The Chuck Little Buck

"Sketchy Buck" from Livingston County

As told by Chuck Little

It was late September when he casually walked by the first camera. Already seeing a few quality bucks and wondering which of them would call this area home. It didn’t take long for him to establish my back woods as his own. Over the next couple weeks several cameras captured his night time movements. He didn’t like the mock scrapes I created, but chose to make his own within 10 yards. In mid October he made a couple daylight appearances and knew our time was coming closer.

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Thursday October 19th - Back neighbor Paul sees him within shooting distance, but no clean shot is available. That information only shared after my harvest. Even the closest of neighbors don’t share information when it comes to quality whitetail bucks.

Saturday, October 21st (my birthday) - I got in early to my tree stand and leave a little after 10am. The trail cam catches me walking out at 10:09am. At approximately 10:23am he shows up with a couple does. I was beside myself for leaving early. I hunted the remainder of the weekend with no sign of him.

Monday, October 23rd - My side neighbor Andrew gets an opportunity for shot during an afternoon hunt. His arrow ricochets off a branch hitting him in the neck. Andrew calls letting me know the unfortunate news. Up until that point he had been a small secret of mine, or so I thought. Andrew searched, with minimal blood, the next morning and afternoon. We both hoped he survived, but I was distraught to say the least. Especially after I exited the ladder stand early on Saturday.

Tuesday, October 24th - He is back! My cellular trail cam captures a picture after sunset while he checks his scrapes, he has a small wound in his neck. Thankful he is healthy, I make plans to hunt that stand tomorrow afternoon.

Wednesday, October 25th - The temperature is decent, the wind is blowing in the right direction. Mom gave me a bottle of Jack Daniels and small bottle of Fireball for my birthday. The Fireball is stashed away in my pack only to be use for celebration.

At 4:00 pm woods are quiet, leaves dry and crispy. Except for a few squirrels doing their best deer impression, all is quiet.

At 4:35 there is a ruckus coming out of a small thick gully to my right... definitely the sound of buck chasing doe. I grab my bow and breathe slowly. Even at a newly 53 years old, I am not immune to the buck fever. The two deer pause in the thicket 30 yards away, I throw out a soft grunt and wait. The doe steps out followed by a small 4-pointer and he is hot for her. Both are 20 yards away as I watch them play their game. Suddenly to my left comes a spike horn. Now both bucks are hassling this doe. In an effort to keep them close by, I throw a couple grunts from my call.

It is now that I see him for the first time, just his lower body at only 60 yards away. The body is insanely bigger than the three deer standing 20 yards away. I know it’s him, but he stays in the thickets and circles downwind of my three new best friends. Live decoys were setting me up for the perfect shot!

Now he is downwind of the others at approximately 40 yards, he watches and sniffs intently. Still unable to confirm it’s my target buck, I throw out another soft grunt. That was all it took as he quickly advances, then stepped out broadside at 20 yards. Already drawn back, I took a quick glimpse of his amazing rack then leveled the pin on the sweet spot. The arrow flew true as I watched the Luminock disappear in his chest. It was clean shot and saw my arrow laying on the ground as he bolted off north with the other buck and doe. Hopeful I would hear the sound of him crashing, it never came.

Texts were sent to my crew that were hunting other locations. “Sketchy Buck is down!” He acquired that nickname, the day he decided my mock scrapes weren’t worthy of his attention. A tracking plan was established and we gave him two hours to find peace. From the point of impact and 45 minutes later we came upon him as coyotes howled in the distance. He had traveled approximately 150 yards before expiring. Scott, Brad and I toasted this fine animal as we passed around that bottle of Fireball in the dark New York night.

It had been a long time since I had an opportunity like this, for that I am grateful. Gun season will be quickly upon us and there is a new sheriff in town. An amazing one eye, battle scared 8-pointer has slid in from the north. Maybe, just maybe, a new story is in the making.