There’s Always Room for Another First
Archery season had been good so far but I still hadn’t put any venison on the table. Deer had been within range on several occasions and almost every sit yielded multiple sightings. There seemed to always be one detail that kept things from coming together. Two deer were broadside at 18 yards with nothing but the air between us. Unfortunately, they were both button bucks and I wasn’t that desperate yet. Two more were within 15 yards but didn’t step into any shooting lanes. Another doe had a sixth sense and absolutely skirted my location for no real reason. One doe was coming in on a string until she hit 25 yards, looked right at me, and then busted out of there. A small buck was moving past and I told myself if he went behind a specific tree he would get a pass, if he walked in front of it I’d take the shot. He chose wisely. The season had been full of activity, just no arrows flung.
During a mid-October sit a couple of does crossed the trail near a corrugated drain pipe approximately 75 yards from my stand just after first light. This had been common so far this year and each time it was observed I would tell myself to move the stand. It never got moved. Expecting the pair to continue to the North, I watched closely through the hardwoods to confirm they would follow the usual script. I never saw the two again and they were the only two deer seen that morning.
It didn’t add up to me that I never saw them cross through the woods. I was vigilant in watching them so they couldn’t have snuck by without me noticing. The two didn’t go back the way they came as they would have passed over an open trail, easily being spotted. They could have walked directly way from my stand but that would have put them heading right for my truck and I just couldn’t see that happening.
Hunting should be a family activity. Taking my daughter with me to hang an archery set during the late summer made for a fun afternoon together. This particular stand had yielded many sightings and some shot opportunities but ultimately it was after I climbed down one morning that led to notching my tag.
When it was time to climb down something told me not to just throw my release in my pack as was usually the case. Then I got a notion to knock an arrow once hitting the ground. The hike back to the truck would take me right past where I had last seen the pair prior to disappearing. The sequence of thoughts took me to a new reality. Executing the plan, each step back to the truck was calculated. Heel first, then roll the foot down in a controlled fashion while feeling for sticks that may end the stalk. As if a gift for trusting the process there was movement behind the top of a fallen oak.
It was go time. At this point the deer was looking as if it would continue to the Northwest along a fence row and eventually cross the road into a dense pine thicket. Slowly leaving the trail behind, the stalk was in full swing. The deer was unaware of my presence but was moving steadily away as I attempted to make up ground. Quickly calculating the speed at which the deer was walking away and the snails pace I needed to maintain in order to be stealthy, this deer would certainly be living to see another day.
Peering to my left, knowing there should still be another animal nearby, a set of legs appeared under the fallen trunk of the same oak tree. By this time the distance had been closed to inside 50 yards. My movements were controlled from a long-buried place in my mind. When the deer’s view was impeded, I moved. Each step was directed towards the next tree I could hide behind. Having an approximation of where the deer was heading a course adjustment was made to cut it off. Expecting the gig to be up at any moment, I remained on task. Being so lost in the stalk there was no opportunity for nerves or second guesses to get in the way. Once inside 30 yards it became apparent this could really happen as I contemplated a shot. At about 25 yards the deer needed to make a choice. There was patch of dense underbrush that it could go behind and never present a shot. Or it could circle around the foliage, moving it closer to my location.
The tree breaking up my profile was a decent diameter but when the deer is that close, at ground level, you feel very exposed. Like a statue I stood with the release clipped to the string. The animal turned and started browsing right toward me. Dumbfounded this was actually working out, I still needed to figure out how to get a shot off. At 15 yards there was tension transferring from my arm to the bow string when the deer turned its head just enough to conceal her eye behind a 6” diameter tree. The bow was drawn before I could consciously make the decision, anticipating her next move was to turn broadside. Then as all good plans go, she turned back towards me and took 2 steps. At 12 yards she put her head down with nothing between the two of us. All I could see through the peep was kill zone, the arrow was released.
It is very important for kids to know where food actually comes from. Involving my son in the butchering of this freshly stalked deer helps him understand the cycle of life. Having the knowledge and skill to provide meals for his own family one day is something I hope he carries with him into adulthood. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll even pass it along to his children carrying on the legacy of providing clean, natural sustenance to friends and loved ones.
It was over immediately. At 45 years old, having hunted for somewhere around 35 years, I had stalked and killed my first whitetail. No matter your age or experience there is always another first out there. Sometimes you may specifically target a particular accomplishment, other times it can be unexpected. The Good Lord felt it was my time to stalk a deer and now I’m blessed with venison to share around the table. For that, I am very thankful.
