SPEEDDOGS
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This chase took place more than a few years ago, in the southern-most section of the great Canadian North.
In Canada, there isn't just North. There is near-North, mid-North and far-North. This took place in the near-North, where a small block is just a few hundred square miles.
We were running black and tan coon hounds at the time -- long ears, big musical mouths. Hounds can only be legally run on deer for two weeks a year in Canada, so they were a bit out of shape.
The hounds jumped a fawn in a spruce-cedar swamp surrounding a five-acre beaver pond, encompassed by maple, elm and oak hardwood hills.
The hounds put the fawn past Uncle Floyd, a truthful man and a dead shot, who disdained to waste a cartridge on this tiny deer. He just admired the white spot on it's left flank, shaped kind of like the state of Iowa. He failed to catch the hounds because of rough terrain and trying to decide which state or province the white mark most closely resembled, and they continued on.
A year passed. Then two. Nothing was heard from the missing black and tans. They had vanished into the great Canadian North, like black ghosts. Some hunters claimed, on still nights, they could still hear those big bugle mouths echoing on the hardwood hills, but that might have been the booze talking.
Three years later on a frosty November morning, my same uncle was hunkered down beneath a big, white birch when he heard the staccato chop of a pair of hounds driving game.
Then he heard the pounding of hooves and a whirlwind whoosh in the frosted oak leaves littering the forest floor. Coming off the white oak drumlin to his right, was the biggest buck he'd ever seen in his life -- a massive 16-pointer.
Raising the trusty Lee Enfield .303 that had brought him safely through WW11, he drew careful aim and fired. The stag plowed a huge furrow in the frozen leaves and came to rest on its right side, exposing a large white mark.
Three hours later a pair of rail-thin black and tan hounds emerged on the deer's trail, their once powerful bugles now reduced to common chops. Their collars hung loosely on bone-thin necks.
To his astonishment, Uncle Floyd realized it was the pair of hounds that had taken the fawn past him three years previously.
To his utter amazement, he realized, from the white spot on the left flank that his massive animal was the same little fawn he's seen 1,095 days previously.
The Iowa-shaped spot had grown into one the size of California, but it was obviously the same deer. Because of the somewhat belated pursuit of the black and tans it had been able to feed and grow all during this remarkable three-year pursuit.
The black and tans recovered nicely, which just proves once again, you can't lose a bad hound.
The massive head hangs in the basement of Uncle Floyd's second grandson. If you don't believe me, you can ask him.
Not sure how many miles this continuous three-year chase covered, but it's the longest deer chase I ever heard of, even in Canada.
Kyle, Maybe a double cross of Finlay River Banjo.
Now THAT is a deer hunting story!! Mr Emerson, my buddy Mr Bruce" theLegend" Onion didn't happen to be there did he? 
I believe Uncle Floyd got those hounds from Bruce.