The Perreault Buck

Clinton County, NY 7-Point

As told by Matt Perreault

“Every year, I keep a close watch on five trail cameras, starting in late spring and continuing through the end of hunting season. This season has been no exception, and I’ve enjoyed watching several bucks grow and develop. Early in the season, I filled a doe tag on the very last day of early muzzleloader, but the bucks had all but vanished into the night. Occasionally, they’d make an appearance on camera during the day—but always when I wasn’t in my stand. To make things even trickier, the usual hot spots that I’ve come to rely on had gone cold this year, forcing me to adapt.

After some re-scouting, I discovered a set of heavy trails cutting across the edge of a field I rarely hunt. Nearby, my late father’s old tree stand still hangs, a tall and narrow setup that I’ve never been comfortable with because of my fear of heights. Instead, I decided to bring a ground chair to settle into that spot—something that felt right, almost like a tribute to Dad while still making it my own.

On November 9th, the conditions were perfect. I checked the wind direction early in the morning and knew it was just right for this location. Around 1:00 PM, I made my way out, hung a fresh trail camera to monitor the new trails, and settled into my chair by 1:15 PM. As I sat there, I started running through scenarios in my head: Where might the deer come from? Which shooting lanes are safe? A couple of houses were just down range to my right, so I mentally marked the angles to avoid.

With time to kill, I pulled out my phone, assuming the action wouldn’t start until later in the afternoon. Then, just 30 minutes after settling in, I glanced up and there he was. A buck, moving steadily toward me from the left. My heart skipped a beat as I dropped my phone and raised my scope. He was a good-sized buck, one that passed my personal rule of letting spikes and small bucks grow another year. He was a shooter, no question about it.

I took the shot, and he dropped right there. In that moment, I couldn’t help but hear my dad’s voice in the back of my mind, the way he used to whisper with a grin before we split off to our stands: “Shoot ’em dead!”

These last few years without him have been tough, but every hunt feels like he’s right there with me. I like to think he’s smiling down, proud as ever—and maybe even giving me a little nudge to be in the right place at the right time.”