Some hunts stay with you for reasons bigger than antlers. My experience with a buck we eventually came to know as Daryl—a name with a story of its own—is one of them.

Archery hunting has been a part of the Marsing family for generations. Some of our hunting memories go all the way back to my great-grandpa, Ted, who passed his love for bowhunting down to my grandpa Craig. That tradition continued through my dad and eventually down to me. Growing up, hunting was never just about filling a tag. It was time spent with family, learning the country, and experiencing the beauty we find in the outdoors. 

Early that summer, my uncles Greg and Brian went to look for a good place to put a trail camera. As they walked into the area, a buck suddenly jumped up in front of them. Even though the buck was still early in his antler growth, they could tell there was something different about him.

Brian had just come off a big mule deer hunt in Canada the year before, so the image of a truly giant buck was still fresh in his mind. After seeing the deer, he texted our family:

“Giant buck... he’s gonna be over 200. Mark my words...”

That was a bold prediction for a buck that still had a lot of growing to do, but they were convinced.

They found a spot for the camera, and before long we started getting pictures. As the summer went on and his antlers continued growing, their prediction started looking less crazy.

Somewhere along the way, the buck needed a name. My cousin Nixon had made a funny social media video pretending to be a newscaster and roasting an imaginary person named “Daryl.” It had become an inside joke in our family. This buck almost didn’t look real either, so the name seemed perfect.

From then on, he was Daryl.

Under Utah’s trail camera regulations, we had to pull our cameras in July, which meant the final couple of weeks before the archery opener were filled with uncertainty. We didn’t know where Daryl was spending his time, how his pattern may have changed, or even if he was still around.

My uncle Greg and I were both going after him. We shared everything we learned, and if either one of us got an opportunity, it was going to be a win for all of us.

Opening morning almost ended the story. Greg had Daryl inside 60 yards. After weeks of not knowing if he was even still there, suddenly he was standing in front of him. Then the wind shifted. Daryl caught Greg’s scent, and the opportunity disappeared.

Greg hunted Daryl hard and had several incredibly close encounters, but something always seemed to go wrong. A wind change, one wrong step, or Daryl simply doing what mature bucks do best—he was finding a way to survive. Another hunter in the area, Connor, was also after this buck and we exchanged phone numbers. I’m grateful for the kind of sportsman he is and for the way both hunting parties respected each other’s space. 

After a full week of effort, Greg eventually had to leave the mountain. He didn’t get the opportunity we were all hoping he would get, but every encounter had taught us something about where Daryl wanted to be and how he was moving. I can’t thank Greg enough for the time and effort he put into figuring out this buck. What happened next wouldn’t have happened without him.

I made it back up Friday night and had Saturday to hunt. 

Saturday morning started slow. I was hunting from the ground and texting my dad about whether I should move my tree stand. Based on what we had learned from Greg’s encounters, getting elevated seemed like the right play. Around midday, I hiked down, grabbed my stand from another setup, and climbed up for the evening sit.

For hours, nothing happened. Then, around 7:40, a spike crested the ridge. I watched him through my binoculars, thinking he was alone, until a massive set of antlers began rising over the skyline behind him.

There was no question who it was. Daryl.

My heart started pounding. After an entire summer of watching, planning and wondering, I was finally looking at him from about 90 yards away.

The spike worked toward me and eventually passed in front of my stand at 45 yards. I dialed my sight and waited, expecting Daryl to follow the same trail.

Then I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Somehow, he had slipped in on a completely different line without me seeing him. I looked down and ranged…

Twelve yards.

The buck we had watched all summer was standing right in front of me. I drew back, settled my pin behind the shoulder, and made the shot. Daryl wheeled and ran hard down the steep hillside he had come from.

I waited for our tracking crew to join up. In between the calls and the texts to family and friends, I sat alone. 

My thoughts were overwhelmed with humble gratitude for what I had just experienced. This legendary buck had lived a long, impressive life. Somehow, I was fortunate enough to have an opportunity to encounter him at short range.

When the tracking party arrived, we slowly followed blood, but signs were showing he needed more time. Even though we knew it was a lethal shot, the angle of the shot from a tree stand quartered to me caused for a minimal blood trail. Because of the size of this buck, and even though he did not go a far distance, we felt we needed to ensure a fast recovery out of respect for the animal. As badly as I wanted to go after him, we decided to back out and give him the night. Walking away without knowing for certain what we would find the next morning made for a long night.

The following morning, I went back in surrounded by family and friends. Since we had not found much blood the night before, we decided to reach out to a friend who had an incredible hound named Rooster. I was following behind when I heard the words every hunter hopes to hear:

“FOUND YOUR BUCK!”

After the shot, Daryl had taken a steep downhill route, eventually going down a sharp embankment before coming to rest against an aspen.

Walking up to him is something I’ll never forget. After seeing him so many times, watching him grow, planning for him and spending so much time trying to figure him out, I could finally put my hands on him.

There were hugs, tears and a lot of emotion shared with some of the people who mean the most to me. Even after an entire summer of pictures, I don’t think any of us fully understood just how incredible Daryl was until he was lying there in front of us. He ended up being every bit the buck Brian believed he would become, taping well over the 200-inch mark!

But when I look back on this hunt, the size of his antlers isn’t going to be the first thing I remember.

I’ll remember Greg spending a week on the mountain and sharing everything he learned. I’ll remember Brian and Greg seeing Daryl early in his growth and telling us all to mark their words. I’ll remember Nixon and the ridiculous newscaster video that somehow gave this unbelievable buck the perfect name. I’ll remember the first time I saw him in real life with my dad, brother, and friend before the season. I’ll never forget the phone call with my dad after I shot him and all the emotions involved. And I’ll remember the family and friends who were there when we finally found him.

Most of all, I’ll remember being able to add my own story to an archery hunting tradition that started generations before me.

And maybe the craziest part is where the story ended.

After an entire summer of watching him grow, weeks of planning, and all the close encounters, Daryl was ultimately taken in the exact same spot where he was first seen early that summer.

Of all the places this hunt could have ended, somehow it finished exactly where it started.

Someday, Daryl will be one of those hunting stories I get to pass down, just like the stories that were passed down to me.

And that’s something I’ll never forget.

A Hunt That Came Full Circle

Four generations of bowhunting tradition and one unforgettable Utah mule deer

"MOOSE" a buck of many lifetimes. Hitting the 200 inch club on a general season tag has been a dream of mine ever since I picked up a bow and started chasing these giants. Last year I thought was going to be my year and couldn't get it done. I told @draygen_pickles that this year 2026 was going to be the year one of us kills a giant.

From running cams to scouting and chasing rumors I finally found a buck dreams are made of. I watched this deer every weekend for over a month and a half. Everyone always says consistency is key so | patterned this buck and on the opener he just disappeared. The second day of the hunt we still hadn't seen him, then that evening my girlfriend turned him back up and man did I put the fastest stock on him. I knew where he was headed so I went to the opposite side of the mountain and lo and behold he stepped out at 72 yards quartering to me I stoped him settled my pin on him and I put the hammer down on the king of the mountain. Thanks to all the friends and family that helped me with this GIANT. I chase deer for the memories that will last forever and last night is a night I will never forget, thanks to the lord up above who helps me smash my goals and my dreams. All Glory To God🙏