I knew there was a strong possibility that her buck might not survive the gun season. The rut was still in full force and I knew he was traveling. When I arrived at the check station and confirmed that this was indeed the buck we had hunted so hard for the past two years I did not feel regret or sadness. No, that would be Annie's turf. She was the one with the emotional connection to this animal. My feelings bordered more along the lines of frustration. I had failed to put this buck under her climber save the one time last season when she missed the shot. It was not for lack of trying. I had the buck within fifty yards on four occasions and at thirty-five yards on that hunt where the little buck we called "Boy George" busted me and spooked Annie's buck.
I also had Annie's buck dead to rights in the middle of the funnel over on Doc's property in the early season. He gave me a perfect unobstructed broadside at eighteen yards, a virtual slam dunk with the Exocet. I painted his vitals with the crosshairs on the old drop zone. The safety was never touched. This buck was not mine. Had I released that arrow the buck would certainly have died. Had I brought him back to the house that morning, it is also certain that I would have suffered the same fate. Like I said, my wife had an emotional attachment to this animal.
I congratulated the young man who harvested Annie's buck and gave him the trail cam picture I supplied to my friend that runs the check station. He was absolutely thrilled to have a picture of his trophy on the hoof. I also promised to email him copies of the two stories I had written about the pursuit of Annie's buck over the past two years. And finally, I would attach additional trail cam photos of "his" buck to further enhance the history I compiled over the course of the bucks life. For him it was the beginning of a lifetime of telling about the day he got the buck of a lifetime. For Annie it was the end of a saga.
"It was him," I said as I walked through the door of the mud room and into the spam where she sat at the old farmhouse table drinking her tea. She paused for just a slight instant, lowered her eyes and brought the tea back to her lips. She did not look up until she finished the cup. "Wie vil go after Ollie, no?" she said as she raised her eyes back to meet mine. "Ya, we will go after Ollie," I replied. And it was finished. The story of Annie's buck had reached the final chapter.
Like most stories, the end is also a beginning. Annie's buck was a part of our lives for five and a half years. We hunted him hard for two of those years and we are the richer for the experience. I had virtually given up my own pursuit of a trophy whitetail buck to join Annie on hers. And this quest once again reinforced the fact that the real trophy was acquired over forty years ago when a young American Army officer met a young girl from Sweden in a little tavern at the base of the Alps.
I could not have been more proud of her. She had endured all of the rigors of the pursuit of her buck without complaint. From the early heat to the sub zero temperatures of January she never relented. And now she was ready to start all over again with the quest for Ollie.
I think I will go along.
The links to Annie's buck part one and part two for those who would like to know some of the history.
http://www.excaliburcrossbow.com/phpBB2 ... 11#p328011
http://www.excaliburcrossbow.com/phpBB2 ... 55#p328655
Two trail cam pic's of the buck named Ollie that we will now pursue.
![Image](http://i7.photobucket.com/albums/y276/mobicPhobia/Ollie3.jpg)
![Image](http://i7.photobucket.com/albums/y276/mobicPhobia/Ollie1.jpg)
This is one of the many pictures of Annie's buck we compiled over the years. He was 4 1/2 years old when we got this one.
![Image](http://i7.photobucket.com/albums/y276/mobicPhobia/photo.jpg)