October 1978. First year for me.
Found a place where deer were crossing a beaver dam. Windy day. Everyone said deer won`t move in the wind. Who cares?
Everyone said I needed a sight on my old Bear recurve, even though I had been shooting without one all summer. A hair pin held in position with electrical tape was my much needed "sight". About a half hour into my vigil, long after good shooting light had come, I look up to see a line of deer, almost in my shooting lane. Close range... she watched me draw my bow, and I watched my arrow fly a foot over her back. They scattered.
A ten minutes later, (several minutes after I ripped that hair pin off my bow) a sleek six point stood where the doe had escaped certain death, only minutes before. A deer was still snorting in the distance.
A summer of practice, shooting with a crushed cheek from a baseball accident, came into play.
I released my Microflite arrow, tipped with a tried and true Bear Razorhead.(file sharpened, because I read somewhere that was how Fred did it) He whirled with what seemed like all of my arrow hanging out, ran about sixty yards, stopped and fell over.
In total disbelief, I watched.
I was twelve years old. I have been "given" several deer over the years, and I accept each one with as much joy as the first.
Thirty years ago?!!!!????!!!!????!!!
Dear God....thirty more?...Please. Forty more???
Please?