It happens to all of us at some point, though the reasons that cause it vary. A stiff breeze, an unseen twig, even the occasional tall blade of grass can cause a bad hit on an animal. A killer would simply shrug his shoulders and get back in the stand to try again, a hunter would spend hours, sometimes days searching, hoping, praying to find the wounded creature.

Rain had soaked through all three layers of my clothing. A steady stream of water poured from the bill of my hat and splashed into the puddle forming in my lap. With my bow hung above me, I blew on my cupped hands in a feeble attempt to keep them warm. Strong gusts of wind would sometimes blow the rain sideways and into my face causing momentary blindness. With Mother Nature laughing in my face, I stared Her in the eyes and persisted, hoping that today would be my day.

Mature whitetail deer constantly amaze me with their uncanny ability to approach a hunter's stand location unnoticed and remain there until the hunter is jolted back to reality by this suddent apparition. This is how my buck haunts my dreams, a ghostly apparition appearing from no where, standing perfectly broadside at 30 yards. In my dreams I can see myself draw my bow, hold slightly high with my 30-yard pin and release. I am taken on a short flight along with my arrow as it saild towards my target - and hits high.

An arrow driven into the upper 2/3 of a deer's body canresult inone of four things; a spine hit which causes instant paralysis and death, a severed aortic artery causing massive blood loss and death, a high lung hit causing death within minutes, or a non-vital hit missing the top of the lungs, spine, and vital arteries all together.

To say that the 45 minutes follwoing my shot were a roller coaster of emotions would be a severe understatement. I went from being elated about the prospect of shooting the biggest deer of my bow hunting career to feeling like i had been kicked in the gut by a mule. I went from walking on air to not being able to feel my legs. I went from wanting to cry from sheer joy to wanting to cry from the realization that I would most likely never find this deer. I went from the highest point in my career to the lowest in a matter of minutes.

When I recovered the arrow it was coverd in light tan and grey hair. The broadhead had a small piece of meat and bits of fat intwined with twisted metal. At this sight of my arrow in the state that it was I sank to my knees, unable to move for many minutes. I'm glad that I was the only one in those woods that day, for had another hunter come upon me he would have seen the pathetic form of a once great hunter reduced to nothing more than a child with a toy bow and arrow.

Mother Nature must have thought me pathetic as well because for the first time in seven hours the rain let up and the sun shone. When I finally regained the ability to move I began a hopeless search that would take the rest of the afternoon and the better part of the next morning. This deer still haunts my dreams as the one who got away, but I am confident in the fact that he survived that brush with death to remain in those woods for another season.