November 2026
Houdini: A Missouri Whitetail Four Years in the Making
Hunter: Jeff Wucherer
Species: Whitetail Deer
Location: Missouri
Method: Rifle
The great outdoors has always been a passion of mine for as long as I can remember. Chasing whitetails in my younger years sparked my spirit of adventure, and that passion only grew as I ventured into hunting other North American game. Since my time in college, my hunting buddy Chad Powell has educated me on the ways of the whitetail, from Canada through the Midwest, all the way down to Kansas. We’ve shared countless memories together—scouting, knocking on doors, and shed hunting over the years.
Four Years of Trail Camera Intel
Using cameras, we’ve been able to track the deer in the area and see which ones made it through each hunting season. The intel we've gathered allowed us to watch a young buck grow before our eyes.
Four and a half years ago, we captured our first images of a small buck with an unusually heavy rack for a year-and-a-half-old. We got pictures of him in velvet and hard antlers but never saw him in person.
In the summer of year two, he was easy to recognize, but the number of pictures dropped drastically. The tightness of his spread and shorter tines led us to believe he wouldn’t amount to much. But as he pulled off another Houdini-like disappearing act, we never managed to lay eyes on him again.
In year three, he passed by the cameras a few times in velvet but vanished again once his antlers hardened. There was no sign of Houdini until one November afternoon when I heard a loud rattling sound coming from the opposite side of a bedding area. My attention snapped to that area, where I saw a cluster of trees shaking. It went on for minutes before subsiding into silence, followed by a soft grunt. Anticipation built as I waited for my opportunity, but the buck never emerged from the thick brush, traveling with his nose down. A quick grunt from my Truetalker call briefly got his attention—he lifted his head, confirming it was Houdini before he vanished into the creek bottom. Cameras captured a few more fleeting images of him feeding after the hunting season ended, but they were rare.
Year four turned him invisible. Our only proof he survived the winter came when Chad found his right side while shed hunting. We never captured a single image of him all summer or fall, leading us to wonder if Mother Nature had taken him. Then, one day, I received a message from Chad saying he had spotted a giant buck chasing a doe near the area where he’d found Houdini’s shed that spring.
A Giant Buck Chasing Does
Chad had patiently waited for a shot as he caught a two-second glimpse of the buck through his binoculars. The deer was pushing the doe out of the bedding area and toward thick brush bordering a small creek, where he pinned her down. Chad knew this was the one. His first impression? A 160-class buck, maybe even a Booner with all the trash!
Minutes turned into hours, and there was still no sign of the buck. My setup, 800 yards away, had been uneventful. Then, between 10:00 a.m. and 2:00 p.m., that magical time for movement, I caught sight of a large doe running hard along the oak ridge, mouth wide open. She followed the trail in front of me without showing any signs of stopping. Her body language screamed she was being chased. Five minutes passed. Then ten. No sign of anything.
Then, a deer grunt broke the silence. A quick glance, and I knew: this buck was a definite shooter. He covered ground quickly, following the same trail as the doe had minutes before. As he neared my setup, he began veering off into thick brush, likely trying to triangulate where the doe had gone. Knowing my opportunity would soon vanish, I let out a loud yell, stopping him dead in his tracks. As his eyes locked onto me, I buried the crosshairs behind his shoulder. A light pressure on the trigger, and the buck mule-kicked, stumbling to keep his feet. Moments later, he disappeared into the brush, and the woods fell silent again.
No Blood
I gave him a bit of time, replaying the encounter in my mind. Confident in a good hit, I climbed down and looked for blood at the point of impact. I was surprised not to find any. I followed the tracks where he had lost his balance, hoping a blood trail would appear, but there was nothing. On hands and knees, I scoured the forest floor, desperate for any sign of a solid hit.
Meanwhile, Chad remained in his stand, hoping for another encounter with the giant buck he’d seen earlier. Over the phone, he reassured me that I had made a good shot and encouraged me to search the timber thoroughly. With no sign of blood, I walked to the edge of the CRP field and walked its length, hoping the tan grass would reveal a blood trail.
Dejected, I returned to my stand, searching every leaf for blood as darkness began to fall. I regrouped with Chad, and after talking things through, I decided to take my buddy Eric’s advice and call in Tyler and his dog Diesel.
Tyler and Diesel
With a short conversation over the phone, Tyler was confident he and his dog could locate the deer. Upon arrival, we headed straight to the impact site. Diesel worked the area thoroughly, nose low and tail wagging, but he never showed interest. With no scent there, we moved to the spot where the buck had stumbled after the shot. Again, nothing. No reaction. No indication of a wounded deer.
Tyler circled the area once more, carefully reading Diesel’s body language. Still nothing. Confused by the results, Tyler and I stopped to replay the shot in our minds—how the buck reacted and the direction he ran before disappearing. We decided to push our search out to the CRP edge, hoping the deer would finally leave a scent trail once he slowed down.
We swept the field edge, north and south. Diesel never lifted his head or showed even a hint of striking a scent. With each pass, doubt crept in. Had I imagined the buck stumbling? Had I missed the shot entirely?
Knowing Tyler and Chad would both be hunting in the morning—and with absolutely no sign of a wounded deer—I finally suggested we call it a night. I told Tyler I’d come back first thing in the morning and grid-search the entire CRP field. Despite the lack of evidence, we couldn’t shake the feeling that a dead buck was lying somewhere close.
Tyler decided to make one last push. He said the wind was perfect to quickly check the south CRP grass. I watched Tyler’s headlamp sway back and forth in the darkness as he moved closer to the property line, my hope fading with every step. Over the phone, Tyler told me he would follow the entire south boundary and then work the timber edge north back toward his truck.
Do You Want to See Your Buck?
When his headlamp disappeared over the ridge, Chad and I gathered the few items we had left along the field edge. That’s when the night’s silence was broken by Tyler’s voice, “Do you want to see your buck?”
My emotions instantly spiked, and I took off running towards the sound. My excitement grew as I closed the distance and called out, “How big is he?”
Like a true professional, Tyler replied, “I always let the hunter walk up first.”
Words can’t explain the rush of emotions I felt as I moved the tall grass and finally laid my eyes on my biggest buck to date. Relief washed over me first, then disbelief, then gratitude. With fifteen points and a green score of 170 3/8 inches, I thanked the good Lord for allowing me the chance to lay my hands on this magnificent deer. As I pulled the buck from his final bed, Chad confirmed it was the same buck that had vanished earlier that morning and the same buck he’d found the shed from that spring. Houdini had lived up to his name, disappearing right until the last moment when I finally got to see him. Later that evening, we butchered the buck and shared fresh backstrap over a bonfire, celebrating the moment and reflecting on past hunts.
I can’t thank Tyler and Diesel enough for making the time to assist me on the recovery of my buck. My greatest respect and gratitude go out to Chad for his willingness to share all his whitetail knowledge with me and for always making the time to drive state to state, searching for big bucks. This deer represents much more than a score—it symbolizes the memories made putting our boots to the ground, crashing in the back of the truck topper or in a tent on the side of a desolate dirt road, all in search of a buck like Houdini.
