10/7/10 6:30 pm
Another year of high stress and work related depression, I am ready for a few days of R&R on my favorite hunting grounds. I am headed down my lease on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. It is several hundred acres of prime land. Mostly thick stands of loblolly pine, and small tracts of hardwoods harboring a few decent stands of oak trees. In the center of it all, is a 200 acre field. We have12 members in our hunt club, and only 3 of us bowhunt. This is a luxury beyond all others. This evening I am picked up by our newest member “Bob”.. a 70 year old horse ranch owner. His new name to some of us in the club is now ” Weird Bob”.
Super nice guy, very intelligent, but has zero common sense when it comes to hunting.
Does not use a safety harness in a tree stand ( I gave him brand new one to use from now on), carries his arrows in a tote bag and the cable on his free compound bow was not even on the slide bar (since fixed that). I was literally training him most of the time we are driving. The entire time I would explain procedure and the how and why of deer behavior… he would look at me with that cocked head look.
Nonetheless… we arrive at out favorite motel that is run by “Ragii the Magnificent”, a curly haired Pakistani who fancies himself as the next Michael Jackson. The facility is dated ala 1980’s and the upkeep is subpar ala middle east. After a good nights rest, we get up at 4:30 and head to the property. Headed down the gravel road, deer are crossing every 50 feet… we have to go slow for fear of a collision. Finally we park in a clearing not 10 0yards from the mouth of the field. It is a nice cool 45 degrees. The stars lit up the sky as if we were in a Planetarium. It was simply beautiful.
Bob asks. So where are you going, I advised waaaay on the other side of the property to an area I recently y scouted out. Bob states he would like to use the “T-stand”. This stand is my stand that is set up purely for gun usage. It is a 3 way intersection of logging roads offering 150 yard shots either way. I ask him, why not use “your” stand..? He shrugs his shoulders and sates I don’t know” I am mortified. I state if you are going to use my stand you better use the harness I gave you otherwise it is off limits. Again, the look. Anyway, he puts it on with my help. Off he goes into the black abyss of the night…without a flash light. Jeez,
I ease across the field for about 1 mile into a loblolly stand that opens up into a stand of saplings, Holly trees, and oaks along an old logging road. I arrive at my stand which is a Loc on and climbing sticks I had put up last season. I inspect all the straps with my light and all are secure. Easing onto the platform I haul up my 1974 Black Widow H1225 recurve bow, and hang it on my EZ hanger bar. I sit in the calm night. The sounds of the evening creatures fill my mind with illusions of mystery and suspense. It is eerie to say the least. After a few prayer of thanks to the man above, I am now in hunt mode, my eyes and ears at their peak of function.
The morning light comes in at about 6:30 am. My older eyes cannot make out shootable objects until about 6:50. As anticipated, I see an image picking its way through the saplings about 80 yards out. It is a lone doe. She is large in stature, mature, and coming fast with intent.
I slowly rise from my perch right hand is taught on the bow string, if all goes well she will pass by at 15 yards. Not so. For some reason she stops scans the area and goes to my left and behind me at 40 yards. My shot opportunity is lost. Not once was she spooked or ever sensed danger in the treetops. I am puzzled. Nonetheless, I regain my seated ritual. Now it is 9:15 am. I hear the churning of leaves as if people are walking toward me at a rapid pace. Tow yearling does are on a mission headed the same way the lone doe came earlier. I am wondering, “where’s momma”?
They are off to my right about 60 yards and moving quickly through the woods. They immediately hit the logging road I came in on and then on a dead run, they fly past me stopping to my left now within my effective range. They are so cute I just want to hug them (pun). I decide not to shoot as they are just too small for my standards on this lease, and appear to be orphaned. They are just about to go into the loblolly thicket when I uuurp. They freeze. For about 20 minutes I watched them frozen in their own time. Their ears were like radar dishes moving back and forth wondering what that noise was. Then it hit me…like a thirst I cannot avoid. The thirst is blood. One doe is to my left at about 15 yards quartering away. I have a 12” window between two large trees. I raise and draw my bow in one fluid motion. My right hand hits the corner of my mouth and “Phhht” the arrow is gone. The aluminum 2018 arrow tipped with vintage Anderson 245 broadhead is on its way. It was surreal to watch the arrow headed towards the deer. It was as if I was watching super slow motion on ESPN.
Thwack was the resounding noise that jolted me from my trance like fixation. At the sound I look and see the arrow embedded in the side of a tree. It appears the arrow made a left turn and into the tree at the deer’s rear end. Buried into the bark by 2”, the arrow took a detour as it encountered an unseen branch. The deer jumped wildly at the obnoxious sound and loped into the wood line about 20 more yards staring back as if it was goosed by an invisible hand. I sat in disbelief as it all felt perfect. I had that deer on my BBQ before I even loosed the arrow. After a few moments the deer began to come back to the scene of the crime. However, its instincts took over and decided to retreat in to the thickness of the loblolly stand.
At 10 am I descended to the forest floor to sure up another stand I had on the opposite side of the field in hopes that the evening would prove eventful and perhaps successful. After putting on a few miles still hunting and checking other areas I frequent, I returned to camp top join Weird Bob for lunch. PBJ, chips, and water where on the menu. Not the greatest, but it offers the protein I need to keep me going on stand.
At 1 pm Bob says he is going to sit on the field edge in his beach chair to see if a deer comes out. The temperature is now a balmy 78 degrees. Where he is going, the wind will be blowing his scent into the woods. Now I am looking at him with the cocked head look.
I bid Bob farewell shaking my head ruefully. He heads off into the sunlit field wearing blue jeans and new balance tennis shoes, carrying a red white and blue chair. I want to open a vein.
After my lunchtime constitutional, I begin my evening stand at about 2pm. I head back slowly, still hunting my stand in an Oak flat. The afternoon is hot and I am sweaty in my ascent to the tree tops. Finally I settle in and await my intended prey. 500 squirrels later and a few Stink bug attacks. I am at the base of my tree in the nearing darkness of night. Not a deer was seen. I ease out to the field edge to see the field loaded with about 20-30 deer and no bucks to speak of. I see Bob’s silhouette walking across the darkening field I want to launch an arrow. As anticipated the field erupts with eh flurry of snorts and white tails flying back into the woods. I head back to the truck muttering profanities in Spanish.
The next day would prove to be about the same as this one only this time my longtime partner John arrives. Bob goes onto hunt in his wayward fashion, John and I take off to our spots and enjoy the day. Many deer seen in the woods, none close enough for a shot. Only one buck worthy of an arrow seen cruising on the edge of my set just out of range.
Only one rub seen and several scrapes where they are every year are staring to open up. John set up on one huge smoking scrape in hopes the boy who made it would appear at dark. But no luck. .the day ends with the ride home in John’s rig planning the next adventure. Bob was last seen washing his dentures in coffee. Until next time.
Oh yeah.. Weird Bob also could not find his cell phone, we tore apart the hotel room and called his cell several times but no noise. The first day I told him to put it on vibrate so i can keep him posted via text. After 1 hour tearing apart the truck and the room ...I ask Bob..what is that on your belt.?....
That night, I put 3 stink bugs in his duffel bag..
Post script: I asked Bob if he had used the outhouse, he said no cause the roof was collapsed... (all it took was minor effort to remove the sheet of rotted plywood and the commode was usable). I then asked..hey we've been here two days I know you had to evacuate somewhere, ...Bob again cocking his head say's.."oh yeah just over there" pointing to the trail we walk on.....
John texted me last night that he had dog crap on his boots and has no idea how it got there as we have no dogs in the area...
Topic: Bowhunting w/Weird Bob (Read 341 times)
