The air was cool and still that October afternoon in Jackson County when I made a last-minute decision to head for the woods. It was my first sit of the season—no expectations, just a quiet evening surrounded by the fall woods. But the woods had other plans.
From the first trail cam picture, we knew it was game on. This wasn’t just another deer; this was the buck. My mom, Dana Sacia, hunted him hard the year before on our family property, spending countless hours in the stand, hoping he’d show in daylight. He never did, taunting us night after night on camera. The neighbors knew him too. He’d become the “hush-hush” legend everyone was chasing.
When a cold front rolled in on October 6th, dropping temps from the 80s to the 60s, we knew it was time. Mom said, “Go ahead and take my stand—I’ll sit somewhere else.” Neither of us knew she was giving me the opportunity of a lifetime.
Two quiet hours passed, and then, out of nowhere, he appeared. The second I saw that rack weaving through the trees, my heartbeat drowned out the world. At 40 yards, he stopped broadside. I drew, found my mark, and released. He bolted, crashing through the creek bottom before disappearing into the trees.
There he was, lying beside the road like he’d chosen the perfect place for us to find him. We stood in silence, awestruck by his size—then came the hugs, high fives, and shouts of excitement. He was a giant—29 inches wide and scoring an incredible 172 inches. The kind of buck you dream about but rarely meet in a lifetime.
Some deer are just deer. But every now and then, one becomes part of your story—a legacy shared between generations. For us, that story began with coffee by a winter window and ended with family, laughter, and a buck that finally came home.
