Summer in January - 011212

After meeting my brother at lunchtime to exchange firewood and some trad books I lent him, I realized how gorgeous the weather had become! It was January 12, 2012, and the sun was shining and temps were expected to peak near 60 degrees. A cold front was forecast for the next day along with high winds. It was just too nice to stay at work. I went back to the office, spoke with my supervisor, and powered down my computer. Time to hit the woods for the afternoon! I brought along my 69 inch Hoyt longbow and homemade back quiver. It was very nice to be able to dress lightly without wool longjohns in January. I started up the mountain and I entered the woodline making my customary 5 minute “look and listen” stop before proceeding. I heard leaves rustling nearby over a small multiflora choked rise. I worked slowly in that direction, picking my way along. It was easy to move quietly in the still wet leaf litter of the rains that morning. Suddenly I saw a small object moving and I froze. It was a pinkish- flushed bobbing turkey head highlighted by the bright sunlight. It curiously moved closer to me at about 15 yards giving a few soft curiosity puts and I noticed a second bird’s head above the rise. After several minutes it seemed to relax and the second bird began to feed again. It began moving back to join its sister, but would head bob and keep glancing back toward me. At about 25 yards I had my opportunity; it went behind a small tree trunk. All in one motion I drew the longbow back to my cheek, as the bird cleared the far side. There you have it! I made a successful stalk and was at full draw on the wariest of forest game at 25 yards broadside. “Shame, these opportunities do not occur during the open season”, I thought as I eased the bow back down to brace height. The birds slowly worked their way up the mountain as I followed behind slowly…staying about 30-40 yards back the entire time. I can only guess they figured by this time I was not a threat and just kept moving ahead of me…they would stop and feed periodically as they picked their way up through the tangled and congested bedding area. It was a wonderfully relaxing stalk as I slowly worked through the forest, feeling the warm sun on my back. It was a very quiet and peaceful place that I felt to be becoming a part of. Still I could hear the distant drone of planes and traffic, the sharp toned voices from the direction of a nearby house, but they seemed like foreign sounds to me now. The woods are completely open this time of year, offering wide views for the wary animals. I eased out of the thick bedding area and into the open hardwoods, trying to use any available cover as I moved along. I moved slowly from tree to tree, stopping to scan the hillside above me with my 8x31 power binoculars. I scanned from right to left along a bench lip, and spotted a doe standing. It would have been easy to miss had I not been accustomed to looking for deer outlines and head silhouettes. I knew by the way the winds were shifting; I would have a hard time of it, but started moving in her direction using what little cover I had. Sure enough, by the time I moved within 70 yards of her last location she had moved on, and away. I sat on the edge of this bench for about an hour reflecting on the two encounters I had had on the way up. Spotting a whitetail before it sees you, and moving within trad bow shooting range of wild turkey was quite an accomplishment this time of year. I watched the sun poke below the adjacent hilltop and the shadows slowly encroaching upon the landscape eerily devoid of squirrel activity. I got up from a long ago fallen chestnut oak I was sitting on to stretch. Before I began my slow stalk downhill toward the truck, I decided to exercise the bow arm. Shooting downhill was good practice. I bumped the bottom of my back quiver with my bow hand and slid a blunt tipped douglas fir arrow from the quiver. Approximately 25 yards downhill was an ancient deadfall. Rust in color and the consistency of a wet sponge, this was an ideal backstop. A small part of a leaf the size of a quarter was highlighted against the fallen beast’s side. I drew, and fired watching my arrow spiral in a perfect ball of gold and black fletching toward the target. Such simplistic beauty! The arrow suddenly dropped sharply and impacted about 2 and a half feet low of the target. I immediately knew my mistake. One needs to shoot this longbow “strongly” in comparison to my dainty feeling recurves. I had failed to reach full draw and my heavy doug fir fell short. I repeated the exercise with my second blunt tipped arrow. I concentrated, felt the deep “thump” of my loose bowgrip, and watched the fletching lodge deeply touching the bottom edge of my tiny target. Amazing how it all works when I do my part. It is also wonderful how quiet the bow shoots these heavy arrows. I moved down the hillside and into the field edges as 5 o’clock came and went. I could see the tracks of a running deer down the trail ahead of my prevailing scent, as the wind was now against me. I continued to move slowly, noiselessly, and deliberately stopping to pause every few slow steps in the darkening dusk. As I passed a hedgerow opening a cottontail exploded 4 feet from my starboard side and within two hops was gone. No chance to even think about drawing the bow. It was nice to see this fellow nonetheless. I walked several nearby brush piles in search of other targets, but none were present. I eased back to my truck, and for no reason continued to open the doors quietly and slowly prepared for the drive home. I had a sense of peace, calmness, accomplishment, and fulfillment all at the same time. It was enough to walk these places and experience these things in the pursuit I love. I was grateful for the time afield, and blessed to have such opportunities and freedoms at this place and time in our short existences. It was just a simple walk in the woods with a light weight and ancient weapon. There were no kill shots, no pressure, no other hunters, and no disappointments. It will be a hunt long remembered. This is what hunting is about.