The day started out like many others. A long, quiet walk in the pre-dawn darkness, taking in the smell
and feel of one of my favorite places in the world. The Big Woods.
Between family owned land and the generosity of adjacent land owners, I am blessed with access to a large
tract of northern Wisconsin woods. Teeming with game and abundant cover, it makes for my own private paradise.
What made this hunt different was not only the equipment I carried, but the attitude and spirit that was with me
every step of the way. Gone was a bow described by the manufacturer as a weapon constructed of space age alloys
and technology for the archer of the new millennium. Gone was a backpack with a laser guided range finder and
a global positioning unit. No longer was I wearing screen printed sweat shop camo with patented scent proof fabric
and charcoal filtering. Most importantly, no longer would I clutter my brain with useless thoughts of G2s, G3s,
beam mass and inside spread. I would simply hunt. I would rely on woodsmanship and my bow made of wood.
How could I fail? With my longbow and a light weight leather quiver holding my homemade wooden arrows
I was the " King of the forest"
As I slipped through the woods, I stopped and checked on and old friend. One of my ladder stands.
A quick inspection showed the pull up rope, safety belt and swivel seat in good repair and ready for action.
This spot has provided me with numerous deer over the years. With my trusty 35 year old Remington rifle
and various wheel bows, many memories and meals were a slam dunk.
I must admit, walking from my proven hot spot left me questioning my new approach to hunting. I have put in
many hours perfecting my tree stand hunting. Never would I simply "hang a stand". Concealment was always my
primary concern. Wedging a stand into a multi trunked tree while wearing head to toe camo was standard procedure.
This day would be different. Today I would hunt on the ground in a well worn but functional ground blind.
Not just any ground blind, but one constructed by my Dad.
Over the years, he has become a master blind builder. Using a combination of natural materials and burlap
his blinds are a work of art. With his favorite hatchet and a ball of twine he can transform a blowdown into a
blind wortht of it's own name. Spots like the "Ridge Stand" and the "Fort"are house hold names throughout the year.
Elderly and fighting terminal illness, Dad would remain at our cabin in the woods. While my first instinct was to
skip hunting to care for him, I was informed that nothing gets in the way of hunting season. Since he was not
there with me, I knew he would be anxious to hear every detail of the hunt. This somehow heightened my spirit
and mental computer as I tried to soak in all that was happening around me.
Much has been written about a barebow shooter's confidence and the Zen like state of visualizing the arrow in flight,
but deep in the woods I could not help question my decision to kill a deer with only a barebow and my strong shoulders.
The hours and hours spent shooting at targets and tweaking my gear seemed like a life time ago as I headed towards
Dad's ground blind. As I walked the partially over grown logging road, I saw numerous rubs and scrapes which quickly
took me off my backyard range and back into the woods.
A short distance from the blind I heard the deliberate " crunch crunch crunch' of deer moving through the area.
Though still dark, I was able to spot a large doe with her two fawns in tow. With the wind in my favor they worked their
way along a well worn trail oblivious to my presence. Encouraged by already seeing deer I was anxious to settle into my blind.
Prior to heading out Dad remined me to watch for the large white birch that looks like a slingshot. " Head west from the
slingshot and pickup my trail. You'll see my blind halfway down the hill. Watch to the right, they will be heading south to
their bedding area. Perched over looking a well worn trail was a large blown down oak top that had been transformed
into a perfect ground blind complete with a padded swivel boat seat mounted on a five gallon pail.
As darkness faded away it was easy for me to see why this could be my new "hot spot". A combination of young poplar
and scrub oak made for an ideal spot to set up on the trail, while taking advantage of the abundant natural camoflage
that had been turned into an awesome ambush site. I took as many quick calculations as I could to determine distances
and openings on the trail that I hoped would be the one to provide me with an opportunity to loose one of my cedar arrows.
Well it must have been my day!! As the planets aligned and the hunting Gods smiled down on me, a fat fork horn walked
and sniffed it's way right down the trail, just like my dad predicted. In one smooth motion minus sights, stabilizer and release
my cedar shaft hit it's mark and my trophy forky was down quick and clean.
Like every deer my family harvests, this one was celebrated in the form of tenderloin shish-kabob over our fire ring.
While Dad's appetite for venison was not like he had hoped, his appetite for ground blind stories was as strong as ever.
On a cold and stormy night in October, Dad lost his battle with cancer with my brother and me at his side.
And yes, gun season found me tagging a nice 6 pointer from Dad's ground blind.
Topic: Here's To You Dad On Easter Sunday (Read 402 times)
