The morning broke with that kind of electric stillness only a hunter knows cold air biting at my face, the woods alive with promise. It was rut, and the deer were on the move. As the first light crept over the trees, I could hear the crashing of hooves and see flashes of movement. Bucks chasing does through the brush, wild and relentless. My heart pounded with every glimpse, but none of them would stop or turn long enough for me to settle in. All I could do was watch the chaos of the rut unfold, adrenaline running just as wild as the deer themselves.
That afternoon, I went back out despite the cold drizzle settling in. The woods were quieter now, slick with rain and the smell of wet leaves. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going to happen. Then, out of the tree line, he appeared the buck, proud and heavy-necked, head down and searching. Again, he wouldn’t turn broadside. I waited, heart thudding in my chest. Finally, I took my chance a clean shot to the neck. He dropped instantly.
For a moment, everything went still again. No wind, no sound just me, the rain, and the deep gratitude that comes from moments like this. It wasn’t just about the harvest; it was about being part of something wild and timeless. What a blessing to witness the rut in full force and to walk away with not just a deer, but a memory I’ll never forget.
Hunter’s name: Brooke Rogers
Saint matthews South Carolina
Orangeburg sc
10/11/2025
9-point buck
