Late December doesn't usually find me in the woods with a bow. By the times the big guns hit the woods in West Virginia it's over for me, the deer are far too rattled and out of sync.
This being my first year to hunt with traditional equipment and coupled with some unseasonably warm weather I was convinced by my oldest son to join him in the woods the past Wednesday.
He would be attempting to fill a doe tag using a .35 Remington lever gun and I took to the woods with a recently acquired Firefly T/D longbow. We had scouted the area a couple days prior and I found what looked like a likely spot overlooking two well-worn intersecting trails and a fine tree just 10 paces from the intersection for my climber.
The prior day was steady rain from morning till night. In the evening the rain subsided and the wind began to howl, temperatures began to fall. Snow was forecast but never arrived.
We met at dark-thirty and began our trek into the woods, he to a fixed tree-stand en-route while I continued into the darkness, across a spring-fed stream to the tree.
I set up my climber and climbing aid at the base of the tree and began to climb. Up two feet and suddenly plummeted back to earth. Undaunted, knowing this was a rather slick-skinned, lichen infested tree, I began again. One shimmied up and whoosh, back to dirt.
I thought, how strange? Out came the Surefire flashlight and shining it on the back of the tree discovered that it was covered with ice from the prior day's rain followed by cold wind. Dang, now what? It's dark, any other trees are going to be likewise covered.
I dragged my gear uphill about twenty yards trying in the darkness to find a suitable spot to sit, unfolded the seat on my climber and finally relaxed into the hunt.
Around nine o'clock I stood up to stretch my chilled bones. I glanced right and saw brown moving my way about 50 yards out. It was a young four point, a trophy for sure this time of year with longbow. He was moving along the crossing trail of the two I had scouted.
The young buck closed the distance fairly quick, pausing a couple times to grab a nibble. At less than 12 paces from me he stopped again to grab a taste of greenery, head down facing directly my way. Needless to say the senses were jazzed on overdrive, focus, focus, just turn little buddy, all I need is for you to TURN.
I waited, frozen, staring into space, the wind had been good, uphill and right, bow up, arrow on the string, Woodsman broad head at the ready... Just TURN. He never looked up, but suddenly bounded right, turned around and moved to twenty or so yards to my right and straight across from me in light cover. He paused just a few seconds before heading for the thicket. No shot!
Had there been no ice on the trees this morning this would have been a 10-yard, slightly quartered away, standing still shot.
I began to shake so hard the arrow was rattling on the shelf. The adrenaline download was so intense there was no stopping it. My son sent a text to me letting me know a three point was heading my way. I tried to answer but the I couldn't make my fingers find the letters on my phone.
Even though the arrow didn't take flight that morning, and there was no game on the ground, there is no way that I can call this an unsuccessful hunt. What a rush!
Regards,
Mark
Topic: A Hunting Story (Read 325 times)
