November arrived and my excitement
for the coming whitetail rut was blunted somewhat when I smashed my left foot
against the coffee table one night and badly fractured the forth toe. The injury meant I would have a harder time
safely climbing into tree stands and I resigned myself to hunt from the
ground. It was just another obstacle to
overcome.
I awoke as usual early Veteran’s
day morning, made some coffee, and prepared to venture out to enjoy a Holiday from
work in the woods. My hunting partner
Brent and I were both Veterans and we had a tradition to hunt of this day of
remembrance. He arrived on time and we
were enjoying a little coffee when a loud bawl came from the foyer. My cat Domino can wine occasionally if she is
lonely or bored, but this one was a little different. After another series of howls we went over
to check on her joined by my wife who was awakened by the racket. Something was definitely not right with
Domino as her head lay down and she was having trouble breathing, coughing up
fluid occasionally. We called the
emergency vet and prepared to take her over when she moved to the hardwood and
her bladder let go. I knew this was not
a good situation. I placed her into the
cat carrier and rushed her down the road but her howls and scratching noises
stopped after the second light during the ten minute drive. Rushing back to the carrier to get her I
noticed my little girl was already gone.
She died within minutes and I spent the morning burying my beloved pet
next to her male counterpart that left us a few years earlier. She was the sweetest little lap kitty and
daddy's little girl. Now the house was
quiet and empty and I was left to reflect on the transient nature and fragility
of life. I managed to muster up the will
to hunt that bright and windy afternoon, but my mind and heavy heart were not
really there.
The forecast the following Saturday
was identical to Wednesday; bright, blustery, and cold. In addition, it was now the opener of the
junior firearms season and hunter orange was a requirement. I knew my time in the woods this day would
still be heavy with thoughts of life and death, and the loneliness left by the
loss of our pet. I figured my best shot
at a deer was at dawns early light before they bedded down in a secure place
out of the wind.
I chose to sit in a sharply angled wooded
corner, bounded by a meadow to one side, and a steep short rise and a trail
above on the other. The wind was
gusting from the trail downhill toward the field. I was nestled against the 10 foot stump of a
huge decaying poplar tree in the edge of the thick briers. The trails were leading from the open main
woods below, up into the thick corner and hedgerow I was at the entrance
of. The strong wind was making hearing
difficult approaching animals difficult.
Two grey squirrels chased each other within five feet in back of my
position, but I could not turn around and get a shot at them before they got
nervous and left. Settling back down I was
focused on looking for movement to my front, when glancing back over my
shoulder again I noticed a doe nosing in the wind not more than 15 yards away. Dang! How did she get to the strip behind me
without me spotting her? She would have
had to come from downhill in easy bow range before getting to where I saw
her. I should have been paying better
attention. Now she was directly downwind though she had not spotted me. She nervously stepped forward behind some
brush and I positioned myself for a shot.
If she continued out again on the other side I would have an easy 15
yard shot. The seconds ticked by,
feeling like minutes, when I saw a distant deer bounding through the open
meadow tail wagging. The slick old girl
winded me and had enough! I had to laugh
a little.
The wind kept blowing and terrain was
shifting the wind 90 degrees back and forth making my ground position tough. It was time to move somewhere else. If I was to get another opportunity it wasn’t
going to be here this morning. My broken
toe and I painfully hobbled up the rise onto the trail and skirted an overgrown
meadow thickly choked with persimmon tree juveniles and briers. The deer loved to bed in this area as it was
virtually impenetrable and impossible to move through without noise. Slowly
still hunting, I made my way up hill of the patch just inside of the wood
line. Suddenly I was startled when a doe
exploded from about ten feet in front of me in a briar patch. The wind allowed me to get very close before
she had spotted me. The does were around
and I knew the bucks might be along shortly as well. I set up my stool overlooking the edge of
this bedding area on a little knob. I
was slightly uphill, but the wind would still gust slightly into the edge of
the bedding area from time to time. I
was again beside a huge walnut tree trunk I hoped would obscure my silhouette. I cleared any leaves around the base of the tree
area so I could noiselessly adjust or shoot on either side of the tree if
needed. I sat down on my stool began to
eat an apple and wait.
The time was almost 10 am and I was
a few bites away from the core of my apple when I saw the buck emerge from the
thicket. He nosed around a lone mature
red oak for a few moments about 60 yards away as I dropped my apple to the dirt
and slowly rose in shooting position. I
noticed his thick neck and impressive rack as I had hoped he would close to
within comfortable shooting distance.
This was a really nice buck for the highly pressured area I was in. There was a small window to shoot through as
he skirted the edge of the bedding area and stopping every few steps to sniff
the ground or lick an overhanging branch.
He stepped into my shooting window and stopped, seeming to look directly
at me just for a moment. I remained composed
and he soon glanced back forward and immediately continued to move through in a
direction that would eventually wind me.
I knew it was now or never as I smoothly drew back the slender elegant
longbow and released the arrow all in one motion. In my haste I short drew a bit, and the arrow
struck higher and farther back then I would have liked. The shaft was half out of the buck’s side and
I immediately saw blood as he bolted forward through the brush. He rumbled about 20 yards before disappearing
in the persimmon thicket, but in that short time I saw red all down his
side! That was the only bright spot in an
otherwise dismal shot. Not confident of
that hit, I eased out of the woods quietly and went back home for a nervous lunch.
The area was dense with coyote
activity, and I had lost a good portion of a doe the previous month. I did not want to wait too long before
picking up the trail. Calling my hunting
partner Mike, he agreed to help me track the deer about two hours later. I was contemplating the possibility of a
follow up shot if we pushed the buck.
The trailing job went quickly as
the broken arrow was very near the site of the shot and good blood highlighted
the deer’s departure route. Mike
continued to trail as I circled around the thicket in case the buck was pushed
scanning the escape routes as I worked around the thicket. That precaution however proved to be unneeded. The buck lay down and succumbed just beyond
where I had lost sight of him running only approximately fifty yards total from
the arrow impact point. The shot distance
was paced off at approximately 25 yards slightly downhill. The wounds confirmed my suspicion that the
amount of blood seen instantly and the short blood trail was the result of a
main artery hit. Contemplating the shot
scenario over again, I think that if I had been elevated in a tree stand I may
not have recovered this animal based on the wound trajectory required. I was lucky and I couldn't help but think a
higher power may have played a hand in this message to me. Enjoy each moment of
life, because you never know what each day will bring. This accomplishment against much adversity was
in honor of my sweet Domino. She was "just a cat", but she gave our
family so much love.
