December 2025
Whitetail Deer Hunting | Pennsylvania
Story By: Shawn Disney
To really start this story, we have to go all the way back to 2003 during my first deer season. Twelve-year-old me was more than excited to be able to finally deer hunt. My brother and I had always loved hunting and shooting anything we could. My dad and grandpa hunted, but I wouldn’t say they were diehards by any means. They more so hunted for the tradition of hunting. In my eyes, my grandpa was the best hunter around because he had a 10-point he had shot in high school. I couldn’t wait to try and win the big buck pool at my great grandma’s house where I had watched everybody throw a dollar in for years.
The first day and the first week had come and gone, and my hopes of shooting a buck to win the big buck pool were dwindling. My dad and grandpa had picked a spot for my brother and me to go sit in a blind until dark. My dad was at work, so my grandpa took us up to our blind. Then he sat about 100 yards away from us. It was about an hour before dark when I caught movement coming up the hill. I told my brother, “There’s a deer on my side.” I pulled up my 7mm08 and scoped the first one, doe second one, doe third one. “Buck!” I said. I shot and dropped it in its tracks. My brother then shot one of the does he was with. We quickly called my grandpa, both very excited as we had both shot deer.
My grandpa quickly came over to help us gut my brother’s doe and then it was on to my buck. When we got up to it and my brother saw what I had shot, he was a little less excited for me. I was so excited that I had won the big buck pool at my great grandma’s! We quickly called my dad to drive out and help us get the deer out of the woods. It was an amazing first year of deer hunting for me, and I was hooked. In our family, this spot was coined “MOSS Hill,” meaning “My Own Secret Spot.”
Moving forward to 2022, I had seen a big 9-point while out scouting an area close to MOSS Hill. I hadn’t been back in there since the year after I was lucky enough to bag that 8-point buck 19 years prior. After some scouting, I located an area about a mile from MOSS Hill. I set a camera in this location and let it soak. I was unable to find the big 9 in that area, but I did get a tight-racked 10-point that looked to be very young, I was guessing he was around 2 1/2 years old. I ended up taking a 125” 8-point in a different area that year and just hoped to relocate the big 9 the following year.
I went back and set a camera in the same spot where I had taken the picture of the tight-racked 10 the year prior, hoping he had made it. I also ran one more camera in hopes to find the big 9 from the year prior. To my surprise, the tight-racked 10 had grown a lot in one year. He was now a 135” 11-point. I know this because I was lucky enough to have found his sheds that year with my son who called him “The Big One.” On public land in Pennsylvania, that’s a very good buck, and I had never passed on a deer of that size. Knowing I wanted him to make it one more year and knowing I couldn’t pass him if he came by, I chose not to pursue him and stayed out of the area completely. I hunted a different area and was lucky enough to tag a nice, mature 8-point.
It wasn’t until July 16th that 11-point showed up on camera. He had made the jump I was hoping for. He was now a mainframe 12-point with a 3” kicker off his right G2. By September, he was fully grown and was a specimen of a deer. A beautiful, typical 12, he had it all – beams, mass, and tine length. The only thing I was on the fence about was his age. I assumed he was only 4 1/2 years old and between 160” and 170”. An absolute giant anywhere, but for Pennsylvania public land, he’s probably a once-in-a-lifetime deer.
On October 16th, I decided I would go in and hang a camera. With no current sightings, I had no idea where he would be, and I had only had a few pictures of him in this area in November the two previous years. After a few weeks of soaking the camera, there were no pictures of the 12. I decided to hunt my way in deeper, and after three sits, moving deeper each time, I found myself back on MOSS Hill 300 yards from where I had killed my first buck 21 years ago.
On the third sit, I had a feeling I needed to be in a tree about 60 yards away, closer to the creek crossing. Sure enough, I watched a 130-140” class 9 cruise the opposite side of the creek from where I was. After seeing that, I moved to the tree I had been looking at and waited on the right wind to move in to where I thought my best chance was at seeing that big 9 or maybe even the big 12-point.
After five days of waiting for the right wind, on November 7th, I headed back in with a better entrance route in mind and a hope that this deer that I hadn’t seen in over a month would come by me in a very special place. It was extra special this year as I had lost my grandfather in March and we had shared such a wonderful memory in that area. I was hoping I could get it done on the deer of a lifetime on MOSS Hill.
It was just breaking daylight when I looked up to the sky and said, “Grandpa, if you can help with the deer movement from up there, it would be awesome if you could send that big fella by me today.” After a little laugh, I told him I loved him and a peace came over me. I sat until about 9:45 with no deer sightings. I was starting to think today must not be the day. I looked at my rattling horns and decided to crack them together one time and see what happened. After a few minutes of rattling, I hung the horns up and waited. A few minutes later, I heard a stick crack behind me. As I turned around slowly, I could see it was him, “The Big 12.” He was headed down the hill behind me, and when I say I got shook up instantly, I mean bad. He worked one of the scrapes in the bottom across the creek for a few minutes and started to head my way. He got to 30 yards behind me and worked another scrape. There was too much brush to sneak an arrow through, so I waited, calming myself down. As he turned from the scrape, he started to head away from me. Then I saw him hang a right and come straight across the creek crossing I was set up on. I was trying my hardest to re-range where he was headed to, but I couldn’t get my rangefinder out of the pouch. I said, “You know that hole is 30 yards.”
As he headed for the shooting lane, I drew my bow back and steadied for the shot. I let the arrow fly and watched it disappear into him, right in the 10 ring. I could see the blood instantly as he gave a big mule kick and ran up the bank of the creek. He stopped at about 60 yards. He turned around and ran straight back down to where I had shot him and piled up 35 yards from my tree.
After taking some time to compose myself, it was time to make the phone calls. It’s always nice to have service in a tree. My good buddy who had just killed a dandy 142” 10-point three days prior was the first “Hey, I’m gunna need some help,” call. Then it was a FaceTime with my wife and son to let them know I had shot “The Big One” and to get dressed because my son was going to want to see this one. After the phone calls and excitement were over, I sat down, looked up, and said, “Thank you, grandpa. I needed this hunt with you.” It’s funny how things like this always seem to happen in the most sacred place I know, the deer woods of the Allegheny National Forest.