Looking back ...
Yesterday as I settled into the sounds of the woods with a gentle warm SSW wind. 17 feet up on a ladder stand, safety line with prusic knot to my harness. It was about 3PM and my thoughts drifted back to other hunts. I am 67 years old and have owned this 40 for 38 years - have danced with the gods of the bow hunt here for almost half my life. Just 25 yards away is the remnants of the smooth bark hickory where I built a tree house stand in 1979.
That tree house platform was 21 feet off the ground. I would jump to grab the lowest limb, do a "kip up" to swing a leg over and climb branches to the stand. It was easy in the summer, but challenging on a frosty November morning.
In fact it was November 13th 1979 and I still remember the flight of that 2018 with Savora wasp broadhead to the heart of that fork horn. Its was my first bow deer. How many arrow flights have I watched since then? How many bows? How many hunts and campfires shared with good friends?
About 4:30 my musings were interrupted my the scuffle of leaves. A fox squirrel came by with an ear of corn. Another followed him with sharing on his mind. I took this as a sign that the evening busy time was afoot and brought my thoughts in the present.
I mostly hunt with selfbows but this season I picked up my trusty MOAB. It was the first one off the mold according to Jim number 001. It draws 47# and it has always made meat. I joke that I hate to hunt it because I spend all my time dragging game. With a cedar arrow and old green Grizzly 125 it is easy pointing and deadly.
I was hunting for food. I will shoot a big buck if he is presented, but does, yearlings and especially 3 year old bucks that seem to have the dotted lines from cookbooks around the various cuts are on my list. My belief is that the Creator places deer in my shooting lanes. I sit and wait. When the opportunity comes, I clear my mind and follow my intuition.
At a few minutes after sunset the sound of an approaching deer comes from over my left shoulder.