The One That Came Back: A Story of a Wounded Buck That Gave Me a Second Chance

The One That Came Back: A Story of a Wounded Buck That Gave Me a Second Chance

We all carry the memory of a shot that didn’t land. Sometimes it’s an arrow that flies just wide. Sometimes it’s a deflection. And sometimes… it’s worse. Two years ago, I put a broadhead into a heavy-bodied 10-pointer I’d been tracking for weeks. I followed blood for 800 yards. Then nothing. I assumed he was lost. Maybe dead. Maybe recovered and relocated. But last season, on a frosty November morning, I saw something that stopped me cold: the same rack, same brow tine split, same limp. He had come back.

This is the story of the wounded buck that gave me a second chance—and what I did with it.

🦌 Year One: The Shot That Haunted Me

He stepped out at 32 yards on October 29, working a scrape line along the edge of a CRP strip. I was hunting from a hang-on stand in an oak transition corridor. The wind was marginal but steady.

I released the arrow. He jumped, kicked, and tore off into the brush. Blood was solid—bright, bubbly, well-splattered—for the first 200 yards. Then it turned to specks. Then nothing.

I searched for 2 days. Grid-searched the bedding ridge, ran cameras, and even brought in a buddy with a dog. No deer. No closure.

🎙️ “It’s a sick feeling. You train for clean kills. You expect closure. But sometimes the woods leave you with silence.”

🌱 Year Two: Ghost in the Corn

The buck disappeared that season. My cams lit up with new faces, young 8s and a slick 9. But the split-brow 10 never reappeared. I assumed coyotes found him. Or maybe he made it onto the neighbor’s wall.

Until November 3 of last year.

Trail cam pinged: 6:42AM. There he was—older, darker, heavier—and limping.

Same split brow. Same back kicker on the left G2. And a slight hitch in his front leg.

🎙️ “He looked rough. But strong. Like an old fighter who didn’t care about the crowd anymore.”

🍂 The Redemption Stand

I repositioned to a new setup 300 yards off the CRP, near a low saddle where bucks funnel toward evening food. I hung a saddle setup, watching wind thermals religiously. Cameras showed he worked that saddle every 3–4 nights.

On November 8, the wind turned SE—perfect for a crosswind sit. At 7:51AM, movement in the cedars caught my eye.

It was him.

He moved slowly but surely, nose to the ground, cruising low. At 21 yards, he turned to quarter away—exactly the angle I’d messed up two years prior.

I held. Focused on the exit. Loosed.

The arrow passed clean through. He mule-kicked, ran 40 yards, and crashed in sight.

🙏 The Walk-Up

When I laid my hands on him, I saw the scar—white and puckered—just behind the shoulder where my first arrow had hit. It had passed above the lungs, behind the scapula. Muscle hit. Painful. But survivable.

🎙️ “He’d carried the scar and come back stronger. I’d carried the memory—and came back wiser.”

🧠 What That Buck Taught Me

✔️ No deer owes you anything—but sometimes the woods give you a second chance anyway
✔️ Take the shot when it’s right, not just when it’s there
✔️ Be relentless—but respectful—in tracking wounded game
✔️ Don’t rush revenge on a mistake—earn your redemption
✔️ Cameras, patience, and wind trump regret—every time

🧰 Gear That Got It Done

He wasn’t the highest-scoring buck I’ve ever killed. But he’s the one I’ll never forget. Because he taught me that failure isn’t the end—if you stay present, persistent, and patient.

“I didn’t just kill a buck. I closed a chapter—with the same deer who helped me write it.”