I know it's June but here's a bowhunting story from December
06-17-2004, 01:07 PM
#1
Typical Buck
Thread Starter
Join Date: Feb 2003
Location: QDM Heaven
Posts: 847
I know it's June but here's a bowhunting story from December
Monday December 8, 2003
The morning hunt didn’t quite get started as I had planned, as I was late and did not arrive to the stand until right about legal shooting time. Of course, I spooked up two deer in the same spot where I’ve spooked deer several other mornings this year no matter how early I get in or how quiet I am. It appeared to be a doe and a fawn as they were only 20 yards away and there was a noticeable size difference between the two. They first ran towards the north, then quickly turned to the west and then back to the south where I heard them make their final exit from the area. I proceeded to the stand and quietly climbed up. I readied myself and settled in for the hunt. I let out a few soft doe bleats in hopes to ease any anxious nearby deer alerted to any noise I made on my arrival to the spot. Conditions were very favorable for spending a few hours in a tree stand. The temperature was near 40 degrees, it was slightly overcast, and light winds prevailed from the southeast at 5mph, which provided ideal wind direction for the stand selection that morning. This was a stand that had not failed me yet this year as far as seeing deer and I had passed numerous shots at young does and bucks in the previous weeks so needless to say I was very optimistic about what lay ahead. At about 730am I heard the rustling of leaves and the sounds of footsteps to the east of me. I slowly peered in that direction and watched as a sleek red fox carelessly meandered down a trail just 15 yards from me. I let out a quick “kiss” which halted it in its tracks. His pinpoint hearing nailed me dead on as his eyes quickly met mine. He was downwind of me and immediately processed his sensory data and wisely concluded to vacate the premises. He paused a few times to check his backside as he scampered away up the hill to the north where he finally vanished. Other than that brief encounter, all was quiet for the next hour and 15 minutes but for a few usual rustlings of obnoxious squirrels doing their thing.
The full moon, mild temps, and calm winds the night prior led me to believe that there had most likely been lots of deer activity prior to sunrise and that at that moment there was a good chance that most deer would be bedded down chewing their cud and resting. In an effort to arouse some curiosity and stimulate some movement, I reached for my antlers and prepared for a series of simulated buck fights. In less than a minute of crunching the shed antlers together, I heard the crashing of two bucks rapidly descending the steep hill to the south. In an organized panic, I hung the antlers just as fast as I could and reached for my bow, which already contained an arrow ready to launch. I hoped for a mature monarch to emerge through the woods but much to my dismay and subtle disappointment, I watched as two 1.5 year old six-pointers made their way near my stand and then stopped and scanned the area for sign of the source of the fight but they saw nothing. The slightly larger young buck at this point was only 15 yards away and was panting and slobbering like a rabid dog. For his size he was impressive as the heaves of his chest poured out steam with each breath he took. He cockily strutted like a renegade stallion in a complete circle around my stand and came to within 10 yards of the base of my tree and froze for several minutes. I remained calm and motionless with bow in hand as I surveyed the adolescent stud only feet away. He was healthy and beautiful and would only improve in quality with age and time, so as with many other young bucks this year and in years past, I kept my arrow nocked to my string and let him pass. Eventually he made his way out of the area while the other buck, who kept a distance of 35 yards, lost interest as well and began to browse on the buck brush prominent in the area.
Soon thereafter came the birds. 20 or so turkeys began to fly out of their roost from the trees high atop the hill to the south. The sight of their grace in flight as they soared down through the valley was quickly marred by their grotesque ability to land with any finesse as they crashed and cackled to the earth. Once grounded, they milled around just 45 yards away and seemed to be gradually making their way in my direction. I readied myself for a shot in the event one presented itself within range. The second buck at this time left the area to the southwest. Now it was just the longbeards and me. I watched them scratch and peck for food for another few minutes until much to my surprise, a group of six deer in a nose to tail single file line cut right through the flock of turkeys and headed right for me. My heart pounded and my knees weakened. I had passed several shots this year on young bucks and young does but this group harbored three mature does within it. I decided instantly that I would attempt to harvest one if a shot presented itself. The herd maintained their formation until the lead doe was just 12 yards or so from the base of my tree. I pulled my bow back in anticipation of an impending inevitable shot. Abruptly the deer broke apart and confusion set in. The lead doe continued her course and headed behind me providing no shot. The last doe in the line hit a crossing trail and decided to make her way down a trail broadside about 25-30 yards away. I put the pin on her but didn’t feel comfortable with the distance and the pace at which she was walking. Finally what I thought was the last good shot opportunity at the middle doe began to take shape as she began to walk in a quartering away position away from me at about 15 yards. I put the pin on her and waited for her to clear some trees and enter a shooting lane. By this time I had held my bow back for what seemed like an eternity. She entered the clearing and was now at 20 yards. I steadied the bow, placed the pin, and released the arrow. Within a split second my heart sank, disgust set in, and I was furious with myself for the poor shot I had made as I watched the doe run away with the fletching of my arrow clearly visible from the rear left flank. She disappeared to the southeast. The remaining deer were alarmed and initially scattered but then regrouped in the direction of the wounded doe. The noise and commotion generated from the act drew the attention of one of the previously departed six-pointers who paused at 15 yards broadside to check matters out. Just moments later, yet more deer came busting through the area at an alarming pace from the north. It was a one-antlered spike, a double-beamed young buck, and a doe who was obviously in heat and the object of the young bucks’ affection. As quickly as they entered, they were gone and their party had another addition as the curious six-pointer joined in on the chase. The entire ruckus had been all the turkeys could take and they were nowhere to be found as I searched back to the south where they had been. Now I was alone, left to sit and sulk and grasp at any possible hope that someway, somehow just out of sight of my stand lay my doe. I waited impatiently for another 45 minutes to get down from my stand and see what sign I had to work with. For the first 20 yards there was nothing, then luckily at the last instant at which I had seen her, where she crossed a creek, began a deluge of sign. Blood was everywhere. So much that I couldn’t help but look around for a nearby carcass. I began in amazement to follow the obvious trail, peering ahead every few feet for the hump of a deer’s back or the white of a belly but not finding any such thing. 20 yards later she crossed another creek and the trail of crimson blood, although somewhat declining in amount, was still easy to see, even on the tops of rocks in the creek bottom.
Just as I began to climb up the bank of the opposite side of the waterway, I heard a sudden crash and then the unmistakable choppy footsteps of trotting deer. I looked up to the west and caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a very large buck right on the heels of another doe. The buck let out a bellowing grunt as he pursued the fleeing doe. Caught up in the excitement and wanting a closer look at the buck, I dropped to a knee in the thick forest underbrush and began to rattle and then utilized my bleat to hopefully attract the deer my direction. After a minute or so, the strategy seemed to work as the pair of whitetails thundered down the hill parallel to my position. The two passed me by at only 30 yards and I was able to briefly examine the enormous headgear on the massive buck, a shooter he was with no doubt. He would surpass the PY record minimum with ease and could arguably exceed the BC minimum entry score. He is the buck that keeps you up the night before opening day. More futile attempts were made to bring the couple back for another look but to no avail as they ultimately exited the area. Seconds later another six-point buck made his way down the same path as the big buck and rutting doe. At this point I had risen from a crouched stance and was standing up when the young buck quickly became aware of my presence. I remained statue-still as the novice of the woods came to within 15 yards to investigate. He was now on the other side of the creek doing the all too familiar head-bobbing duel with me to figure out what I was. His attention was soon distracted, as his focus became the scent of one of his own laying at his hoof. The little buck with nose to the ground followed the blood trail of the doe back in the direction of my stand. Once he was out of sight, I picked up the search once more for the arrowed doe.
Once across the creek a respectable blood trail continued with little difficulty in following. I then paused and considered the facts as they were at that moment. The shot was in the rear quarter of the deer. The deer had traveled 50-60 yards from the point of impact. There was incredible blood loss initially and the sign seemed to maintain some consistency so far. There was plenty of daylight left to give the deer time to bed and expire if in fact she would. Predators are not an imminent threat in the area and it is private ground so neither predator nor person should disturb the doe if she beds down in the immediate area. So I made the decision to leave and return in three hours to hopefully retrieve my deer. I marked the last blood sign on the trail at my feet with blaze orange tape and skulked back out of the woods.
The time spent at home waiting to return to the deer woods was agonizing and painful. Yet, I was optimistic as I dressed in hunting clothes and lugged my hunting gear into the woods with me as I was just sure I would find the doe within yards of the last sign I marked and still have time to field dress her and make it to my favorite stand with light to spare for an afternoon hunt for the hog of a buck I had seen earlier that morning. However, much to my dismay, the multiple drops of blood I had been following within only 10 yards had dwindled to absolutely nothing. I was a nervous wreck! How could it be? A state of denial set in. I slumped to my hands and knees and strained to find even a pin drop of blood to indicate the direction of the prey….but there was nothing. I began scanning in concentric circles around my last bit of orange marking tape and continued to find no clues. Every rock, log, stump, or thicket began to take the shape of the carcass of a deer as wishful thinking took hold of my every optimistic thought. I tortured myself over and over reliving the shot and trying to nail down just what went wrong. I had shot trophy bucks at less than 15 yards, how could I choke on a chip shot at a doe? I grew more and more distraught with every step that brought me no closer to any witness to the locality of my trophy. Finally, like an oasis in the desert, I found significant sign and it came in the form of my tip to nock, blood-covered arrow. Initial feelings of optimism slowly faded to an all-time low of despair. No blood could be found within even inches of the ejected arrow which was fully intact but with a slight bend about 6 inches from the tip of the broad head and was lying 35-40 yards from the last sign I had previously marked. I was perplexed but not close to giving up the search, and search I did. I searched, and searched, and searched and searched and searched. I went as far as three to four hundred yards in every direction from the point at which I had found the fallen arrow but I found nothing. The woods that earlier that day were filled with whitetail activity were now silent, cold, and darkening. I was crushed. For four hours I had diligently searched every nook and cranny in the woods but now with the forest turning black with night and not a single glimmer of hope to cling to any more, I relented sullenly to end the hunt.
The morning had been bountiful with wildlife and excitement. As much occurred in that hunt as usually occurs in the culmination of many hunts. I was fortunate enough to observe upwards of 20 turkeys, 15 deer, of which one was a buck dreams are made of, gobs of squirrels, and a rare red fox. I fight to prevent the haunting thoughts of the tragedy surrounding the doe from overshadowing my memories of such an otherwise treasured day in the woods. I am a predator as is any other predator. My weapon is my arrow as the wolf’s is his fangs. In a time in the recent past there was certainly a doe, which on a day similar to this had narrowly escaped the jaws of hungry predators only to carry vicious scars for her remaining days or perhaps to even succumb to death. Ultimately, however, life in the woods continues as it has for centuries and my moment and mark in that ongoing timeline was made as it has been before and assuredly will be made again many more times with outcomes hopefully much more favorable. I have been successful in the harvest of many animals as the wall of my den can attest and as I frequently admire my past trophies I keep in mind that I owe it to the doe I lost to give her as much respect. This story is for her.
The morning hunt didn’t quite get started as I had planned, as I was late and did not arrive to the stand until right about legal shooting time. Of course, I spooked up two deer in the same spot where I’ve spooked deer several other mornings this year no matter how early I get in or how quiet I am. It appeared to be a doe and a fawn as they were only 20 yards away and there was a noticeable size difference between the two. They first ran towards the north, then quickly turned to the west and then back to the south where I heard them make their final exit from the area. I proceeded to the stand and quietly climbed up. I readied myself and settled in for the hunt. I let out a few soft doe bleats in hopes to ease any anxious nearby deer alerted to any noise I made on my arrival to the spot. Conditions were very favorable for spending a few hours in a tree stand. The temperature was near 40 degrees, it was slightly overcast, and light winds prevailed from the southeast at 5mph, which provided ideal wind direction for the stand selection that morning. This was a stand that had not failed me yet this year as far as seeing deer and I had passed numerous shots at young does and bucks in the previous weeks so needless to say I was very optimistic about what lay ahead. At about 730am I heard the rustling of leaves and the sounds of footsteps to the east of me. I slowly peered in that direction and watched as a sleek red fox carelessly meandered down a trail just 15 yards from me. I let out a quick “kiss” which halted it in its tracks. His pinpoint hearing nailed me dead on as his eyes quickly met mine. He was downwind of me and immediately processed his sensory data and wisely concluded to vacate the premises. He paused a few times to check his backside as he scampered away up the hill to the north where he finally vanished. Other than that brief encounter, all was quiet for the next hour and 15 minutes but for a few usual rustlings of obnoxious squirrels doing their thing.
The full moon, mild temps, and calm winds the night prior led me to believe that there had most likely been lots of deer activity prior to sunrise and that at that moment there was a good chance that most deer would be bedded down chewing their cud and resting. In an effort to arouse some curiosity and stimulate some movement, I reached for my antlers and prepared for a series of simulated buck fights. In less than a minute of crunching the shed antlers together, I heard the crashing of two bucks rapidly descending the steep hill to the south. In an organized panic, I hung the antlers just as fast as I could and reached for my bow, which already contained an arrow ready to launch. I hoped for a mature monarch to emerge through the woods but much to my dismay and subtle disappointment, I watched as two 1.5 year old six-pointers made their way near my stand and then stopped and scanned the area for sign of the source of the fight but they saw nothing. The slightly larger young buck at this point was only 15 yards away and was panting and slobbering like a rabid dog. For his size he was impressive as the heaves of his chest poured out steam with each breath he took. He cockily strutted like a renegade stallion in a complete circle around my stand and came to within 10 yards of the base of my tree and froze for several minutes. I remained calm and motionless with bow in hand as I surveyed the adolescent stud only feet away. He was healthy and beautiful and would only improve in quality with age and time, so as with many other young bucks this year and in years past, I kept my arrow nocked to my string and let him pass. Eventually he made his way out of the area while the other buck, who kept a distance of 35 yards, lost interest as well and began to browse on the buck brush prominent in the area.
Soon thereafter came the birds. 20 or so turkeys began to fly out of their roost from the trees high atop the hill to the south. The sight of their grace in flight as they soared down through the valley was quickly marred by their grotesque ability to land with any finesse as they crashed and cackled to the earth. Once grounded, they milled around just 45 yards away and seemed to be gradually making their way in my direction. I readied myself for a shot in the event one presented itself within range. The second buck at this time left the area to the southwest. Now it was just the longbeards and me. I watched them scratch and peck for food for another few minutes until much to my surprise, a group of six deer in a nose to tail single file line cut right through the flock of turkeys and headed right for me. My heart pounded and my knees weakened. I had passed several shots this year on young bucks and young does but this group harbored three mature does within it. I decided instantly that I would attempt to harvest one if a shot presented itself. The herd maintained their formation until the lead doe was just 12 yards or so from the base of my tree. I pulled my bow back in anticipation of an impending inevitable shot. Abruptly the deer broke apart and confusion set in. The lead doe continued her course and headed behind me providing no shot. The last doe in the line hit a crossing trail and decided to make her way down a trail broadside about 25-30 yards away. I put the pin on her but didn’t feel comfortable with the distance and the pace at which she was walking. Finally what I thought was the last good shot opportunity at the middle doe began to take shape as she began to walk in a quartering away position away from me at about 15 yards. I put the pin on her and waited for her to clear some trees and enter a shooting lane. By this time I had held my bow back for what seemed like an eternity. She entered the clearing and was now at 20 yards. I steadied the bow, placed the pin, and released the arrow. Within a split second my heart sank, disgust set in, and I was furious with myself for the poor shot I had made as I watched the doe run away with the fletching of my arrow clearly visible from the rear left flank. She disappeared to the southeast. The remaining deer were alarmed and initially scattered but then regrouped in the direction of the wounded doe. The noise and commotion generated from the act drew the attention of one of the previously departed six-pointers who paused at 15 yards broadside to check matters out. Just moments later, yet more deer came busting through the area at an alarming pace from the north. It was a one-antlered spike, a double-beamed young buck, and a doe who was obviously in heat and the object of the young bucks’ affection. As quickly as they entered, they were gone and their party had another addition as the curious six-pointer joined in on the chase. The entire ruckus had been all the turkeys could take and they were nowhere to be found as I searched back to the south where they had been. Now I was alone, left to sit and sulk and grasp at any possible hope that someway, somehow just out of sight of my stand lay my doe. I waited impatiently for another 45 minutes to get down from my stand and see what sign I had to work with. For the first 20 yards there was nothing, then luckily at the last instant at which I had seen her, where she crossed a creek, began a deluge of sign. Blood was everywhere. So much that I couldn’t help but look around for a nearby carcass. I began in amazement to follow the obvious trail, peering ahead every few feet for the hump of a deer’s back or the white of a belly but not finding any such thing. 20 yards later she crossed another creek and the trail of crimson blood, although somewhat declining in amount, was still easy to see, even on the tops of rocks in the creek bottom.
Just as I began to climb up the bank of the opposite side of the waterway, I heard a sudden crash and then the unmistakable choppy footsteps of trotting deer. I looked up to the west and caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a very large buck right on the heels of another doe. The buck let out a bellowing grunt as he pursued the fleeing doe. Caught up in the excitement and wanting a closer look at the buck, I dropped to a knee in the thick forest underbrush and began to rattle and then utilized my bleat to hopefully attract the deer my direction. After a minute or so, the strategy seemed to work as the pair of whitetails thundered down the hill parallel to my position. The two passed me by at only 30 yards and I was able to briefly examine the enormous headgear on the massive buck, a shooter he was with no doubt. He would surpass the PY record minimum with ease and could arguably exceed the BC minimum entry score. He is the buck that keeps you up the night before opening day. More futile attempts were made to bring the couple back for another look but to no avail as they ultimately exited the area. Seconds later another six-point buck made his way down the same path as the big buck and rutting doe. At this point I had risen from a crouched stance and was standing up when the young buck quickly became aware of my presence. I remained statue-still as the novice of the woods came to within 15 yards to investigate. He was now on the other side of the creek doing the all too familiar head-bobbing duel with me to figure out what I was. His attention was soon distracted, as his focus became the scent of one of his own laying at his hoof. The little buck with nose to the ground followed the blood trail of the doe back in the direction of my stand. Once he was out of sight, I picked up the search once more for the arrowed doe.
Once across the creek a respectable blood trail continued with little difficulty in following. I then paused and considered the facts as they were at that moment. The shot was in the rear quarter of the deer. The deer had traveled 50-60 yards from the point of impact. There was incredible blood loss initially and the sign seemed to maintain some consistency so far. There was plenty of daylight left to give the deer time to bed and expire if in fact she would. Predators are not an imminent threat in the area and it is private ground so neither predator nor person should disturb the doe if she beds down in the immediate area. So I made the decision to leave and return in three hours to hopefully retrieve my deer. I marked the last blood sign on the trail at my feet with blaze orange tape and skulked back out of the woods.
The time spent at home waiting to return to the deer woods was agonizing and painful. Yet, I was optimistic as I dressed in hunting clothes and lugged my hunting gear into the woods with me as I was just sure I would find the doe within yards of the last sign I marked and still have time to field dress her and make it to my favorite stand with light to spare for an afternoon hunt for the hog of a buck I had seen earlier that morning. However, much to my dismay, the multiple drops of blood I had been following within only 10 yards had dwindled to absolutely nothing. I was a nervous wreck! How could it be? A state of denial set in. I slumped to my hands and knees and strained to find even a pin drop of blood to indicate the direction of the prey….but there was nothing. I began scanning in concentric circles around my last bit of orange marking tape and continued to find no clues. Every rock, log, stump, or thicket began to take the shape of the carcass of a deer as wishful thinking took hold of my every optimistic thought. I tortured myself over and over reliving the shot and trying to nail down just what went wrong. I had shot trophy bucks at less than 15 yards, how could I choke on a chip shot at a doe? I grew more and more distraught with every step that brought me no closer to any witness to the locality of my trophy. Finally, like an oasis in the desert, I found significant sign and it came in the form of my tip to nock, blood-covered arrow. Initial feelings of optimism slowly faded to an all-time low of despair. No blood could be found within even inches of the ejected arrow which was fully intact but with a slight bend about 6 inches from the tip of the broad head and was lying 35-40 yards from the last sign I had previously marked. I was perplexed but not close to giving up the search, and search I did. I searched, and searched, and searched and searched and searched. I went as far as three to four hundred yards in every direction from the point at which I had found the fallen arrow but I found nothing. The woods that earlier that day were filled with whitetail activity were now silent, cold, and darkening. I was crushed. For four hours I had diligently searched every nook and cranny in the woods but now with the forest turning black with night and not a single glimmer of hope to cling to any more, I relented sullenly to end the hunt.
The morning had been bountiful with wildlife and excitement. As much occurred in that hunt as usually occurs in the culmination of many hunts. I was fortunate enough to observe upwards of 20 turkeys, 15 deer, of which one was a buck dreams are made of, gobs of squirrels, and a rare red fox. I fight to prevent the haunting thoughts of the tragedy surrounding the doe from overshadowing my memories of such an otherwise treasured day in the woods. I am a predator as is any other predator. My weapon is my arrow as the wolf’s is his fangs. In a time in the recent past there was certainly a doe, which on a day similar to this had narrowly escaped the jaws of hungry predators only to carry vicious scars for her remaining days or perhaps to even succumb to death. Ultimately, however, life in the woods continues as it has for centuries and my moment and mark in that ongoing timeline was made as it has been before and assuredly will be made again many more times with outcomes hopefully much more favorable. I have been successful in the harvest of many animals as the wall of my den can attest and as I frequently admire my past trophies I keep in mind that I owe it to the doe I lost to give her as much respect. This story is for her.
06-17-2004, 03:47 PM
#5
Fork Horn
Join Date: Mar 2004
Posts: 450
RE: I know it's June but here's a bowhunting story from December
That is some wonderful writing, you have writing great style. Sorry to hear about the doe, I have been in your shoes and it haunts me everytime a nock an arrow on another doe.
06-17-2004, 04:04 PM
#6
Nontypical Buck
Join Date: Mar 2004
Location: SouthWest OH, Remington Country.
Posts: 2,058
RE: I know it's June but here's a bowhunting story from December
Bless your heart. You done everything you could to collect your prey, and even though it doesnt turn out the way we always want it to, that is just the nature of the beast. Thank you for your story and we hope the doe is in a better place or she is still among her bountiful nature. God Bless
06-17-2004, 05:07 PM
#7
Giant Nontypical
Join Date: Feb 2003
Location: California
Posts: 6,440
RE: I know it's June but here's a bowhunting story from December
that was an great story and well respected. My dad always taught me to respect eveything in the wild, especially things that we hunt and take. 
06-17-2004, 05:52 PM
#8
Join Date: Feb 2003
Location: ROCKFORD ILLINOIS USA
Posts: 120
RE: I know it's June but here's a bowhunting story from December
Thats one heck of a day in the woods and one great story. I admire a hunter that feels so deeply about the game he hunts. If one hunts long enough they will probably experience the agony you did on that day. I know I have. There will be many more great days in the woods. Good luck this coming season.
06-17-2004, 07:40 PM
#9
Nontypical Buck
Join Date: Feb 2003
Location: Southern WI
Posts: 1,766
RE: I know it's June but here's a bowhunting story from December
Wow. At first I didn't know if I would take the time to read it. I sure am glad I did. I have been there and have felt many of the same things you did (and still do). Thanks for sharing.
