Friday morning was another cool but not cold one. My lucky doe arrow was busted, maybe the razor edge kept it from making a complete pass through I teased Bob. But, my confidence level was high after two shots taking two deer. Heading out I told Bob that I had recovered from the blood bath of the first couple days and was ready to strike again.
It was a slow morning until 7:50 when I once again had the treat of seeing the huge buck. This time he was about 200 yards away and headed into the same bedding area. I tried to will him in but to no avail.
Then at 8:50 I saw a large deer body through the tree trunks angling past my stand from another direction. "Has to be a buck with that size," I thought. Up came the bino's and sure enough I saw horns. He stepped out into the clearing at about 45 yards and I could see "three up" on the side of his rack towards me - a ten point. Bwana's advice was, "Don't shoot the first 130 you see." But even though this was not the monster buck he was very nice.
I was feeling the pull of home and the start of fur season on Saturday. It did not take long to make the choice, he's a shooter. Bigger than anything I'd taken with a stick bow before. He posed broadside in the low angle morning sun. I tried the grunt tube, first softly then much louder. No reaction at all. He just stood there and stared off to the east as I admired him.
I seldom shoot at anything at this range but was still brimming with confidence from my earlier success. Howard Hill (I am not claiming to be in his league of accuracy) was reported to take one shot and immediately follow up with a range adjusted second arrow. That's what I did.
Sometimes it helps me imagine trowing a baseball when I shoot far. I have been practicing longer shots at my home target and have been getting the feel of it. My first shot was something like a second baseman's throw to first. It skidded right under his chest. The buck did a line dance maneuver, turn left take two steps, turn around and take two steps back, turn left. He ended up right where he started. Big mistake, I had the range. Center fielder with a short base hit and man on third. Throw at the plate.
The wind had calmed and the woods were so quiet that I could hear my fletching hiss all the way to his spot. At the end of the hiss was a sound of blade on flesh and bone, a sort of "snick". I had the range perfect but whether he took a step or I failed to perfect my line the arrow was not in his chest, it was buried 14" dead center through the ham broadside. My first thought was, "That will do it." The big file sharp Ace had to be into the femoral artery, maybe on both sides. The buck had trouble getting going with the pin through his ham as he circled passed and headed into the woods. I listened hard after he was out of sight and thought just maybe I heard his death kick a few minutes later, though it was not a classic crash.
Again I sat back down and replayed the scene. Was the arrow really in a fatal spot, yes, maybe, second thoughts. As if to distract my troubled mind, the monster buck of earlier sightings came out into the field at 200 yards again, stood for a moment then turned and headed away. What a monarch!
After about twenty minutes I realized the breeze had started a gentle blow from the west and my scent would be drifting towards where I hoped my buck was down. I got down and went to the place he had been standing, changing my scent path and reassuring myself that there was indeed a decent blood trail. I marked the spot and then sat for another hour. I made up my mind to wait till noon, "When in doubt back out."
I met with Bob and told him the story. As we headed home past the spot my buck had gone into, we glassed to see if he was down and in sight. No luck.
The clock moved very slowly from 10:00 to 11:30. Bob fixed a fine breakfast and we lounged around camp. When I could not stand it any more, we headed up to try to find my deer. The blood trail was not what I've seen before from a femoral hit. It was there but not easy to follow. Bob stood at the last spot, Jim and I took turns blood trailing and scouting 20 yards ahead. It took forever (15 minutes) to proceed 60 yards to his wound bed. He had moved on from this spot and the blood trail was getting weaker, like a muscle hit starting to clot and dry up.
I have read that 70% of deer arrow hit in the chest are recovered and that the same 70% was true of hip hit deer. I tried to stay confident as we slowly picked out the continuing blood trail. After another 15 yards past the wound bed, Jim said, "Here he is!" My first thought was, "You are supposed to say, 'Here's blood', not 'Here he is', how rude. After all, we are still in sight of my stand and I can see almost all that you can see from there."
Then Jim took a couple more steps and yelled, "Wahoo!!!!". It finally sunk in. He was looking at my buck! Bob and I soon joined him to admired the gift.
Topic: Selfbows and whitetails (Read 3165 times)
