Greg Wilson shot his unbelievable non-typical trophy on Nov. 20, 2005. Amazingly, that day also happened to be his 39th birthday. Who said that eastern Kentucky doesn’t produce any big bucks? Photo by Bill Cooper.

GREG WILSON’S BEST BIRTHDAY PRESENT EVER!
Stretching to the southwest across Kentucky, the Cumberland Plateau separates the gently rolling farmlands of the Bluegrass and Pennyroyal regions in the central and western portions of the state from the forested hills of the rugged Appalachian Mountains. Situated along the Plateau, Greg Wilson’s farm includes a series of steep hills and deep hollows that lie adjacent to Sturgeon Creek.

In addition to being the home of Greg’s family, this same tract of land has witnessed five generations of the Wilson clan, spanning a period of time that extends back to before Kentucky achieved statehood. Considering current economic patterns and the continuing downward trend in the number of small family owned farms, this is an incredible example of long-term land ownership.

Historically, whitetails were scarce or totally absent in this area during much of the farm’s early periods of occupancy. However, since the early 1990s, local whitetail populations have increased significantly. One section of the Wilson farm includes a high hill that parallels a creek for approximately three-quarters of a mile. Midway along the hillside, and running the entire length of the ridge, are scars of old strip-mining operations that took place during the 1970s and ‘80s.

Most of these strip sites were reclaimed and planted in grass. Today you’ll find scattered trees, pockets of saplings and brush growing on them. Hardwoods grow above and below the mining strips, with dense thickets of hemlock, mountain laurel and hardwoods extending downward to the bank of the creek. This lower hillside is particularly steep and rugged.

ENHANCING THE LAND
“Several years ago I established some food plots in a clearing on top of the ridge,” Greg noted. “Each November, whoever happens to be hunting -- usually my son, brother or myself -- takes a stand along the ridge, basically above the strip site. We follow an old logging road when traveling to or from the ridge top, and over the last few seasons it’s become quite common to jump deer along the way, especially between the creek and the strip site.

“Unfortunately, these deer quickly disappear in the dense undergrowth covering the bottom of the hill. Because of these frequent encounters, not to mention the annual presence of several rubs and scrapes, in the fall of 2005 I decided to build a permanent tree stand along the old road.”

In September, after a brief scouting trip, Greg elected to locate the new stand about 75 yards above the creek, near a small grove of white oaks that border a thicket of young hemlock trees. After completion, he did not return to the site until a few days before the opening of gun season. “In 2004, I don’t believe it was possible to find an acorn anywhere on the farm,” Greg said. “But in November 2005, the ground under the white oaks was literally covered with nuts. Additionally, I found a number of fresh rubs and scrapes, some of them quite large, scattered along the logging road.”

BAD LUCK ON OPENING DAY
Greg positioned himself in the new stand well before daybreak on Nov. 12, opening morning of the 2005 firearms season. His son, Nick, climbed the hill to hunt one of the more familiar ridge top locations. The weather was clear and cool with only a slight breeze blowing.

“About 8 o’clock, a doe appeared and began feeding on acorns under the oaks,” Greg said. “After watching her for about 20 minutes, I noticed she would occasionally throw her head up and stare downhill toward the creek. I could hear what I thought was another deer walking in the leaves, but the hemlock and mountain laurel were too thick for me to see more than 30 yards in that direction.”

Greg continued to watch and listen, hoping the unseen deer would eventually join the doe. Unfortunately, at that precise moment, someone on the adjoining property across the creek began firing a rifle. After several minutes of sporadic shooting, the doe eventually disappeared, and Greg could no longer hear sounds of the second deer.

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