The Roman Experience: Story Of A 156-Inch Bow-Buck

The story of Roman began last season when I purchased a property in Baker County. He showed up on my first camera run. His large “Roman” nose feature immediately earned him the name. Last year I estimated that he was at least  5 1/2 years old and approximately 140 inches as an 8-pointer.

All season he would frequently show up on different cameras, but he was extremely inconsistent, making him impossible to pattern. Toward the end of last season, I had his core area nailed down to the point where his ability to avoid me became a statistical anomaly. There was a stretch between Christmas and New Year’s when I hunted a specific area five out of eight days when the conditions were right. The only three days that I was not there, he would show up 30 minutes before dark without a care in the world. I remember driving back to Atlanta telling my wife, “I guarantee you he will be on my cell cam in five minutes.” And sure enough, there he was, every time. I ended the season a bit frustrated but excited and hopeful that he would survive the off season.

I started running cameras this July, and I was shocked to find that not only did he survive, but his left side had developed into a freak nasty non-typical with an antler coming out just below his eye socket. Last year, he was just a normal, main-frame 8.

Roman had become one of the most unique looking deer I have seen in 30 years of deer hunting in Georgia. I was instantly glad that he was able to elude me last year. Per usual, he was frequently inconsistent on camera through the end of the summer and disappeared the week leading up to the bow opener. Then out of nowhere, he showed up on my cell cam while I was eating lunch at 12 p.m. on opening day. We all laughed at how typical that was as Roman fed for an hour in broad daylight while we ate lunch.

My friend Zach shot a giant 9-pointer on opening day evening, which broke into a huge multi-day celebration and kept my mind off Roman for the remainder of the weekend.

On Tuesday of the following week, I was watching Hurricane Sally approach the panhandle of Florida and head straight for southwest Georgia. In my experience, the first afternoon following a major weather event can be the most epic of hunts. So, I made the decision to leave Atlanta mid afternoon on Thursday, drive through the tail end of the hurricane and go straight to the blind.

As I was walking in, I bumped a few does and a young spike. I hated to bump them but saw it as a good sign that deer were moving. I got settled in the blind, which was located approximately 75 yards from the edge of the creek in some planted pines.

Once settled, I started running “There he is” exercises in my mind to try and work out the buck fever jitters as much as possible before the possibility of the real thing. Every 15 minutes, I would practice a quiet draw back, aiming at different objects out of the tiny pop-up blind window.

Around 6:30 p.m., a few does and five young bucks came out and started milling around. I continue to be amazed at how well a pop-up blind will hold in your scent as these deer fed around in bow range for close to an hour.

At 7:30 p.m., the other deer looked up and slowly walked away. Since the tiny window limited my visibility, I waited anxiously for whatever they were looking at to step out. As my anticipation started to rise, I saw Roman’s crazy velvet rack come into view. I immediately clipped my release and drew back. I was able to get to full draw without him looking up, which was a huge win. He stepped out and stopped with only his shoulder exposed from behind a tree. I anxiously waited for him to take one more step so I could avoid hitting him in the shoulder. He froze, not like he was spooked or sensed something was wrong, but almost like he knew that I was in full draw with my right arm starting to shake.

After what seemed like a few minutes, he either had to take another step or I would be forced to take the risk letting it down and drawing back again with him now in plain view. Finally, he took another step. I put my pin on his heart and released. I saw the arrow hit what looked like a direct heart shot. I watched him run 80 yards out of sight low to the ground, struggling with one of his front legs clearly broken. I was confident that he would be piled up just out of site.

I immediately texted all my hunting boys that I had just smoked Roman. I got out of the blind and went to retrieve my arrow, which was laying right at the shot site. To my utter disbelief, my Rage broadhead was broken to pieces, but the arrow indicated only a few inches of penetration. I saw it hit, seemingly right in the heart, and I saw Roman run off extremely hurt, but my arrow told a completely different story.

I backed straight out without even looking for blood. If he was bedded close by, I didn’t want to push him. I called my favorite deer tracker Randy Vick, who has saved the day for us many times over the years. We decided to meet at 7 a.m. the next morning.

As you can imagine I did not sleep much that night going through the difference between what I saw with my own eyes and the story that my arrow told. With only a few inches of penetration, I was trying to reconcile the possibility of losing such an incredible animal. But, with Randy coming in the morning, I felt confident that we had as good a plan as we could possibly have.

A good friend of mine Craig Layton met me there to assist in the track. When Randy arrived, I walked him through the details from my arrow. He truthfully said, “Well, it doesn’t sound really good, but we’ll give it a shot.”

Matt Lowe and his Baker County non-typical that he named Roman.

Once we arrived at the shot site, he let out Reba, the first dog. Reba searched for 45 minutes in the direction that I saw Roman run. We didn’t find any blood, any sign, nothing. Reba searched back and forth through the planted pines but never locked in on the trail.

Randy said, “Sometimes they can tell when a deer isn’t hurt real bad.”

The harsh reality was starting to sink in. It was obvious that Randy was about to throw the towel in and head to another track. I acknowledged that it was probably a waste of time, but I asked if we could please work the thickest cover in all directions, hoping that he left some scent when he transitioned out of the pines. Randy agreed, but he needed to switch dogs to “Yada” since Reba was exhausted.

Yada started working in the same fashion as Reba. Zigzagging back and forth, never locking in on a trail. Randy and I were so discouraged that we stopped looking for blood and just stood in place watching his GPS. Randy pointed out that Yada had stopped in one place for a couple of minutes in the middle of a thicket and then had moved on. I was not very confident since the thicket was a full 180 degrees in the opposite direction from where I saw Roman running, but I walked into that thicket and started searching just to be safe.

After a minute, I saw a spot on a briar that looked like it could be a small blood smear. Randy sprayed it with peroxide, and it foamed up. That was our first sign. It became clear that Roman had gone over the hill and turned a complete 180 back toward the creek, which meant we had pushed Reba to search in the wrong direction. Now that we knew he had turned toward the creek, we directed Yada to try and find where he had crossed the road and entered the creek swamp.

We immediately took off through the swamp following Yada, who was obviously locked on the deer’s trail. I was half way looking for water moccasins as I sprinted through mud and water that filled my rubber boots and went all the way up to my thigh. With every step, we were getting closer to Yada, according to Randy’s GPS. Finally, above the brush I saw Roman’s rack. Yada had done her job.

The next 15 minutes was a blur of hugs, aggressive fist bumps and everyone repeatedly saying “Unbelievable!” I must have told Yada 100 times that she was a “good girl” and told Randy that he saved me yet again. I know this is just my humble opinion, but Randy and his dogs really are the best in Georgia.

After looking at the buck, I saw that my arrow hit him  squarely on the ball joint of the lower shoulder that it shattered his shoulder and leg but had very little penetration. That explained why the arrow looked the way it did and why there was very little blood.

We got him back to the house and rough scored him at 156 2/8 inches, which included 11 1/2 inches of kickers. This included a 2 1/2-inch tine coming out below his eye socket. I don’t really know how to explain his crazy left side, but I did notice that his back right knee joint was swollen like a baseball. We took some pictures and then I carried him up to the processor.

“Roman” grew an antler under his eye socket. WRD Deer Biologist Charlie Killmaster says, “Antlers will grow from the special cells in the pedicle, so the growth is specific to the type of cells rather than the location. You could transplant pedicle cells to virtually any part of a buck, and it will grow an antler (this has been done experimentally). In the case of this buck, it’s likely that some of those pedicle cells inadvertently ended up around his eye when he was developing in the womb. He has probably grown and shed a small bit of antler there each year.”

The ride back to Atlanta was filled with congratulatory text messages and phone calls from people wanting to hear the story. My favorite part about deer hunting is the celebration among fellow hunters. It is truly magical. I view the Roman Experience as truly once in a lifetime and greatly appreciate all of the friends and family who were with me the entire time sending encouraging texts and rooting for a recovery.

I also want to thank the core group of landowners and neighbors that made killing this mature buck possible. We have recently formed the “Caney Creek Deer Management Coop” to formalize our efforts, but I believe anyone who kills a trophy buck needs to thank all of the neighbors for allowing that buck to reach his full potential with age.

I cannot conclude the story without thanking my wife Callie for being so supportive of my passion for hunting. She has never once tried to keep me from my outdoor obsession, and I would not be able to enjoy experiences like this without her. Here is to a big 2020 season!

All-Time Baker County Top-10 Bucks