Dave Kopp Buck

Story:

Email of Emails 

By: Dave Kopp

     My father-in-law, Bob Collins, owns a pristine 5-acre farm in northeastern Ohio that’s surrounded by woods and cornfields. He’s hunted for many years, but never on that property.

     He used to allow me to hunt it occasionally, but then he became more interested in feeding and watching the deer through a spotting scope. Until last season, he’d said no to my requests for eight years.

     While walking his property in the spring of 2015, I found some enormous shed antlers of at least a 170-class buck. The sheds were in perfect condition within 10 yards of each other. About a month later, a relative found a 13-point buck that had died in those woods, likely after being struck by a car.

     That fall, while looking for signs of the monster whose sheds I’d found, I stumbled across a buck rub on an 8-inch-diameter tree. It was shredded beyond belief, and I begged Bob to let me hunt that deer.

     My father-in-law’s reply, again, was “No.”

     About a week later, however, I received the email of all emails from him. Subject line: 2nd thoughts.

     “Dave, I keep looking at the 13-point rack lying in the workshop. I figure this buck was hit by a vehicle, and where he thought it was safe, he laid down and died. This is such a waste. I also feel there is a big buck back there whose shed is on your wall,” he wrote.

     “If you want to hunt only that big buck (nothing else), it is okay. If you do shoot it, we can get it in the Ranger and field-dress it at the old foundation above my driveway. I just don’t want does, fawns and gut piles lying around in my woods.”

     I was beyond elated, but I was also aware of how pristine and unpressured the property was. The lessons I had learned about scent control and how deer react to pressure would prove to be invaluable.

     I hunted his property only during the rut, when the wind was blowing out of the west or northwest, which allowed me to enter the tract ahead of my scent. If it wasn’t right, I hunted quite a few other properties.

     Also, I never hunted the hallowed ground two days in a row.

     If there had been 200 or more acres, it would have been a different story. But this was a small farm.

     I spotted about 18 deer in one day, but not the mega buck. 

 I am a firm believer that the third week in November often offers some of the best rut hunting there is, but after opening day of gun season, I become somewhat disenchanted. I remember saying to my hunting partner, Bryan Kuhns, that I couldn’t believe that window had shut. I knew that this was probably the only year I would be able to hunt my father-in-law’s land, and my chances of tagging the giant were coming to an end.

     On Jan. 24, 2016, I was hunting one of my favorite spots in Salt Fork State Park. It was a beautiful snowy day. We had plenty of venison in the freezer, but I still had my buck tag.

     Three deer came in that evening, but not a shooter buck. I went home, ate dinner and sat down at the computer. I had received an email with a picture from my father-in-law. It read: “Dave, I think this is the big one.”

     If I told you I was in disbelief or even shock, it would be an understatement. The buck was massive with more points than I could count. I knew its rack would easily top 200 inches, but that was where all estimates ended. I also knew I was going to use all the knowledge I had acquired to go after this giant.

     A favorable wind finally blew in on Wednesday. As I entered the woods that afternoon, the anticipation of seeing the giant ran high. It had shown up on the camera several times. Almost emaciated, it was obviously run down from the rut.

     There were no photos of the deer during shooting hours. The closest shot we had was taken around 7 p.m. I figured he had to travel quite a distance, about 400 yards, to get to the corn and apples.

     I climbed 25 feet up a pin oak right in the middle of a funnel. I believed the buck would follow a fence line to a staging area before making its way across a small opening to the corn. I used the oak to break up my silhouette and stood holding my crossbow like a statue.

     At approximately 5 p.m., I heard the footsteps of a deer in the distance. My body tensed, and pumping my fist, I waited. It had to be the giant.

     I searched the trees for the massive rack, but saw nothing. Eventually, a yearling doe appeared, headed straight for my tree with no clue that I was there. The mother then appeared and was much more wary.

     The yearling came right to the base of my tree, still without a clue, and the mother came in 20 yards east of me. I was sure to be found. The doe never winded me, however, and my hopes were still high for the trophy buck.

     The sad reality was nothing else showed up that evening. Quietly, I got down and sprayed the tree, leaving no scent behind.

     On Jan. 27, there were only 11 days remaining in the Ohio season. That night, while on the phone with my hunting partner, we discussed a different strategy. What if I were to set up a blind at the end of a clearing facing a thicket where I knew the deer liked to travel?

     The following day, I did just that. I used the 5-acre lake to my advantage by placing the blind on the very edge of the north side with plenty of thick brush behind me to blend in. Now it was a waiting game.

     I needed a north, northwest wind, and time was running out. The weekend was approaching and the wind would not cooperate.

     On Saturday evening, my father-in-law informed me he had seen the buck at the end of the lake during last light. I had ordered some white acorn powder from Vermont that I mixed with some cracked corn. I hoped the buck would find it irresistible.

     I put that out on Thursday when the blind was placed, and by Saturday the whitetail was seen at dusk!

     All the weather reports pointed to Monday, Feb. 1. I had been preparing for the last week, eating clean and washing all of my clothes meticulously.     

You may think I’m crazy, but I even went into a sauna on Sunday evening for 50 minutes to sweat out all of the toxins, along with taking charcoal capsules to absorb anything else.

      I barely slept Sunday night in anticipation of the next day. The hunt would have to be in the evening because of work, although the deer had shown up only once during last shooting light.

      Sunset was 5:41 that evening. I arrived at the farm at 2:30. My father-in-law agreed it would be best to drop me off in his Ranger because the deer were now familiar with him driving to the feeding area every other day.

      On the ride to the blind, I asked Bob if I should duck down because any wise ol’ buck would see only one person leaving the area. He looked at me in amazement and said: “Do you really think they can count?”

      That was the state of my mind: no stone left unturned. I was leaving nothing to chance!

      This setup was approximately 75 yards from the corn, apples and white acorn powder. The thicket at the end of the funnel was 30 yards from my blind. If the buck came out of that staging area as I assumed, I’d have a perfect 25-yard shot. I was carrying the crossbow I’d purchased the previous fall.

      There is nothing more accurate, in my opinion, and the scope’s slight magnification would help in low light.

      I climbed into the blind at 3:00, dressed in black to blend in with the inside of the blind. I hung a carbon bag and sprayed myself down one last time.

      My mind wandered to all of the times I had been in a tree, waiting for a giant rack to emerge from a thicket, around the bend, or from behind a giant oak. This was different. I knew that buck was there.

      It had made consistent appearances the preceding days, but only once during last light. Deer of this magnitude are rarely seen in daylight hours, but the animal’s behavior gave me hope.

      It had run itself ragged during the rut, it was hungry, and there had been virtually no pressure in this area. Over and over, I would think, Show yourself. Show yourself, and please don’t drop your rack!

      By that time in northeastern Ohio, most bucks have dropped their antlers.

      As the time ticked away, I started to adjust the illumination on the scope from bright red to the very last setting of dim. The sun was starting to set. It became darker and darker, and last shooting light was 6:11, which was 26 minutes away.

      At just around 6:00, I was looking to my left when my peripheral vision caught movement to my right. I turned and could see a dark mass coming through the woods from 60 yards. As the deer approached the thicket, it slowed at 40 yards. I wasn’t sure it was the giant because of the low light and the thick vegetation. The buck kept moving toward me, fortunately.

      When it was at 30 yards, I saw the massive rack and began shaking.

      I raised the crossbow slowly as the deer emerged from the thicket. It stopped and was looking directly at me. There was no way it could see me, I thought.

      After what seemed like an eternity, the big whitetail lowered its head and slowly turned to its right. I had no shot if it continued two more feet in that direction.

      As it turned, I pointed the red dot behind the deer’s left shoulder and squeezed the trigger.

      The buck turned on a dime and bolted. I heard branches breaking before the woods fell silent. I was hoping to hear a crash, but I didn’t.

      I was shaking uncontrollably as my mind raced. The shaking didn’t stop for a good 10 to 15 minutes, and my thoughts were scattered. I remember thinking about one of my first bucks, when we just kept pushing and pushing it, and it was never found.

     The rule was one hour. Just sit tight for one hour. And that might have been the longest hour of my life.

     After strapping on my headlight, I crawled out of the blind. Time to look for the bolt. It would tell me what I needed to know.

     Did bright red air bubbles mean a lung shot?

     I searched for the bolt until 7:30, and then I went to my in-laws’ house. I was determined not lose this deer.

     When I walked into the house, I said “I think I got him. I think I got him,” over and over. They were in disbelief. I immediately called my wife, who could hardly contain her excitement for me, though I had yet to lay my hands on the deer.

     We decided to take the Ranger out, so I loaded another bolt just in case, heeding Bob’s advice. I figured we would start searching where I had last heard the branches breaking. It was the end of a funnel so the thicket and woods were only about 40 yards wide there.

     Barely 20 yards into the woods, I saw my buck. The rack was massive, and nothing was broken. It was almost too perfect for this late in the season.     

 I hit my knees and thanked God. It was a perfect shot, and the deer ran for only 25 yards. My father-in-law came crashing through the small saplings and brush on his Ranger to get closer. He said, “Wow, I’ve never seen anything like that!”

     I immediately started taking pictures with my phone, texted my wife and then my hunting partner, Bryan. He was still working, but said he would be there as soon as possible to help me drag the deer. He showed up about 9:00 with his dad, and we took picture after picture.

     One of the most intriguing characteristics of this deer is the talon-like claw that drops down from the main beam. The unicorn is a true third antler. It is not part of the brow tines. The shear mass is unbelievable. To say this is a buck of a lifetime is an understatement.

     It took three of us to load it. We had a strap just for the head to make sure it was stable and did not hit any trees. We also placed a pillow under the deer’s rack to cushion any shock.

     My buddy and I stayed out until 2:30 a.m. driving around and showing off the giant.

     I am humbled to even get the chance to be in the presence of such a magnificent animal.

Discovering the Shrine

     Since I first wrote this story, more of the buck’s history has come to light.

     Jim, an acquaintance, contacted me after hearing the news of my harvest on Feb. 1, 2016. We developed a relationship by email and phone over the next few months.

     On Aug. 26, I traded a replica of my buck’s 2016 antlers for its sheds from 2014. My friend Bob Hoff accompanied me. I knew he would be interested in the trade, and I wanted to have a witness to what I considered to be one of the most valuable transactions in my life.

     Jim is a hunter of whitetails and Native American artifacts. He  also spends countless hours in the woods looking for sheds.

     I was awestruck by the man’s shed collection.

     Jim had named my buck Hogan (from “Hogan’s Heroes”) because its home range was very close to a road named Klinger. He’d mounted the 2014 sheds, and Hogan was hanging over his fireplace.

     Photographs surrounded the buck’s antlers. Jim even had a framed picture of me that he’d printed off social media. It was like he’d created a shrine to the deer.

     This wild buck literally gained almost 100 inches in one year, and the sheds are proof of that growth.

      Jim also had many trail cam pictures, including one of the buck at a scented-up licking branch in 2015. But whether 2014 or the year I arrowed it, there’s no doubt it’s the same whitetail.

     After we’d seen the shrine, Jim gave us a tour of Hogan’s home range. He had been seen many times in the 2015 season on trail cams, as well as crossing major rural roads. There was even a story of him cornered in gun season, only to narrowly escape through a thicket.

     His main bedding area was close to a radio station where Jim does the landscaping. Jim pointed out three different bedding areas and then the spot where he found one side of his sheds from 2014. It wasn’t until a day later that the other side was found.

     Only a hunter can appreciate the unique, intrinsic value of these sheds. The footprint left behind from one of the greatest whitetails to roam this world. I believe that the two racks together will create an awe-inspiring experience to all that have the opportunity to view it, which is why I’ve entrusted the job to Travis Weaver of Travs Taxidermy.