and I gave him a haircut. :(
Just as a backstory, I've never really gotten a "big buck". A forkhorn here or there, but nothing with some serious headgear. It's really never been important to me, I just enjoy the experience.
This is my first season with Trad, and I've done my best to refine and hone my skills for extended yardage, slowly getting my max out to 25yrds comfortably. Last night I was drilling a 1" sticker on my block - to 29yrds. I was confident.
Got on the stand this morning, everything was going wrong. Got in late, had issues getting the climber to climb, couldn't get settled, just awkward. Then I heard it, the faint steps of something larger than an angery grey squirrel. I peered into the scrub to see definate movement - Turkey! I thought. A flash of brown - Ah, those does are back! And then he ducked around the bush into the open. :eek: I don't know where he came from, but I've got no pictures of him on the camera, my buddy and the landowner knew nothing about him, and I haven't seen anything like him on the property or adjoining properties. He was huge - all I saw was tines, still wrapped in soft velvet. A truely magnificent animal.
I tried to get comfortable, I tried to pick a spot, all I could see was antlers.
And to make matters worse, he was heading slowly, and very steadily directly to me. When he got to within 10 yrds, my shot angle was getting very severe (I was over 20' up!), so I decided to draw. No good, he snapped to and stared me down - those big brown eyes desperately trying to figure out if the bow was a branch, and I another limb slung to the side, or something else. So I held at a quarter draw for way too long. Finally he put his head down and continued forward a step or two on his path.
I couldn't take it anymore, a few more steps and he'd be lost to the scrub again. He's too close, the angle's too sharp, aim low - aim low - aim low I told myself. I could only guess at where his belly line was, so I took my best guess and went into autopilot.
The arrow was beautiful - a spinning whirl of pink and chartruse, Magnus head silently slicing toward destiny. Then - a puff of hair erupts from his back and the broadhead slams into the ground. He recoils and is gone - 30 yards later he stops and stares at the arrow, fletchings pointing back at me accusingly. Silently, he turns and walks away - yep, walks. He'll be back.
At first I was angry that I missed such a chipshot. Then I remembered that I spent all my time practing long yardage, not up close. If I had my compound, came the next excuse...
Ultimately, I've never been so excited or determined to succeed, and even more now that I've found traditional archery. The sun will rise tomorrow, and I will be in my stand, recurve in hand. I hope more will join me.
Chris
Topic: 8 points, 8 yards... (Read 562 times)
