or perhaps, ever will. Having Mike in the blind with me made it even better. It's dark by the time Tim and Cody meet us on the far slope, and we side-hill to where the buck is lying. Cody stops short, saying, "Here's blood," and turns sharply up following crimson tracks in the snow. Mike and I look at one another, knowing this sign is not from my deer, and conclude it was left by the big eight as he abandoned the field of battle. Apparently the broken brow tine was not the only damage he suffered in the fight. We convince Cody that my buck is lying farther along the slope, though instinct born of a lifetime of hunting makes it hard for him to abandon the trail. That night we drift on a quiet tide of satisfaction, tipping back a toddy, helping Cody cape our bucks. I state with firm resolve that I will hunt here in Goodrich with Tim and Cody every year for the rest of my life. Without looking up from his work, Cody shakes his head and says quietly, "No, you won't. We've sold the land. The new owners take possession after the first of the year. We'll still do geese and ducks and cranes, which is our main focus anyway, but no more deer, at least not here." Well, I'll be. We were fortunate to have hunted here over the years, we know that. There is still the feeling of something ended before it is finished, a tradition plucked from the vine before it ripened. My buck looks down from the wall as I write this, no Booner certainly, but a memory-laden treasure, nonetheless. My biggest ever. The author (left) got the ten-pointer he wanted. HIs son, Mike, shot one that was even bigger from the same piece of property. They killed the trophy deer just in time. Coteau Lodge Outfitters is ceasing deer operations on that particular piece of land.