hey guys, just a story i wrote today while i was hangin round the hotel in florida.. enjoy!

I wonder how bowhunting compares to being rich????

Yada yada yada. All the people around this hotel talking about being lawyers and owning nice cars, being rich. I wonder if they know what real fulfillment is? Or, perhaps, they don' t see it the same way I do. Sure, I can easily find the thrill in making lots of money and driving around in a zippy convertable. By the way, I like my grandfathers Corvette. But thats not exactly what I would call " fullfilling" in laymens terms. Fullfilling to me is spending a day afield. Spending a day out in the woods. I work hard to be one with nature, and then I sling an arrow through it or put it down with one well placed bullet. Am I somewhat odd? Maybe. I' ve been accused of worse. In my mind, however, nothing compares to taking a whitetailed buck at 15 yards, perfect broadside shot, watching the arrow dissapear into the lung/heart area of the deer, and then recovering the animal. I' m getting more and more into bowhunting to get more in tune with my surroundings, get closer to animals, and sort of get back to my roots so to speak. It' s getting me closer and closer to my Cherokee indian ancestors. The thrills of bowhunting and even shooting my bow overwhelm me at times. I abolutely love it. It' s something about becoming an arrow. It sounds funny, you would have to experience bowhunting to know what I mean. Place the arrow on the string, settle it onto the rest, settle your pin on the target, then slowly and smoothly release the arrow. Letting it sail, hopefully to your destination of choice. When I was younger and still finding myself in the middle of my archery endeavors, I would watch the arrow sail to the left, right, over, and under my destination of choice, or bullseye. Now it is different. Almost every time I shoot an arrow, it goes exactly where I want it to be. Just the other day, for the first time ever, I split an arrow that was in my target with another arrow that I shot from my bow. The sound of carbon splitting and cracking excited me and cost me twelve dollars as well. But thats okay. The shot gives me bragging rights atleast for the month. I also doubt that I will ever forget my first " robin hood" as we bowhunters call it. It was definately something to remember. I hope my shots are as accurate during deer season as they are now. If they are, my table will be blessed with a good sized piece of deer sausage. YUM YUM!
A Story For The Heck Of it
The beeping alarm from my Nokia cell phone brought me out of a deep, comfortable sleep. I lay in my bed quite content in my present state of mind while I was asleep. But I knew I had tasks before me that needed to be addressed. I wanted to address them, very badly. My hopes were high for that morning hunt. Tons of deer sign and fresh tracks in the area I was hunting over excited me. I knew the deer were there. I made my way out to the truck, threw my Ol' Man treestand in the back, put my bow case in the front, and headed to my hunting spot. I slowly made my way down the foggy dirt road and parked beside an old, probably dangerous bridge. From here I would enter the woods and hunt any stand my heart desired. I got out of my truck and set my bow on the ground, just under the door on my truck. I made my way to the back of the truck and slipped my climbing stand onto my back. After settling the straps into their proper place, I picked up my Martin Magnum Jaguar bow and dissapeared into the woods. The Mississippi hardwood creek bottoms had engulfed my body as well as my state of mind. I was no longer a person. When I made the transition from the person standing beside his truck with bow in hand to the hunter stalking out his deer stand, quietly, in the woods, I made a much more dramatic and important transition. I went from your average frame of mind. Worrying about what was to come of the day, to the frame of mind that I have now. I am the hunter. I am going to win. Quietly I made my descent down the hill to a gulley that had been swallowed up by thorns, and only one trail led through it, the trail to my deerstand. Quietly I made my way down the trail, careful to avoid touching things and spreading my scent around and also being careful not to bang my stand on limbs and the thick briars and weeds. After some twenty five minutes of walking I finally made it to my deer stand. I unpacked my treestand and silently wrapped the cables from it around the tree before placing the pins in their proper slot. With my stand angled just right, I stood back, took a deep breath, smiled, and then made my ascent up the straight, tall, pine tree. Loose bark hit the ground when my cables chipped it away from the tree, but the dew from the night before deafened the sound somewhat. I finally reached my desired height of twenty-five feet and settled down. I wiped the sweat from my brow and got comfortable. The breeze was soothing and the red mercury on my thermometer was reading just above 60 degrees farenheit. Perfect. The wind was perfectly in my face and blowing directly away from the bedding area and trails. Again, perfect. I smiled again and brought my bow up the tree by my hoist rope. After unfastening the rope from my bow I placed the bow in its proper place, the bow holder of course. The darkness of the woods was chased away, slowly, by the sunlight that was turning the land colors of all kinds. The yellow, brown, red, and green leaves of fall were the highlight of the woods today as the sun painted them with its color of choice. The morning was perfect and I knew I had about an hour and a half before the deer would start moving down the trails and I would need to be watching.
The barking from two grey squirrels woke me up from yet another sleep, I looked at my watch and saw that it was almost 9:30 A.M. Perfect, the squirrels woke me up at just the right time. I leaned up in my stand and scanned the woods that lay before me with my binoculars. Nothing. I looked more carefully a second time and caught a brown patch of fur. It was just then that I started getting excited. The brown fur slowly made its way down the trail and materialized into a mature whitetailed doe. On most normal occasions, I would have taken the doe but not today. Today was just too perfect to let it end now. The fulfillment of hunting is not killing, it' s being outside and ennjoying what is out there. I watched the doe as she made her way further down the trail and right in front of me, 15 yards away, browsing on some of the thick undergrowth to her left and right. She made her way down the trail casually, flicking her tail as if to say " goodbye" to me. After a few more minutes of time had elapsed. Another animal was heard making its way down the trail and through the woods. I reached for my binoculars and scanned the area from which the sound had come. A small whitetailed buck. Very small. From what I could tell it was a first year buck with only forked horns to show, perhaps next year he would be a nice 6, then a good 8 or 10. And so on and so forth. But for now he was a forked horn. I watched him, as well as the two does behind me, walk out of sight. Normally I would have taken either of the three does that had strolled inside the deadly 30 yards around me, but not today, not yet. I checked the time again on my watch, 10:00. Precisely the second I took my eyes from my watch, I heard yet another sound. Just another doe I figured. But I scanned the trail my binoculars just to make sure. Ha, not even a deer. This time it was a gray squirrel. Carelessly bounding away through the hardwods in search for acorns and making as much noise as possible. I kept looking at the animal and was in amazement how such a small animal could cause so much noise. Barking at anything and everything that moves and also rustling dry leaves as he went along. But that was okay. This was his home, he had every right in the world to do whatever he pleased here. But there was a sound coming from the right of him that had caught my attention. A deer grunt. I could not tell from the grunt if it was a buck or a doe, but it was getting late in the morning and I would probably take the animal if a shot presented itself. I caught the outline of the whitetail moving through the brush and followed it out onto the trail, the same trail that would lead the deer down in front of my deer stand, until it became clear. This was a buck. A big buck. A big buck that was walking down death row, I hoped. My heart leaped. The deer stopped with its head behind a large oak tree long enough for me to stand up and grab my bow. He continued walking. He was 15 yards away from the spot I wanted him to be in, and slowly closing the gap. I started talking to myself and telling myself to slow down and take the shot when it permitted itself. He sidetracked himself from the trail and was closer than expected. Ten yards. Ten yards, I was positive he could hear my heart beating. He made his way to my shooting lane. and ducked his head behind a bush. I drew back my bow just as he jerked his head up. With his ears alert and his body motionless, I knew it was now or never. I settled my single pin just behind his right leg and touched the trigger on my release aid. The almost silent bow sent an arrow in his direction. Right where it was supposed to go. The arrow sailed into both of his lungs before exiting out of the opposite side. Perfect double lung shot. He went back to eating. What was wrong? I know I saw my orange feathers dissapear into his vitals. What was he doing still there. He obviously did not hear my bow. Maybe I missed. These questions and a thousand more raced through my mind. Approximately 4 seconds after the shot the animal fell over. He was gone. He fell over and never thought about flinching. I slung my arms in the air, screamed, yelled. Made a whole bunch of noise. I waited a few more minutes before I went to get the deer Not to make sure he was finished, he was finished, but to enjoy the moment. I didn' t want it to end. I knew it had to. Carefully I lowered my bow to the ground followed suit in my treestand. After getting to the ground, I ran to the deer and grabbed his horns. " 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10" I said as I counted the number of antler tips on his rack. A perfect ten point. Wow. The day was all I had dreamed about. It was perfect. The loaction, coming in to my loaction, the hunt, the wait, the deer that passed by, the buck, the squirrel, and the shot. It was all too perfect. So perfect that I didn' t wake up that morning to go hunt. I was satisfied with my dream. That was all it was, just a dream. Oh well, I guess that is how it goes sometimes. But who' s to say it will not happen THIS year? After all, isn' t that what keeps most hunters going? The thought that there is always " next year."