Story By: Tony Grabowski
While in our blind, my brother whispered, “Big buck. Gnarly. Take him when you can.” Just then, I saw him…My hunting adventures began long ago in my birth province of Saskatchewan. As young boys armed with bows and arrows, Daisy BB guns, and .177 caliber pellet guns, my cousins and I hunted small birds and gophers. As far back as I can remember, I have been fascinated by the natural world, and hunting has always been part of who I am.
My formal training began in the 1960s, when I joined the Saskatoon City Police Boys Rifle Club. There, police officers taught firearm safety, marksmanship, and hunter education. It all took place at an indoor shooting range in the basement of the police station. What an amazing opportunity, one that provided a solid base for my future as a hunter.
My first big game animal was a whitetail doe, followed by a few more whitetails, mule deer, pronghorn, and a black bear. I moved away from Saskatchewan in 1974, but I have successfully hunted whitetail deer in Saskatchewan as a Canadian resident since then—initially with over-the-counter tags. Presently, Canadian residents must apply for a tag through a draw held in the spring of each year by the Saskatchewan government or book a hunt with a Saskatchewan Outfitter. I chose the former. The odds of being drawn are enhanced if you have a relative living in Saskatchewan, so when I apply, I include my brother’s name and HAL number. I wasn’t drawn in 2024, but I was successful in the 2025 draw.
Planning began, and on November 22, 2025, my son Terry, my grandson Tanner, and I drove from Edmonton, Alberta, to the home of my brother Tim and his wife, Lori, in Big River, Saskatchewan. During the drive, I became eager to see Tim and Lori and excited for what the coming week might bring. Hunting does that to a hunter’s heart. We arrived, settled in, and headed to our assigned bedrooms after dinner.
The next day, we met my cousin Austin, who is a keen hunter and trapper. He and his brother Travis had set out a number of trail cameras at strategic locations on private property they had gained permission to hunt, and that permission was extended to my brother and me. Austin showed Terry, Tanner, and me around and indicated where two whitetail bucks were captured on a trail camera while checking out two large scrapes. One was a wide-racked buck that had been dubbed as “the Wide One,” and the other was a great non-typical buck that Austin had named “Gnarly”. Austin and Tim had set up a blind overlooking the scrapes after some arduous trail cutting. Austin and his wife had sat in the blind all that morning, but neither the Wide One nor Gnarly had shown up. However, they had seen Gnarly briefly, 600 yards away on an adjoining property they did not have permission to hunt on, thereby confirming he was still in the area.
Very early on the morning of November 24, my brother and I drove from his home to the blind in Zone 53—the zone I had been drawn to hunt in. On the way, we spotted four whitetail does as well as a small three-point whitetail buck accompanied by another doe. As we neared the location of the blind, we spied a small bull moose. We parked and saw a cow moose while unloading our gear. She was joined by the previously seen bull moose. With such a great start to the morning, I had a good feeling.
We hiked several hundred yards out to the blind, climbed in, turned on the propane Buddy heater, and began our wait. Within thirty minutes, a spike buck checked out the scrapes, walked towards our blind, then abruptly turned 90 degrees to his right and slowly disappeared into the timber, obviously not alarmed. About forty minutes later, Gnarly made an appearance. That’s when my brother whispered, “Big buck. Gnarly. Take him when you can.”
Gnarly checked out the scrapes and cautiously walked to his left through the timber. My heart started racing, and I knew from experience to control my excitement and not look at his antlers… There would be plenty of time for that if I did my part. I had the crosshairs on him but couldn’t get a clear shot. Finally, he stopped, looking toward our blind, and I squeezed the trigger with the scope crosshairs on his shoulder. At the shot, he jumped straight up in the air and ran off into the timber. Tim and I looked at each other, both wide-eyed with looks of disbelief on our faces. I said, “I can’t believe what just happened,” and he slapped me on the back.
I have often told novice hunters that the difference between success and going home with an uncut tag is five seconds. This was our present experience, given how fast things unfolded. We waited in the blind for about ten minutes, mulling over the fast action of the morning—especially the past few minutes. I then walked to where he was standing when I shot and immediately spotted blood droplets on the snow. To say I was shaking badly from the adrenaline rush of the past few minutes would be an understatement. I followed the blood trail slowly, and, after a short while, I spotted him lying down with his legs tucked under his body. I called out to Tim, saying, “He is over here. I found him.” I waited for Tim, and we both walked up to this magnificent deer.
I noticed his hair standing on end, as it must have in life, and the markings on his face and forehead. His body was robust: a mature whitetail buck in his prime. I thought about the people who would be sustained from the meat he would provide. I marveled at his antlers, which carried eight points on each side, and the mass of his antler bases, which I could not wrap my hand around. I continued to shake like an aspen leaf in a breeze. Wow, what an experience!
I notched out my three tags—one for the antlers, one for the hide, and one for the meat—and attached them as required. After photos, Tim hiked to his truck for his skimmer, and upon his return, we loaded Gnarly onto the skimmer and struggled our way to the truck over the uneven forest floor and deadfall. With difficulty and some ingenuity, we were able to lift the skimmer into the back of the truck. From there, we went to my cousin Ricky’s in Shellbrook, Saskatchewan, where I skinned my buck. Once I finished, we left for Big River and, on arrival, were treated to a hearty dinner and a good night’s sleep.
The next day, Tim, Terry, and Tanner went grouse hunting while I worked on my buck. Tanner (age thirteen) got his first-ever bird, a beautiful ruffed grouse. The following day was spent cutting, wrapping, and freezing meat. We made it back to Edmonton the day after, just in time for Tanner to head to Red Deer, Alberta, for a Soccer tournament with his mom and grandparents.
As we drove back to Edmonton, I thought about my first deer and Tanner’s first grouse and how fitting it was to harvest such a great whitetail buck on a trip where I could share the experience with my brother, my son, my grandson, and my cousins. I am so very grateful to Tim and Lori for their outstanding hospitality and to Austin for scouting, obtaining permission for us, and allowing Tim and me to use his blind. Last but not least, I am so very thankful to God for blessing us with this wonderful hunting adventure and for the amazing wildlife we hunt.
Additional Resources