Thad Whiteside writes, "Back in 1982, my dad, Trevor Whiteside, was hunting the mule deer archery hunt. Early one morning he went out to hunt in one of his favorite spots, he sat for a while and finally found the buck he was looking for. There were 2 big bucks and one of them presented a shot. He took it and the arrow found its mark. He decieded to let it die and return in a couple of hours. He marked the spot of kill, and came of the mountain and went to the mine he worked at and told his friends about the buck. Two hours later, he went back up to find his big buck.
He began tracking the blood trail, and to his surprise he found a gut pile with a drag trail going straight to a four wheeler trail, but no deer!
He then walked back to his truck to come to camp. My dad was very upset and sick to his stomach, because he lost the biggest buck he has every killed. When he pulled into camp, you could see his anger and saddness.
A couple of his friends where there and asked what happened, and he told them. Well, that is too bad they said. They tried to calm him down and walked him around the trailer to sit and relax.
When he rounded the trailer, there was his deer hanging in a tree. His friends new he had a bad back and went to get the buck for him."