This article was first published November 25, 2025, at fieldethos.com.
Here we go again. Trail camera images of massive, velvet-wrapped deer racks popped up like weeds all over my social media lawn this summer. Their hard horned retakes look even more impressive. Many of those trail camera images have already developed into trophy shots, and I’m left wondering why I’ve got nothing remotely close on any of my own trail cameras. I’ve got pictures of bucks, sure. Plenty of them. Just not anything that I’m excited about shooting. Instead of shooters, it seems like all I see are passers.
I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out why. Why is it that all I see are culls when everybody else is shooting Boone and Crockett bucks? Could it be because the habitat I hunt is too poor? I don’t think so. My neighbors sure don’t have any trouble tagging monsters. Is it due to the fact that I don’t have the skillset so many of my fellow hunters seem to possess? No, that can’t possibly be it. Then why?
I actually think that I’ve got an answer to that question. It may seem farfetched, but hear me out. I’m wondering whether or not there’s a chance that the reason I’m not seeing big bucks is because the property I hunt is just full of ugly does. I’m talking about does as ugly as homemade sin. And maybe my herd of homely does just isn’t capable of attracting magazine cover bucks. This one’s neck is too long. That one’s hips are too wide. Her eyes are set too far apart. Her ears are too big. And because of it, the only bucks I see are the equivalents of ninety-eight pound weaklings of the whitetail woods, the kind of bucks that have to ask their wives for permission to buy watches, if you know what I mean.
I was excited to shoot those bucks when I was a kid. In fact, the second buck in my bag, a stumpy little three pointer, was shot as he trotted out towards my dad’s archery target-turned-decoy, Jessie. Due to one too many arrows during target practice and an extended exposure to the elements, Jessie wasn’t much to look at, but dad had tacked an early season doe’s tail on her rear end, so at least she had that going for her. Frankly, any buck that was interested in what Jessie had to offer needed to be prevented from polluting the gene pool and when the little buck made his move, I was happy to oblige. But that class of buck just doesn’t do it for me anymore.
I keep hoping and praying for an ugly duckling moment, thinking that one of these days one of these does is finally going to grow into her gangly legs, have a coming out party, and entice a stud buck to cross the fence and flirt under one of my tree stands. But that moment hasn’t come, and I’m starting to wonder if it ever will.
Desperate times call for desperate measures, they say, so this year I’m pulling out all the stops. I’ve decided that what I need is not a land manager to improve the habitat I hunt. Not a prostaffer to tweak my stand setup. No, what I need is something else entirely. What I need is a talk show host with more money than sense to stage a full blown makeover. I need a team of whitetail stylists to descend upon my neck of the woods and gussy up this herd of ugly does. Hair, makeup, wardrobe, the whole kit and caboodle. Because, short of that, I’m afraid it’s just going to be more of the same.
Anybody got Oprah’s number?
Wright Outdoors 