LEARNED FROM THE BEST

By Dexter Robert

Hunting has always been the most important thing I’ve shared with my father. Some of the moments are impossible to forget.

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Hunting has always been the most important thing I’ve shared with my father. Some of the moments are impossible to forget, like shooting my very first buck at ten years old off my dad’s shoulder, him teaching me to track animals’ movements on my grandparent’s property, and us hiking in to hunt stone sheep in Northern B.C. I also vividly remember coming home after my dad shot a monster 186” whitetail. His excitement was palpable. For a guy who doesn’t smile a ton, his was ear-to-ear for days. That was back in 2008, and it was published in a magazine and authored by Jim Shockey. It was also partly because of my instilled love of hunting and butchering that I decided to become a general surgeon, and I got through 8 years of schooling thanks to the respite of hunting.

In 2019 I had to move to Saskatchewan from B.C. to begin my medical residency. It didn’t take me long to start scouting the land and tracking animals, and I spent my first entire paycheck on a brand new Excalibur crossbow.

So in early August, after sighting my bow in, I began scouting local pastures every evening after work during the last few hours of light. I zeroed in on some promising pastures and obtained permission to hunt there. For weeks I followed a herd that consisted of over 35 whitetail. I set my sites on a solid 5x5 deer. He was far bigger than anything I had ever harvested before. I’m guessing you know that feeling of waiting for opening day, it was like watching water boil. But everything changed right before opening day. Six days before then, I snuck into the treeline where the deer usually fed through, out into the pasture. I was watching my target buck at around 300 yards through my spotting scope when I heard branches breaking and leaves crunching. Then, silence. I held my breath, and my heart started to beat faster as I wondered

“But everything changed right before opening day. Six days before then, I snuck into the treeline where the deer usually fed through, out into the pasture. I was watching my target buck at around 300 yards through my spotting scope when I heard branches breaking and leaves crunching.”

what it could be. My jaw dropped when five minutes later a giant buck walked through the brushline not twenty yards away. It was a non-typical 5x5 with a six inch drop tine off the right main beam. He slowly fed towards me, not realizing I was there. He was in full velvet, and was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen (don’t tell my wife I said so).

I was able to snap some pictures on my phone, knowing I’d need some proof to convince my dad of what I’d seen. After twenty minutes of watching him, the wind swirled and he spooked towards the rest of the herd. I rushed home, spinning up dust on the dirt road, and called my dad right away. Just as I thought, he didn’t believe me until I sent the photos. I had sweet dreams for the next few nights. Luckily for me, opening day was on a Sunday that year and I didn’t have a hospital shift. I barely slept the night before, for once waiting for my alarm to go off. When it finally did, I grabbed my stuff and set out. I got to my pre-planned spot and waited for first light, noticing that some of the deer were feeding along a tree line next to the field. Four mature bucks were bedded down in the middle of the field and on high alert, and rather than push them I decided to set up and wait.

I wedged myself between some round hay bales, and watched the sky turn orange and pink as the sun began to rise. The herd started feeding across the field in my direction.

The herd was led by a smaller 3x3 and a pair of does, followed by the group of mature bucks.

As the deer got closer, the landscape put them out of view for a short period of time. They re-emerged fi ve minutes later less than 40 yards away. This was my chance. I cocked my bow and loaded a 150 grain bolt into my Excalibur. As the small buck worked itself closer to me, I still couldn’t see where my target buck was. At 20 yards the does that were following the buck must have caught my movement. The group spooked out in front of me.

Fortunately I had set up with the wind in my face and they couldn’t make out what I was. They snorted and stomped with anxiety, with me feeling anxiety of a diff erent kind. As this happened, the group of bucks ran out and joined them. They stopped and stared in my direction, and my target buck was the third one in the group. I ranged him at 55 yards. I lined up on my shooting sticks, and slowly squeezed the trigger. But to my surprise I felt resistance. I panicked and my heart sank as I realized I had left the safety on. By this time the bucks were antsy, and as I repositioned and took off the safety my buck trotted further into the fi eld before stopping and looking back at me. I re-ranged him at 72 yards. I had only sighted my bow to a max of 50 yards and had pins up to 60 when practicing in the pre-season. I didn’t think another opportunity would

“This was my chance. I cocked my bow and loaded a 150 grain bolt into my Excalibur. As the small buck worked itself closer to me, I still couldn’t see where my target buck was.”

present itself, and remembered something my dad would always say, “Big bucks get big because they’re smart. You usually only get one chance at them.”

I decided to take the shot and held the 60 pin at the top of his back. I squeezed off an arrow just behind his shoulder and watched in disbelief as it drilled him with a perfect double lung shot. His back hunched up and he ran 40 yards before falling over in a cloud of dust. He kicked a few more times then laid still. I screamed with excitement. After waiting for a few minutes, I worked my way over and laid my hands on his perfect velvet. He was everything I had ever dreamed of and more.

I couldn’t get a vehicle to him, so I skinned, quartered and backpacked him out, just the same as I had done many times in the mountains of B.C. When he was offi cially scored, he netted 196 and 3/8, bigger than anything my dad had ever shot, and with character to boot. I decided that a buck of a lifetime should last a lifetime, and having seen velvet deteriorate I elected to strip the velvet. With a little bit of stain, some coff ee grounds, and coordinating with Orion Taxidermy in Moose Jaw, I was able to put a beautiful mount on the wall that I can proudly display in our home.

This Saskatchewan monster sits in our offi ce lurking over my wife in her offi ce daily, which she loves, and reminds me of on a daily basis. My dad came for a visit and hunting trip in the fall of 2020 and was able to see the mount in the fl esh, to touch and admire it. I hope it reminded him of all the special moments we’ve had hunting, and all that he’s taught me.

In 2020, I was able to tag a 202 3/8” archery mule deer that I arrowed at 30 yards with my dad watching proudly following an 8 hour spot and stalk endeavour!