Cutting Edge Bullets: A Tribute to Mark Hampton

This story starts with some members of a shooting forum who wanted to pay tribute to one of the greats in handgun hunting, Mark Hampton. To protect their privacy, I’ll refer to them by their forum aliases. These men are all good friends and ones I deeply respect. Thank you, Mark, for your efforts—and thank you, Cutting Edge Bullets, for your contribution.

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“Sixshot” had some bullets that Mark Hampton had sent him. He came up with a meaningful way to extend Mark’s hunting legacy after his passing. His idea: send the bullets to people who would hunt with them in Mark’s honor.

My friend “KRal” was among the first to receive some of the Cutting Edge 200gr .44 caliber bullets. When he posted about his tribute hunt, I was moved by the gesture. I reached out to “KRal” and asked if he had any to spare. He said he’d already loaded all of them. I trust very few people with their handloads—but “KRal” is one of them. I asked if he could send six rounds. I planned to shoot two or three to test velocity and accuracy, then save the rest for hunting.

“KRal” agreed and sent six. He mentioned the load was similar to his regular Hornady 240gr XTP load. As it turned out, my XTP load was nearly identical—just half a grain lighter.

When the rounds arrived, I fired three of my XTP loads, then three of the Cutting Edge rounds. The CEBs hit 2 inches high at 50 yards. My XTPs hit 2.5 inches high. “KRal” said his loads clocked 1500 fps from his 10” MagnaPort Stalker. My 7.5” Super Blackhawk Hunter averaged 1475 fps. Close enough. I loaded the revolver with three CEB rounds followed by three XTPs.

The rut was on, and bucks were chasing does. I had my eye on a wide 10-point, but the closest I got was 300 yards. I switched plans and hunted a tight-cover stand where bucks sometimes cruise while scent-checking does.

That morning, deer moved steadily through. Then, I spotted dark, heavy antlers weaving through the brush. I saw him clearly as he crossed an opening. I cocked my Ruger and waited. He paused behind the brush—his legs still visible. I gently placed my thumb between the hammer and the frame and held.

He approached a doe at my feeder. She wasn’t in heat, but he needed to check. As he stepped into the open, he quartered toward me more than I liked. The doe saw me level the gun and stared, ready to bolt. I glanced at her. She was locked on me. Time was up. I aimed my Ruger Super Blackhawk Hunter handgun at the front of his shoulder and squeezed the trigger.

The Cutting Edge bullet hit. He jumped and ran. I called the shot good.

Next, I climbed down and followed his trail. Seventy-five yards from the shot, he lay dead. A respectful deer, taken with a handgun, in honor of Mark Hampton.

This part of the story brings sadness, anger, and gratitude.

I was searching for a boar to use the remaining rounds. At daylight, I walked into the pasture with tall shooting sticks and my Blackhawk Hunter. I skirted the brush near open grazing areas—prime spots for spotting pigs.

I stopped at a concrete cistern filled with water and sat on the edge, wind in my face. A barbed wire fence divided the cistern, letting cattle from two pastures drink.

On impulse, I glanced behind me into the other pasture. Movement caught my eye. I raised my binoculars. A buck walked with purpose, likely trailing a doe. He was 150–175 yards away. But something dangled from his mouth.

I looked closer… and my stomach turned. It was his lower jaw.

I have never wanted a rifle or specialty handgun more. I cursed myself for not grabbing my XP100 in .243 Win. If I’d known the drop of the Cutting Edge Bullet load at 200 yards, I would’ve taken the shot.

He approached another fence. I moved quickly, using brush for cover. He stopped at the cross-fence, looked both ways. I had a 50/50 chance he’d come my way. I ranged him—230 yards.

He looked miserable. He tried to go through the fence but failed repeatedly. It was as if he knew the jaw would catch or drag. He didn’t want to jump either. I prayed he’d head my way.

When he turned and walked away, I slipped through the gates, entering the pasture he aimed for. I jogged to stay low and out of sight, hoping to get in front of him. If he got through, he’d be gone.

Anger built. Whoever shot this buck had left him to suffer. I got ahead of his likely path, glassed the pasture, and saw nothing. I hoped he’d be bedded near the fence. Easing back, I glassed the line—and finally spotted him.

He was farther down the fence line, coming toward me—150 yards out. I set up the sticks and waited.

He struggled to figure out how to cross. He lowered his head, lifted his legs, and stepped toward me instead. I prayed he’d give me a clean shot.

At 65 yards, he stepped into the open. I aimed just right of the base of his neck. The shot broke clean. He ran 40 yards and dropped.

Thank you, Jesus. And thank you, Cutting Edge Bullets.

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I’ll never know how that deer lost its jaw. Maybe a bullet deflected off brush. But I’ve seen deliberate “head shots” before. Some shooters think it’s smart to save meat that way. When the track job turns up bone, teeth, and no blood, they walk away in disgust. Those deer rarely survive or get recovered.

When I euro-mounted the head, I kept the jaw and rebuilt it with JB Weld. The bullet had shattered the lower jaw, fractured parts of the upper nose, sinuses, and destroyed an eye internally. That buck was blind on one side.

I don’t care how skilled a shooter someone claims to be—every animal deserves a quick, humane death. We must take the shot with the highest chance of success.

I hope Mark knows his Cutting Edge bullets are still doing good work in his honor.

My third and final round sits and waits.

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