This morning was my last that I could hunt for the 2007 season. The wind was just a whisper and 12 inches of fresh powder blanketed the ground, the trees and everything it could settle on. I find there is nothing that rivals a December hunt in fresh snow,not even the peak of the rut.Knowing that I would not be in this position until mid Septemeber next season, I took it all in, the cardinals, the opposum, and the chickadees and the nuthatches. Then eventually the deer....
At 8:15,five full bellied does picked a path that would lead them in my direction. Four passed by out of range but for some unknown reason the last one chose a different route, a route that would take her 20 yards in front of my ice and snow encased popup blind. She slowly browsed, inching ever so close until the time was right to draw. I pulled the Razortec back, hearing the faintest creak that only sounds itself on one of these calm winter days. She was quartering slightly towards me but not severe enough to make me think twice about my 20 yard shot. She heard that faint creak, looked directly into that popup at me, and with that I touched the trigger on my release. The fletching dissapeared picture perfect tight behind her shoulder. She bolted at the shot, leaping high, tail standing tall, not aware that she was leaping on borrowed time. For a second I questioned my shot until she stopped and stared right back into that popup. The legs that carried her to safety all year began to fail and she struggled to regain her composure, but to no avail as she sunk and virtually dissapeared into the 12 inches of fresh powder. I left the blind immediatley, picked up my red soaked arrow and began the track, just to track, just to take it all in, already knowing she lay at the end. The beauty of fresh snow painted in a spray of red is one only a bowhunter can understand. I reached my prize, said a thank you prayer to her and her maker, and quivered my arrow for the last time until September. Until next season...
The last hour....
