I WASN’T WHAT YOU’D CALL a whitetail mega mind — a Yoda — someone with the 411 about barometric pressure, moon phases and planting dates. Age structure talk was wasted on me, but my whitetail obsession was full-blown. I’d popped a few lungs over the years — basket racks, mostly, and one good Nebraska eight. It was that 8-pointer that changed things for me.
My whitetail mastermind, Terron Bauer, had studied lots of trail-cam pics of the buck and slugged him as a solid 3½-year-old. I didn’t care. He looked heavy, and I wanted him.
On the hunt’s last day, I got my chance and I sent carbon over his back. Later, when I told my sob story back at Terron’s house, he said, “It sucks you missed, but that…