The King of Robb Mountain

By Haleigh White

This story begins 8 years ago as my best friend and I drove deep into the woods to hunt her family’s 100-acre forested plot. It’s a gorgeous ridge covered in hardwood trees and a sheltered cedar swamp lies below. We sat in different spots that morning and shortly after 8 a.m. a shot rang out off to my left. My best friend had climbed up into an old oak tree and shot her first buck. It was a nice 8 pointer that she caught chasing does under the oak. We celebrated all day and made memories for life. At some point during the day, she told me the story of the old oak tree and how she and her father had put up wooden rungs on it when she was just a little girl. The old oak was special to both of us now and whenever we returned to the mountain, we often found ourselves back in that same spot, admiring its grandeur and reminiscing about the past.

Flash forward 8 years almost to the day and I would find myself sitting against a small tree, just a few yards from the old oak. I didn’t trust the old wooden rungs so sitting on the ground would have to suffice. It was my first time hunting the mountain this season and I was excited to be sitting in one of my favorite spots. I chose the mountain that morning because the wind was in my favor and the rain would quiet my steps as I crept through the leaves to find my spot. The silhouette of the old oak comforted me as I sat in the darkness before legal shooting time. I had a good feeling about things and something told me to be ready and to stay alert. When the clock passed legal time, I waited just a minute or two more before calling. The forest was still quite dark, and I wanted to make sure I could see. Around 6:03 I let out three doe bleats from my little green can. The sound seemed to be lost in the constant pitter patter of raindrops. I sat with my knees up, rifle ready and snug in my shoulder. Barely 10 minutes had passed when I heard a weighted step off to my right. Then, I heard a stick break and could see a dark figure coming through the mist. The deer was about 15yards away as it walked across from right to left in front of me. I could see a bit of yellow hovering above its head, following along with it as it moved. It was a buck. And not just a spike. I couldn’t see how big he was, but I knew it was something worth shooting. I gripped my rifle and got ready.

The Buck

The buck passed behind the old oak tree and when he stepped out in front of me, I let out a soft “meh”. It was enough to stop him, and he looked right at me. I quickly took aim. My scope was foggy and I could just barely see his face and the glow of antler. I moved the crosshairs down his body and hovered over the crease on his shoulder. I squeezed the trigger and shot. The forest exploded with sound and the buck jumped up and kicked like a mule. He tore off down the mountain and I stood up to watch him go. I listened and just a few moments later, I could heard him crash into the brush. I stood there in complete and utter shock. From the time I had first seen the deer to when I shot, was barely 10 seconds. But it was just enough time to identify my target and make a solid shot. I began to sob. I was overcome with happiness, excitement, relief and a perhaps even a little sadness that I wasn’t with my best friend. I called her. Three times. And no answer. I think I’ll give her a hard time about that for the rest of my life. After all, we all know what an early morning or late evening phone call means during November. I tried my mom, and she answered right off. “Guess what?!” I said. “Did you get a deer?” she responded. I told her I’d shot one, but I had to find him first. I also told her to go to my friend’s house, wake her up and tell her the news. I said, “tell her Haleigh shot a buck under your tree on the mountain”. She would know exactly where I was. We got off the phone and I gathered myself to focus on the next step of tracking and finding the buck.

Blood Trail

I waited about 20 minutes, although it felt like an eternity. I walked to where the buck had been standing when I shot and although there was no blood, a very clear trail of kicked up leaves led down the hillside. As I followed it, I began to see splatters of bright red blood. I knew I had smoked him but seeing good blood is always such a relief. I continued down the hill and then I saw him. He had only gone about 40yds. I could see a white belly, legs and his was head tucked under some brush. When I got a little closer, I could see part of the rack. A big, palmed beam with a split G2. My heart started pounding even more. I was already on cloud 9 because I had a buck down but when I pulled his head up and started to count the points, I couldn’t believe it. A 14-point brute lay at my feet. Both his brow tines and G2s were split, and he had big thick beams full of unique character. I looked over his body and realized, not only was his rack impressive, but he was the biggest deer I had ever seen. His neck and chest were enormous, and he was so long. I called my mom back and when she answered I said, “I found him! And mom, he’s a tank!” I was overwhelmed with happiness. My cheeks still hurt from how hard I was smiling. She told me that she and my best friend were on their way with help. I set my gun down and sat with the buck for a long time. I am always so grateful for any animal that I harvest, and this one was a dream come true.

I admired him for a long time and just kept shaking my head. I was in absolute shock. Never in my life have I been so overcome with happiness and such a strong sense of accomplishment. He was gorgeous, and I was so happy that it was a quick clean shot, and he didn’t go far. It was perfect. After taking some pictures and calling friends I decided to cover him with my orange vest and meet the recovery crew back at my truck. It was hugs all around when they got there, and everyone was excited to see what all the fuss was about. We walked together down the hillside as I excitedly retold the story. And when the buck came into view, we all stopped and stood in amazement. We admired him for a long time, and then I carefully field dressed him. We hauled him uphill for about 100 yards and then somehow heaved him into the back of the truck. He was certainly a tailgate down kinda deer.

The Rush

My whole body was buzzing with adrenaline, as my best friend and I drove together to the tagging station in my hometown. People started to congratulate me and even the Budweiser semi-truck pulled over to have a gander at him. Once he was tagged, we headed north to the Waite General store to get him weighed. As he was slowly hoisted into the air, it hit me as to how big he really was. The red numbers on the scale climbed higher and higher until they finally settled. He weighed 226lbs. He was the heaviest buck weighed there so far this season, and I was beaming from ear to ear. We filled out the patch paperwork and left to go show him off. We spent the next few hours driving him around town, visiting friends and family. It wasn’t a terribly cool day, so I knew I had limited time with him. My phone was going nuts with notifications and incoming messages as the buck was the talk of the town.

As the shadows grew long, I knew it was time to get him into the cooler. We took a few more pictures and then we started to skin him and get him ready to hang. Over the next two days, I completely butchered him myself and dropped the rack off at the taxidermist. As I sit and write this story, I am still in complete shock. It feels as though it was a dream but better. I am a first-generation hunter, and this buck was only my second with a rifle. I am beyond proud of myself and so grateful to the land. I would like to thank Adrian Arsenault for coming out to help drag, Makayla Cobb and her family for taking me in as their own and letting me hunt that magical place, and I want to thank my mom for supporting me and always being my biggest fan. Goodluck to all the hunters out there and congratulations to all of you who have been successful so far!

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