Missouri's firearms deer season started this past Saturday and I always take a couple of days off before that to bowhunt at my farm one more time before the deer get all stirred up. As per usual, I hadn't put anything in the freezer yet so I was really hoping to change my status from "deer watcher" to "deer killer".
When I was a kid, it was an event just to see a deer on the property. Now you have to kick six or seven out of the way just to get to where you want to hunt. That still doesn't make it any easier to get stickbow close, though. A case in point is what Dad and I refer to as the "Hard Times Deer". These are the ones that come into feed in front of Dad's house just about any time of day. They got their moniker because we don't gun hunt these animals - they are safe unless hard times befall the family. We do hunt them with bows on occasion (Dad has his bow on the kitchen table so he can shoot out the window) and I call them "Hard Times Deer" because I have a hard time killing any of them. It seems something ALWAYS goes wrong when I hunt these animals who basically pay humans no mind. Thursday evening was no exception. I was perched in a hickory tree about 100 yards from the house with deer all around me. The wind was howling, but hitting me in the face for the most part, so I thought I was good. However, it must have been swirling because every time a deer would get in front of me it would throw its head up and spook. Like I said, something always goes wrong.
A few of the several in front of the house.
Dad had several late frosts this past spring so the mast crop is spotty. This has resulted in the deer being in our hay fields feeding instead of in the woods. That makes it really tough to bowhunt them because I have to choose between a dozen places of where they are likely to enter and exit those fields. All I can do is pick a spot and hope for the best. Friday morning found me in another hickory tree setting back from the field edge about 30 yards. I am looking over a road Dad has bush hogged through a thicket that the deer use as a staging area. I had killed a little buck out of that tree several years ago so I knew it was as good a place as any to be.
By the time I got settled in, shooting light was only 10 minutes or so away. I always judge when that time occurs by whether I am able to clearly see me putting the nock of my arrow on the string. If I can see to do that, I am ready to shoot. After waiting a bit and just enjoying listening to the world wake up, I nocked an arrow and got ready for business. And I didn't have to wait long.
After another 10 minutes passed, I heard the definitive sound of deer footy prints heading my way. I looked to my left and here comes a little buck through the brush, a deer and situation almost identical to the one I had had in this tree already. I thought he was going to walk right in front of me giving me a nice 15-yard broadside shot. However, he stopped just short of that and started sniffing the ground where I had walked. He then turned to walk out into the field. When he did, I had a good 20-yard quartering-away shot so I quickly drew and sent an arrow his direction. In a blur, the two collided and then I watched him race across the field. I hoped against hope to see him go down for an easy retrieval but I, instead, watched him jump the fence on the far side and go across the creek there. Since things on the ground always look different that they do from a tree, I always use a compass to mark the last spot I saw the animal. So I took a bearing, gathered my stuff, and descended down the tree. My plan was to walk to my truck parked on the far side, get my gear stowed, and then start tracking. A good omen was finding blood almost immediately at the spot where I shot him and then finding my blood-soaked arrow where he entered the field.
So I get to my truck, put my stuff away, and shed some clothes. 35 degrees walking and 35 degrees sitting are two different things. I grab my bow, arrows and roll of flagging tape. As I stand in front of the place where he jumped the fence, I hear a commotion in the leaves across the dry creek bed. By the sound, I know it is him and I know he is mortally wounded. However, I don't want to rush things so I walk back to my truck and shed another layer of clothing. Another 15 minutes goes by and I can't stand waiting any longer. I ease into the creek bed and creep up to the spot where I had heard the noise. I was not lucky enough to see a white belly lying in the leaves but I do spot a big pile of blood not 20 feet from where I'm standing. I walk over to it and see a trail that looks like it had been made with a paintbrush. From my position, I see it leading 30 yards from the creek bottom up to an old road bed that used to run the entire length of the creek. I can see blood on the leaves going up to that road but I get a bad feeling. It's about a 10-foot almost vertical climb to that road bed and when I see a wounded animal attempt going uphill, I think they aren't hurt as much as I originally thought so I decide to go back to Dad's house to drink coffee, eat cookies he made for me, and give the deer more time.
I shot the deer at 6:39 and I wait until 8:30 to start trailing again. I knew I hit the deer in the goodies so he has to be dead by now. I drive back to where I was parked before, grab my stuff, walk down into the creek bed, and go to the blood I had initially found. I walk the short trail that leads to the road bed and just start to make the ascent myself when I see the young buck buried in the leaves not 15 feet from where I'm standing. His brown coat is all that is showing making him all but invisible. When I start to drag him out, I notice he is stiff as a board which means he had been dead for a while. I feel relieved that he expired quickly and that I found him easily. I also am saddened somewhat just knowing that I caused his death. If you don't hunt, it's hard to explain to you how a feller can have two seemingly opposing ideas in his head at one time. I give thanks to the little buck's spirit and vow to use what he gave me to the best of my ability.
The buck and me just shortly after I found him.
A few photos after I got him to my truck.
Saturday, our rifle season opened up and I was toting my 54 flinter with plans on killing either a big, fat doe or a wall-hanger buck. I hunted the entire weekend and saw approximately 1.52 bazillion deer. Unfortunately, the only ones that came into my comfortable range were little bucks who I had no desire to shoot. I got some good photos and video, nevertheless, and enjoyed some quality time with my father. I'm heading back next weekend to try again!
I watched these deer for about 4 hours Saturday afternoon.
I thought this was a pretty cool shot with the contrail and all.
Equipment notes: I used a 54" Mariah recurve made by my good friend, Mike Dunnaway, of Wild Horse Creek Bows. The bow pulls 53# @ 28". My arrows are homemade. This year they have a Douglas Fir shaft and a 195 grain Meathead broadhead. Total arrow weight is around 640 grains.
Darren
Topic: Success with the stickbow! (Read 2323 times)